"Bullshit," he snarled. "If you're so innocent, explain the connections between Kieran and your father. The calls, the money—it's all documented."
My heart twisted in agony. He didn't believe me. After everything we'd shared, he saw me as part of this nightmare.
"You can't say that about me," I blurted out through sobs. "I didn't do anything!"
He stepped forward, eyes burning with fury, and pressed the whip's handle against my core, rubbing it slowly, teasingly. A few deliberate strokes, and when he withdrew it, the handle glistened with my slick arousal, betraying me completely.
"Look at this," he sneered, his voice laced with venom. "You filthy little slut. No matter how I treat you, you're always soaking wet, your greedy cunt begging for my cock like the cheap, desperate whore you are. Pathetic, Noelle—your body's a lying bitch, just like you."
Shame scorched through me, but the friction ignited sparks of unwanted heat. Then he ground the handle mercilessly against that most sensitive spot, crushing it with brutal pressure.
I screamed, the intensity amplified—pain and an itchy ache blending into something overpowering.
Not content, he thrust the handle inside me abruptly, the rough invasion stretching me painfully, sending shockwaves through my core.
"Ahh!" I cried out, my body clenching around it in protest.
"Look at you," he taunted, pulling it out and shoving it back in with a vicious rhythm. "Writhing like a bitch in heat, your dripping hole sucking this in. This is what you are, Noelle—a deceitful, scheming cunt who gets off on her own lies."
Rage boiled over, mixing with the humiliation. "You bastard!" I spat. "You're the real monster here, Kholod! Twisting everything to suit your paranoia!"
That only inflamed his anger further. "Your family nearly got me killed, and you—you were plotting to betray me too. Clearly, this punishment isn't harsh enough."
He discarded the whip and grabbed a few candles from the drawer. It released a faint, intoxicating scent as he lit them.
He yanked my hair back, forcing my head up. "Last chance, Noelle. Confess the Bellucci conspiracy. Every detail."
Sobs racked my body. "There's no conspiracy! I swear, there isn't!"
"I don't believe a word." He tilted the candle, letting warm wax drip onto my most intimate area. A mild burn, but the sensitive flesh erupted in itchy tingles, drawing an involuntary moan from me.
"Tell the truth," he demanded.
"I really don't know!"
Another drop fell in the exact same spot, heightening the sensation. I moaned louder, my hips bucking against my will.
"Still not talking?" He pressed.
"That's the truth!" I shouted.
"You just don't learn." With a sadistic edge, he used his fingers to part my folds, dripping wax inside—one precise drop after another,each landing on the most sensitive nerves, sending waves of hot, itchy pleasure-pain coursing through me.
My moans echoed through the soundproof room, my body writhing as I begged, "Kholod... stop... please..."
"This is only the beginning," he murmured, his eyes dark with determination.
Then he set the candles aside, freed himself, and plunged into me with forceful abandon, his body taking over where the tools had tormented. As he thrust deeply, he seized a candle again, dripping wax onto my chest—warm beads splattering across my peaks, making them throb with exquisite sensitivity.
The dual assault was overwhelming—his relentless pounding below, the heated drips above—igniting every nerve in my body. I couldn't string together coherent words, reduced to gasps and cries as he drove into me, interspersing his movements with questions.
"Who else was involved? Your mother? Kieran? Confess!"
"I... don't... know..." I stammered, my voice fracturing.
He didn't relent, maintaining the punishing rhythm while continuing the interrogation, his hips snapping forward with unyielding force. The wax cooled on my skin, forming teasing crusts that cracked with each impact, heightening the friction.
Eventually, he uncuffed me roughly, flipping me face-down on the chair and rebinding me securely. From behind, he entered me again, deeper and more possessively, while the whip cracked across my ass, each lash delivering that custom sting—a buzzing numbness that left welts but stirred a twisted craving.
