Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 88551 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 443(@200wpm)___ 354(@250wpm)___ 295(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88551 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 443(@200wpm)___ 354(@250wpm)___ 295(@300wpm)
“Adrian…” I say, in an attempt of one final plea. “Please.”
“It’s too early to beg, Lia. Save it for when you actually need it.” He palms the middle of my back and pushes me down against the table. My cheek meets the cold wooden surface, and I try not to start hyperventilating here and now.
I hate how my body is in a completely alert mode. How a weird zap is tingling at the bottom of my stomach, clenching it, awakening it.
Adrian, however, is sure, confident, each of his movements holding a purpose that’s designed to be met. He reaches to my front and undoes my scarf belt, then my button.
I briefly close my eyes as the cloth slides down my legs and bunches around my ankles. I try to forget what he’s seeing, my position—bent over with my ass in the air and in his full view.
It’s not difficult when his hand meets my backside.
The first slap reverberates in the air, harsh and ugly. Even though I’m still wearing panties, my ass cheek catches on fire.
On the second slap, my entire body reels forward on the wooden surface. I grip the edge of the table with rigid fingers as the flaming pain increases.
His hand is hard, merciless, with the sole purpose of punishing me, of cementing his authority under my skin.
But in that display of authority, as calm and commanding as it is, he shows me a part of him I haven’t witnessed before.
Control.
He thrives on it. In fact, he’s punishing me to ensure that I don’t challenge it—or him. And with each slap against my ass, he’s etching it into my whole being.
I wish I didn’t react to it. Better yet, I wish I viewed it like I did in the nightmare—as a violation. Instead, a shock of sensations explodes on my skin with each of his ministrations. It’s like something has been dormant and he’s probing it, awakening it.
My body’s reaction to his touch scares me more than his punishment. More than the nightmare.
More than anything I’ve experienced before.
Adrian grips my ponytail by the ribbon I used to tie it in and yanks me up by it. “Who gave you permission to dress like this?”
I purse my lips shut, but it’s not only because I refuse to talk to him, it’s also to mute the strange tightness coursing through my legs, my stomach, and even to my damn nipples.
It has to be because of the anxiety and fear. I refuse to believe it’s due to anything else.
Adrian slaps my ass again and a needy sound slips from my mouth. I trap my lip under my teeth so hard that I taste metal by the fifth slap.
I’m ready to bloody my lips and cut my tongue instead of showing him what type of effect he’s having on me. He won’t get the satisfaction of seeing me fall.
No one will.
Not even if my insides are clawing and revolting to release more sounds.
“You will know your place.” Slap. “You will not cross me.” Slap. “Is that clear?”
“Yes…yes…please stop.” I sob, but it’s for something different from pain.
My inner thighs are hot, tingly, getting stimulated by each slap. I don’t like this and would do anything to have it end.
He pauses. “You’ll do as you’re told?”
“Yes…” My voice is breathy—sultry, even.
When he doesn’t slap my ass again, I think he’ll let me go, but then two of his fingers glide against my folds over the cloth of my panties.
My head snaps back to stare at him at the same time as a wicked smirk paints his lips. It makes him appear like a villain who just found his next target. “So this is why you wanted me to stop. Did you like being punished? Did you get off on it?”
I shake my head frantically, refuting the evidence that he’s sliding his fingers over.
He leans over until his lips meet the shell of my ear. “Your soaked cunt says otherwise.”
“No…” I continue shaking my head, not wanting to believe that I’m the sort of person who’s turned on by this type of depravity.
I’m vanilla and always will be.
“Stop denying it, Lenochka.”
That nickname again. I don’t know what it means, but I hate it. I don’t want him to call me by it. I don’t want him to use me as if I’m really his wife.
I’m not. I’m only playing a damn role so I can survive.
“No,” I say, clearer this time.
He continues stroking my folds over the cloth and I close my eyes, waiting for the sensation to vanish, but with every brush, my skin heats to an alarming level. The handprints he left on my ass are burning hotter than when he was slapping me, adding to my agony.
“You can be stubborn all you want, but you can’t deny yourself, Lenochka.” He slips his hand under the front of my panties and his thumb finds the bare skin that his people waxed clean.