Page 118 of Ghost Hunted

“Asshole. Stop. I want you to stop.”

“Whatever you want, baby.”

I push the tip of my cock into her, and she hisses loudly as I continue to slowly invade her. “Should I go faster, Lia? Do you want me to make it hurt worse?”

“No. Stop!”

“Okay.” I drive in all the way as she muffles a scream in her arm. Then I grab the blanket, pushing it down over her head and back, and keeping her pinned to the mattress that way as I start thrusting my cock into her, so fast and hard all she can do is lie prostrate and take it.

Oh, fuck, it’s so good, the way her tight walls squeeze my cock. I really could stay here forever.

But I suddenly realize how violent I’m being, especially given how fresh the injury still is. Concern makes me slow down.

“How are you, baby?” I grunt between slower thrusts. “Want to say the safe word?”

“Ahh… stop!”

“Are you forgetting your colors, baby?” I stroke her lower back and she moans.

“I said stop,” she mumbles. “You know what that means. Stop making me feel like I have a choice.”

Then she lets out a string of curse words, and smirking, I pick up my pace again, until my balls tighten and I’m coming inside her.

I’ve had a lot of time to dream about this moment, but it’s even better than I remembered.

I pull out, parting her cheeks to watch the cum trickle out of her reddened hole.

“That looks painful, baby.”

“It is.” She squirms around, but I keep a tight hold on her cheeks, watching her ring of muscle tense and spasm helplessly.

“I wish I had something else to stick inside that sweet little hole of yours, while I’m getting hard again.” I stroke up and down her crack, before pumping her quickly with two fingers as she moans. “You look far too empty. Don’t you need something to stuff you, baby?”

A muffled sound comes out of her throat that sounds a lot like asshole.

“You should really get a little more creative with your insults, brat,” I tell her, slapping her cheeks so I can watch them wobble.

“I want to come, Logan,” she mumbles. “You promised.”

“I guess I did.” I add a third finger to her asshole, still pumping her. “But you know how it is with me, baby. Pleasure comes with pain. The more you suffer for me, the happier I’ll make you.”

“Well, I’m suffering. Can I come now?”

“Hmm.” Not yet, little captive. I have weeks of frustration to make up for, first. And a girl who keeps telling me she’s unhappy with the cage I’m determined to keep her in.

I grab my phone and send a quick text with one hand, while the other continues its punishing rhythm.

“I got the point, with the fingering,” she grumbles. “Can you at least switch it up?”

I grin. “Oh, I will. Don’t worry, baby.”

At that, she lifts her head off the pillow, looking at me nervously. “I don’t like the sound of that.”

“You probably won’t like the feel of it, either.”

A light tap at the front door is followed by a creaking sound as it opens, and two feet pad quietly toward the living room, before leaving. I pull out my fingers with a plop, give my girl a smack for good measure, and go to the living room. The tray I requested has been left there: a bucket of ice and a bowl of freshly peeled ginger roots.

Between the three of us sadists at Devil Tower—Damien, Igor and me—I can only assume there are a whole lot of rumors going around between the assistants.