Page 106 of Coal Hearts

Tears wobbled in her gaze as she let go of whatever shore she clung to. Pure sorrow spilled from her lips, but her cheeks remained dry from droplets.

I couldn’t look away.

If she cried, I’d be finished.

Hung, drawn, and quartered right there in the library.

Her throat worked as she swallowed down her grief.

I reached the end of my tether.

“Five,” I whispered, bringing the first edition of The Count of Monte Cristo slicing through the air and hitting her red-blooming ass.

Something changed in her.

A ripple of horror ran down her spine.

A scream spilled right from her soul.

She didn’t hold back as she filled the library with every hate, misery, and fear. I’d never heard a wail like it. Never had someone’s voice affect me on a visceral, primal level.

That scream was her signature on this sick contract between us. Signing her very life over to me, trusting a sadistic stranger, giving me the right to do whatever I damn well wanted.

It undid me.

It consumed me.

Her body stiffened, almost as if agreeing to play with me had been empty words, but now...now that I’d abused her, and she’d experienced first-hand what we would have to do, she rebelled against every future strike, whip, and punishment.

The worst kind of aphrodisiac.

The best kind of turn-on.

Q...hurry the fuck up.

Footsteps echoed in the stone corridor.

Ily froze.

It was now or never.

Take her or watch another monster rape her.

Bending over her, I whispered in her ear. “You know what I have to do.”

She jerked and shivered but ever so slowly...she nodded.

“I’ll be as quick as I can. Just...trust me and play along.”

Pulling away, I reared up behind her and fumbled with my zipper.

Who would’ve thought I’d be this steadfast in my convictions. This morality that seemed to grow stronger instead of weaker. Faced with a choice to become the beast inside me, I found the human parts clinging for dear life to integrity.

My balls tightened, trying to crawl inside my body at the thought of fucking her while she was bound. Not by ropes or chains but by fragile promises to keep her alive.

If I was honest...our partnership made me nauseous, not horny. I couldn’t unscramble if I hated that I still tried to be good or cursed that I would always be bad.

Christ, I’m sorry...