Page 31 of Captive Ruin

Both my hands are bound now. I strain in futility. There are inches of play, nothing more, the chain between them short.

As if I wasn’t already helpless enough. It’s like trimming the claws of a newborn kitten.

I don’t know what I expect him to do, but what he does is brush my still-damp braid aside, and place a kiss on the back of my neck. It’s almost loving, more intimate in its own way than being naked before him.

It makes me shudder, while I try to work out how scared I need to be. He’s exuding control, but not menace. How quickly that might yet change.

I stand there trembling, waiting for whatever’s next, clinging to the shreds of my agency, my defiance, trying so damn hard to find a way out.

“Are you going to be a good girl?” he asks.

Fuck no. I’m going to fight him with every breath. I bite my tongue, saying nothing. Let him read into that whatever he wants.

“Amelia.” He says my name like it’s a warning. “I asked you a question.”

“And I asked you to leave.”

He sighs, like I’m a disappointment. Then his hand closes on my arm.

“Maybe this is for the best,” he says, steering me toward the sofa. I fight each step, but it’s like trying to resist an ocean wave. He sits down, pulling me across his lap, and with my wrists bound, I’m helpless to stop him.

“Let me go!”

He ignores my protests. “I hadn’t intended to punish you so soon, but there’s a merit to getting it out of the way. Then you’ll know what happens when you defy me.”

Punish me?

My face is pressed into the cushions. My ass is over his lap, raised. My hands are cuffed helpless, but I still try to extend them, covering my exposed bottom. He simply pulls the chain, forcing my hands into the small of my back. I kick my legs, but he bats them away.

“Don’t kick,” he says, irritated. “If you do, your punishment will be far worse.”

Goddamn him.

I ignore him, kicking anyway. It’s the only thing I can do. I’m breathing so fast and shallow I’m almost hyperventilating. The sheer humiliation of the position has my face burning with shame, warring with my anger.

He huffs in frustration, then pins both my legs with one of his. My hips are over his other thigh, ass raised and vulnerable.

“Now I have you,” he says.

And he does. Legs pinned, hands bound, utterly helpless.

His hand comes to rest on my bottom, squeezing one cheek, spreading me open.

“Already so wet,” he murmurs.

As if I wasn’t mortified enough.

Of course I’m wet. I was goddamn enjoying myself before he turned up, and that was only a few minutes ago.

That’s the reason why. It’s nothing else. I ignore the small voice in my head that suggests he’s the reason.

His hand leaves me, only to return a second later, spanking down on my ass. It’s not particularly hard, not like when he spanked me on the terrace. It stings, but it’s mild. It barely hurts.

But he doesn’t stop at one, or three, or ten.

There’s nothing to do but grit my teeth, squeeze my eyes shut, and endure.

Soon, I can’t keep still. Each strike makes my hips buck and writhe, trying to escape the sting. I’m acutely aware his cock is hard, pushing against my hip.