Page 100 of Her Soul to Own

“I know.”

He chuckles softly, darkly.

And then, I feel the first sting of his palm against my skin.

The slap isn’t harsh or cruel. But it shocks a gasp from my lips, and heat blooms across my skin like a mark of ownership. My body rocks forward on impact, and I don’t even pretend not to like it. The knife digs into my skin, and I’m hoping it doesn’t cut.

He rubs the sting away with slow, languid fingers, then does it again.

I moan. He leans forward, his lips brushing the shell of my ear. “Tell me if it’s too much.”

But it isn’t. It’s not even close.

I bite my lip, the edges of pain and pleasure starting to blur. “Harder,” I whisper.

Behind me, he stills. I know what I’ve just invited. But I want it anyway.

His hand tightens in my hair. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

The next slap comes harder.

It lands with a crack, sharp and punishing, and I jerk forward with a breathless cry. Heat blooms under my skin like wildfire, raw and electric, my body singing with the burn of it.

Silas doesn’t soothe this time. He lets it sting.

He lets me feel it.

Lets me know he’s here—not as comfort or safety, but as the force meant to wreck me in all the ways I crave.

“I feel every twitch in you,” he growls, his voice like gravel-dragged sin. “Your body’s screaming for it, so don’t pretend you want it soft.”

I whimper because he’s right. I don’t want soft. Not from him. Not now.

He kneels behind me, his jeans rough against the back of my thighs, and I feel the thick press of his cock—hard, heavy, and throbbing against the seam of my ass. He doesn’t move, just grinds once, slow and cruel, letting me feel what’s waiting for me if I behave.

Or if I don’t.

Then, one of his hands slips between my thighs.

He doesn’t ask, doesn’t tease. He just plunges two fingers inside me, deep and filthy, and I swear I come apart right then. A cry rips out of me as my body clamps around him like I’m trying to drag him deeper, like I’m trying to keep him inside.

“Fuck,” he hisses, his voice gone feral. “You’re drenched.”

I’m panting now, caught between the overwhelming heat and the humiliation of how desperately I’m reacting. But it’s not shame. It’s surrender. He’s pulling every broken, buried part of me into the light, and I want to be seen like this—ruined and writhing and aching just for him.

He crooks his fingers, finds that place deep inside me that makes my vision turn blinding, and I collapse forward, bracing on shaking arms. My robe is pooled beneath me, my hair a curtain around my face, and Silas follows me down, blanketing my back with his body.

“Keep your knees spread apart,” he orders, his breath hot against my neck. “Let me see all of you.”

I obey, even as my thighs tremble. His hand leaves me, and I whimper at the loss.

But then I hear the tearing of a foil. The sound of a condom.

I tense in anticipation, my teeth sinking into my bottom lip.

“Say it,” he demands.

“Say what?”

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