My toes curl against the floor.
“Good?”
Again, I nod and then remember his request. “Yes, that was?—”
Another strike against my ass, slightly higher than the last but still in the perfect spot. A surge of annoyance pulses in my stomach at the thought of him doing this with someone before me, and I grit my teeth when he lands a third and fourth smack.
The hits are light, but their bite sends liquid heat through my limbs. Pressure builds in my pussy, catching me a little off guard with how quickly it shows up. Each subsequent slap makes my body quiver, and I’m practically trembling when he pauses next.
“In a small-scale production likeOthello, I want a lead who can share the stage so everyone’s part feels equal. You’d have eclipsed the entire cast if I made you Desdemona.”
Sutton delves between my legs, rubbing my clit and then exploring me. I let out a strangled noise, barely able to concentrate on his words.
He tsks, wiping a drenched finger on my ass. “Such a temptress, getting wet so easily. Do you enjoy being punished that much, Ms. Anderson?”
When I don’t answer, the spanking gets harder. He delivers another series of slaps, soothing my inflamed skin with his cool, soaked fingers.
His breathing is labored. It’s all I can hear above my own as I grasp the desk so tight my knuckles are white and going numb.
My mind drifts to the hallway and auditorium. Will no one really come this way? He’s stationed at the very end of the hall, but still. Worry and adrenaline pierce my mind, fighting with the bliss, until he inserts two fingers, drawing an orgasm out of me when he curls them.
I pant, breathless, as he eventually withdraws and barely notice him retrieving a bottle of lotion from his desk. I hiss when he slathers it over my inflamed skin, smoothing in slow circles.
“Feel better?” he murmurs, dragging his free hand over the back of my head like he’s petting me.
For some reason, I find it incredibly comforting. I don’t know that I agree with his assessment, but I suppose it’s not my call either. A part is a part, and he’s the director.
He smiles when I nod, then adjusts my clothing.
“Good. Now get back out there. We have a show to put on.”
39
SUTTON
My arms are bound togetherbehind my back, but they’vepurposely left my legs undone. If I could move them, even just a little bit, maybe I could maneuver myself off this platform, and?—
A numbing sensation ripples through me when I try to lift a knee. Pressure is applied to my waist, bearing down as I struggle to open my eyes.
“Oops!” someone giggles, the distinct outline of a hand keeping me blind to the world around me. “Sorry, sweetie, but I’m not sure you want to see this.”
Distantly, I hear someone else chanting about the power of three. Cheers erupt, filling the air, and a strange sensation works over me—something that’s supposed to be pleasure but only feels hollow, as it’s pulled from my body like a thread.
Hands claw at my chest, and I realize I’m beneath someone. I try to buck them off, but it doesn’t work, and then I’m too dizzy, too overwhelmed by everything, to care anymore.
My body shuts down, searching inward for a kernel of peace. Sanity. Something to take me out of this nightmare.
I can’t stop the biological reactions, but I can control where my mind goes.
Green eyes flash in my mind, striking a chord of panic in my chest.
Bellamy.
Where is she?
“She’s not with us,” the person above me whispers, licking my ear as they speak. “But don’t worry. None of that will matter soon anyway. All you have to do is focus on me.”
A scream echoes around us, filling me with more unease. I recognize that scream—I’ve been hearing it since we exited Mother’s womb together.
