Page 35 of Redemption

“When you shared your fantasies with me online, you shared your true self,” he reasons. “If I hadn’t found your screenname, you never would’ve trusted me with your secrets in person. You want to know why I couldn’t simply ask you out at the café? This was the best way. The only way. By the time you agreed to a date, I already knew exactly what you wanted. You wouldn’t have opened up to me enough to sign our contract if I hadn’t positioned myself as GentAnon. I have no regrets, Abigail. This is how it had to be between us. I will fulfill your every forbidden desire.”

“I don’t want you to,” I counter in a ragged whisper. “Let me go.”

“No. Not until you accept the truth of what we are, what we share. I’m not letting you leave this room until you scream my name while you orgasm.”

“No,” I moan in pure horror.

My revulsion is that much more acute because I’m starting to realize that the warmth flooding my veins isn’t simply white-hot rage. Desire pulses between my legs, and my nipples are hard buds.

He keeps his firm grip on my hair with one hand while the other dips between my chest and the canvas.

“Hush now, pet,” he soothes, dropping a tender kiss on my nape. “No more arguing. I don’t want to hear another word unless it’s my name on your pretty lips.”

I want to defy him, to continue railing at him. But my screams stick in my constricted throat, and I can’t manage more than a garbled groan.

It sounds unbearably erotic, and he drops another doting kiss on my exposed neck.

My cheeks flush with shame, and my clit pulses in response.

In this moment, I hate myself. I hatehim.

His paint slicked hand wedges beneath me, sliding under the neckline of my dress to cup my breast. The pressure is uncomfortable, but the bite of pain makes my nipple throb where it’s crushed against his palm. He squeezes gently, and I gasp into the canvas. I’m writhing, and I tell myself it’s because I’m still trying to escape.

But my struggles only fuel my lust, just like in all of the terrible, forbidden fantasies I so foolishly shared with him.

“Dane…” His name is a whimper, a plea.

“Better,” he praises. “But I want you to scream for me.”

His other, unpainted hand finally releases my hair, but his bulky frame is heavy enough to keep me pinned. He traces the shape of my body with something like reverence, coveting every inch of me. When his fingertips skim my thigh, I tense.

“You’re safe with me, little dove,” he soothes. “Submit.”

I choke on a sob, and pleasure sizzles through me when he pinches my nipple. He tugs and torments it in the exact way I like. He knows his clever ministrations will make me come undone.

My body uncoils for him even as my heart hammers against my ribcage like a trapped bird.

His fingers skate up my thigh, easing my dress up to expose my ass. They dip between my legs, and he releases a low, satisfied hum at the slick arousal he finds there.

Mortification sears my cheeks when I realize that I’ve never been so wet.

He was right: he’s unleashed something dark inside me that craves this cruelty, the struggle and forced submission.

“So soft and ready for me,” he says with rough desire. “Is your sensitive little clit aching?”

“Don’t…” I choke on the plea before I can fully verbalize it.

He shushes me again. “Only my name, remember?”

His fingers brush my clit, and I buck beneath him as stars burst across my vision at the punch of pleasure.

“Don’t worry, pet. I’m not going to fuck you now. I won’t break you.”

The ragged sound that heaves from my chest is somewhere between a maddened laugh and a sob.

No, Dane doesn’t want to risk breaking his precious pet. He said he wants all of me, and that seems to mean that he wants my mind intact.

How can he not see that he’s destroying my soul with every tender touch and soft word of praise?

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