“Give me this.” He rubs away the sting with the smooth, cool leather. “And you won’t want for anything.” When I remain quiet, a look of disappointment passes through his eyes, but he replaces it quickly with quiet acceptance. “As you wish. Like a bitch in heat it’ll be, my stubborn pet.”
How can I agree when he offers me the same deal as before? Only, like he said, it’s not a deal, and he’s not asking. Not really. Not when he delivers a few light taps in quick succession.
I break apart beneath him, my orgasm ripping through me with a brutality I’ve never experienced. He spanks me through it, making the pleasure spike even higher, and then he wrestles every aftershock from me that my spent body is capable of giving him by gliding the belt up and down my folds, paying special attention to my clit.
By the time he fastens the belt like a collar around my neck, I’m a mass of shivering, vanquished nerves. Only then, when he’s completely destroyed me, does he take off his shirt. I move my gaze over the hard planes of his chest and abdomen. He’s filled the years between us with ink. So much ink. So many lies.
I’m still floating in a space of detached euphoria when he unzips and takes out his cock. I’ve forgotten how beautiful he is—huge and long with thick, angry veins and a smooth bulbous head. I’m fixated on that picture of male perfection, too far gone to worry about hiding my reaction lest he notices.
He shoves his pants over his hips, just far enough to allow him movement, and hooks my leg over his shoulder. That’s when I realize this is how he’s going to do it. Deep and hard. Not peppering my neck with kisses. Not whispering encouraging words in my ears. Not preparing me with his hand but like this—penetrating me with a single thrust that shoves me up the mattress.
My inner walls contract around the too-big intrusion, the discomfort of last night flaring back to life. I try to move away, but he grabs the end of the belt and pulls me back to him. The action lifts my head from the bed. The belt tightens around my neck, but he doesn’t cut off my oxygen. He gives me enough air to breathe as he holds me like a collared bitch on a leash while pumping into me with a grueling pace. He’s fucking me exactly as he promised he would, turning me into his pet. His strokes are as deep and brutal as I knew they’d be—more so—but each pump of his hips is perfectly controlled. He knows how hard he can push me without strangling me.
I want to hate it. Yet he was right.
I don’t.
How can I when my need is already climbing again, darker this time? More perverted. Uglier but with more intensity. Forcing me to feel every movement as he slides his cock over the sensitive nerve-endings inside me. Forcing me to breathe at his will.
All the while, he keeps his focus on my face, reading me as he experiments with different angles and punishing rolls of his hips while giving me nothing but the blank slate of his face in return.
He digs his fingers into my thigh, folds me double, and slams into me as if he wants to break me in two. Maybe he does.
My core contracts again. Too late, I realize I haven’t chosen. I haven’t told him to get me the pill or to use a condom. Even if I wanted to, I can’t speak with the belt around my neck. But when he lets my thigh go to slip a hand between our bodies and to roll my clit between his fingers, I still come. I come as he empties himself inside me in an act of violent lust instead of tender loving. I don’t know what that says about me. Or him. Maybe that’s just who we are now—two broken, damaged creatures.
He pumps until long after he’s dry before air rushes into my lungs and my head hits the mattress. After pulling out, he gets off the bed and stands over me without releasing my leg. He keeps it pressed against my chest, splitting me open and watching as his cum trickles down my thighs.
He unties the belt and throws it aside before adjusting his pants, no longer meeting my eyes. Feeling cold and bereft for reasons I can’t explain, I close my legs. He turns his back on me and walks to the dresser, only to return a moment later with a square blue box.
I pull my T-shirt down to cover myself and sit up. He flips back the lid and takes out a watch. Taking my arm, he fastens it around my wrist. It’s a perfect fit—snug and solid.
I look down at the oystersteel and everrose gold Rolex.
“That should solve your problem of telling the time.” He glances at my other wrist where the red welt is visible. “If that bothers you, we can get a bracelet for the other arm.”
For someone who carries much worse marks, the offer takes me aback. “Why would it bother me?”
“Because it may force you to admit what kind of man you fell for.”
I lower my arm in my lap, the foreign weight of the watch seeming to drag it down. It feels more as if he’s slammed a handcuff on me than an expensive watch.
I utter a soft laugh. “Don’t flatter yourself. That was a long time ago.”
He nods, easily accepting the rejection. Maybe too easily. Or maybe he just doesn’t care.
Something twists in my stomach when he gives me that dimpled smile again.
“I won’t offer you a cup of tea,” he says.
“Don’t.”
“But I can offer you a shower.”
I stand. “No, thanks.”
Holding out a hand, he motions toward the bathroom. “Ladies first.”
“I’ll shower in the other bathroom.”
