Page 58 of Alamort

“Which one?”

“Um,” she shifts her weight from foot to foot. “I think it’s safe to say it was Bennett’s.”

Oh, this is too good. I can only imagine his face. He always assumes he’s untouchable. Even the cockiest people need to be humbled. Ben honestly thought she’d sit there and take it?

“Do you know why I’m here?” She hesitatingly nods.

“You owe me something.” She nods again. There’s nothing more refreshing than not having to repeat myself. I warned her what would happen if she cried for anyone but me. “Strip.”

She stumbles a bit when I release her from my grasp. When she gets her balance, she stands there for a second. I can physically see her weighing her options. Priya doesn’t enjoy being told what to do, but she will listen. Or I’ll make her. The Demons aren’t the only scary thing in the dark. I am. Their blood thirsty chained dog, thanks to Saint.

The gentle sound of the zipper interrupts my spiraling thoughts. Her black jeans slowly coming undone, her thumbs deftly sliding into the belt loops as she lowers them down her curvaceous thighs, revealing her voluptuous, round arse adorned in a black thong. She slips them down further before stepping out of them completely. In her actions, there was an unintentional sensuality that made her vulnerable. She’s still facing forwards, refusing to acknowledge my presence. I’ve noticed her do that a lot, zoning out when she’s somewhere she doesn’t want to be.

I step up behind her, lining up our bodies together. My hands trace the path from the “M” I left on her skin, applying added pressure to the spot I plan to mark. The raised texture of her old scars, remnants of her secret battles, has become a personal comfort of mine. When I touch her, her shoulders slump slightly, revealing her insecurities. My hands move to the next area, palming her ass, my grip bordering on painful. She stays silent. Scars or not, her body is like running my fingers through still water, smooth and silky.

I want to be the one to mar the smoothness of her beautiful skin. My name all over it, ruin the perfect little doll she pretends she is. Bring out the monster that she hides so well.

“Bloody hell, you’re perfect.” Perfect to ruin. To cut and bleed. Her body curls in on itself, seeking protection from the world, from me. Irritation pricks at me when she ignores my compliment. My hand leaves her body and plants itself into her hair, ripping her back into a confident posture while restingher head against my shoulder. Rarely do I offer praise, but the relentless disrespect aggravates my already frayed nerves. She yelps and tries to pull away, but I hold tight, rubbing the sticky strands that are usually soft between my fingers. I’d know the feeling anywhere. Blood.

“Bennett,” she whispers. I hum. Grabbing her by the hair, slamming her face first onto the bed, leaving her legs suspended over the edge, ready to obey my every command. Last time I let her face me, she thought she’d be clever and bite me hard enough to scar. I tattooed it, the outline of her teeth indents. Secretly pleased with her returned affections. But she won’t get that chance again.

I yank her down to the edge of the bed by her hips.

“Don’t. Move.” I snarl. Allowing a little bit of my inner demon out. She lies motionless, a rag doll waiting to be played with. Her long legs snatch my attention. I trace the curve of her body as she’s bent over. Her panties hug her swollen pussy lips. I’ve barely touched her and she’s wet. But how wet?

My boots echo in the room, letting her hear my approach. I shove her hoodie all the way up under her arms, baring her hourglass figure. My hands meet her hips and my grip turns painful enough to leave marks on them while I yank her into me. A gasp leaves her at the feel of my erection nudging into her heat that seeps into my jeans, a zip away from plunging into her.

Not yet. She’s not ready. My jaw locks at imagining her bouncing on my dick, her ass jiggling at the impact of my hips colliding with hers with every stroke. Her moans and whimpers as she begs me to keep going. She’d feel me for days afterward. I wouldn’t be gentle with her. I guide her hips, angling them up so her back is arched, and that sensitive bundle of nerves is exposed to me.

I assumed, but I need confirmation. “Are you a virgin?” I make sure each word hits her clit. Her breaths become rapid, her legs shift impatiently.

“Does i-it matter?”

Yes, it matters. Every person who’s seen her body or has had her compliance in the bedroom matter. I’d slice away the part of them that believed they were entitled to touch her. What gave her the right to allow them the invitation to her body? My hands trace up her spine to thread into her hair, ensuring I grab where her wound is and pull, snapping her head backwards.

“Ow!” Despite her obvious pain, she’s cheeky enough to say it through her sniffles. I purse my lips. The desire to inflict pain on her simmers below the surface, tempered by a sense of restraint. That’s unusual for me. An idea strikes me. One I’ve never done it before, but if it doesn’t work … No, it will.

In one fluid movement, I stand and rip the belt out of my dark jeans with practiced ease. I pause to feel the smooth texture of the worn leather against my fingertips. The fact she can’t see what I’m doing causes her to shake. She instinctively pulls away at the sound. Interesting.

“Tell me.” I say with a calm that belies the bloodlust raging inside me.

She averts her eyes with a slight turn of her head and focuses on the way she came through.

“Whether or not I am is none of your concern.” She snaps.

Playing hard to get? Let’s see how far that gets her. She tenses as I remain silent, but I swiftly loop the belt around and deliver a firm, balanced swat. A warning, because it can always get worse. With a mixture of shock and fear, she unleashes a startled shriek and desperately tries to crawl towards the headboard to create more space between us.

“What the fuck?” She yells, while rubbing the pink welt on her ass. It’s barely anything. Trust me, I’ve committed worse deeds than this.

“Tell me to stop.” I say. She remains silent, refusing to admit defeat. I would stop, only for her. When she doesn’t answer, we continue. “Hands down, lay down.”

“No.”

No? She’s really taking the piss tonight.

“Lay down or I’ll fuck you with my knife before I finish carving you for everyone to see who you belong to.” The threat gets her compliance. Her hand drops from her arse, resting next to her head.

“Answer me.” No response.

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