Page 35 of Fragile Twisted Vows

And I realize then that I like it. That I want to see it all the time.

And that is how I know that I am a masochist for certain.

“Like this,” he growls.

He places two fingers at the base of my throat, pressing against my thumping pulse before he drags them down between my breasts. They’re heavy, larger than most women I’ve known. I’ve always been ridiculed for it, like they’ve made me some sort of whore even though it’s just natural biology. And it’s made me hate them.

Except for right now.

Because right now, Damien is looking at them with so much intense need and want, that it has my heart trying to escape from my chest.

His fingers continue their path from my sternum to my navel, a low gasp leaving my lips as they do. And when they reach my most intimate area, when they hover over the space that’s generating so much heat and need, I swear I might die right then.

He growls then, low and rough in my ear as he allows those fingers to lightly press against my clit. I mewl quietly in his ear, whimpering from the contact, begging for more. For anything.

But he gives me nothing.

Instead, he grabs me by my matted hair and spins me around. He pins me against the wet shower wall and uses his other hand to grab my hips and lifts them so that my ass is in his line of sight.

And then, he does the unimaginable.

He does something that I never thought Damien Reed would ever do to me.

He spanks me. Hard.

It’s just once at first, like he’s readying me for more blows.

And when my breath comes out in one harsh whoosh, he lands another.

And another. And another.

He hits me until I’m panting against the shower wall and clawing at the tiles.

And not because I’m in pain, but because I…like it.

I like him punishing me.

And he gets off on it too. He grunts as he spanks me, his fingers gripping the skin of my ass each time before he pulls his hand away to deliver another blow. His dick is so damn hard and pressed into the back of my thigh that I wiggle to get more of it.

And then…he stops.

And the air is quiet. It is still and tense.

It is full of regret. And not from me, but from him.

But I don’t think it’s regret for hitting me, for punishing me, it’s regret for being here with me in the first place. And stupidly, that hurts more than his punishment.

He rips away from me then, pushing the shower door open as he angrily steps out of it.

“Wash your own hair,” he growls, like he’s disgusted by me.

But I know he’s not.

I know as he grabs his things and rushes out of the bathroom that Damien is not disgusted or angry with me, he’s angry at himself.

And as I wash my hair, as I finish cleaning my body thoroughly, I realize that I can’t be mad at myself for this, for his self-loathing that’s been projected onto me. I realize that none of this has anything to do with who I am and has everything to do with the fact that he wants me and he shouldn’t. And I shouldn’t want him either.

But I do. God help me, stupidly, I do.

---