Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 92873 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92873 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
Another memory jumps to mind, the one of the night he took my virginity. That was so wrong. I was drunk, and he was angry. Yet everything about it seemed right too, even the part where he branded me. A very dark, very depraved part of me has always been drawn to that side of him. Even now, as he locks the door and ushers me into the bedroom, the sinister promise in his eyes captivates me. His smell wraps around me just as of old, a mixture of cedar and citrus that holds both ecstatic and bad memories, but it’s no less addictive.
“I owe you two punishments,” he says, pulling his bowtie from the collar of his shirt.
Zings of anticipation needle my stomach. Heat gathers between my legs. Perhaps it’s the alcohol, but I’m more turned on and less scared. Less angry. I realize with a start that I crave this, whatever he’s got in store for me. I yearn for this when he gives me a choice, and he does. He stands, waiting. When I don’t back away or say anything, he closes the distance and puts our bodies flush together.
“What shall I do to you, bella?” he asks in low voice. “Make you kneel? Swallow my cock? Spank you? Fuck your ass?”
My inner muscles clench. I both shake my head and nod, not sure what I’m asking. I didn’t enjoy our wedding night, but I did like it when he fed me his second-hand smoke. Not the smoking part. The rest of it. I liked how he took control. I liked the bite of pain with my pleasure.
So when he asks, “Shall I decide?” I nod again.
He cups my jaw. “I think you liked the last two options.” He drops his gaze to my breasts. “Your nipples turned rock-hard when I mentioned those.” He releases my face and brushes his knuckles over a hardened tip as if to affirm his assessment. “I can see your tits through the fabric.” Gripping the front of the dress, he tears it right down the middle to my navel.
A gasp catches in my throat.
“No one should ever see you in this dress again. I didn’t like how the men stared at you. Did you notice?”
I shake my head.
He juts his chin at me. “Take it off.”
I step out of the dress.
“Thong too,” he says. “Keep the jewelry. I’ll let you decide if you take off the shoes.”
The heels make me feel sexy. I slide the thong down my thighs and over the elegant red evening shoes.
“Perfect,” he says, cutting a path with his gaze over me from top to bottom. He takes a cushion from the sofa and throws it at the edge of the bed. “Kneel.”
He grips my hand and helps me down.
“Push your upper body down on the bed. I want to see your ass and your pussy.”
I glance at him from over my shoulder as I comply. My throat goes dry when he unbuckles his belt. I remember how much it hurt, but I also remember the heat that crawled into my skin and through my body to gather between my legs.
“Mr. Russo,” I croak, suddenly scared.
“Shh,” he says, pulling the belt from the loops of his waistband and settling me with a hand on my lower back. “You deserve this punishment.”
“Do I?” I whisper.
“Did you greet me as you should?”
“You know why I didn’t.”
He bends over me and kisses my shoulder. “Don’t make excuses. You will always greet me naked and on your knees. If there are people in the house, you will do it in the privacy of our bedroom.”
My mind gets stuck on the our. Our bedroom. Not your bedroom. Something warm unfurls in my belly. I’m sick for wanting this. I’m weak for craving his affection. His approval. For wanting what the Powells have.
But when the first lash falls over my ass cheeks, I close my eyes and forget everything. Heat blooms over my skin, but it doesn’t hurt. Not much. Not enough to draw tears. Only enough to want more. He doesn’t disappoint me. He aims the next blow with the same meticulous force, hitting the back of my thighs. More heat seeps into my skin. When the belt falls more gently between my legs, my clit swells and throbs. I’m wet already, the need that builds in my lower body demanding more friction.
He times the next three swats perfectly, one following after the other over the fleshy part of my globes, leaving me breathless and moaning. He taps my clit with the leather, warning me of his intention, and deals another soft blow right between my thighs, following it up with one on the seam of my ass.
“Will you kneel for me, bella?”
“Yes,” I cry out, pressing my hips against the bed in an effort to find release.