Page 96 of Masked Sins
“I need a break,” she says, sitting up and grabbing some water. I watch her as she takes a sip from the glass on my bedside table. I called Nadine because she’s the sub with the least number of limits—someone who lets me indulge in my sadistic tendencies without having to stop. She knows her limits—as do I.
But she’s not who I want right now. And that makes me want to punish her for it.
“Ready?” I ask her.
“Yes. Harder this time, Master,” she tells me, bending over and exposing her bare ass. “Use the paddle, please.”
I throw the riding crop off to the side as I reach for the paddle. “Good girl.”
I bring it down with a heavy thwack, and she cries out. There’s no recovery time—as soon as I lift my hand, I bring it back down against the globe of her ass.
“Color?” I ask, practically growling as sweat clings to my hairline.
“Green, Master,” she sobs.
“That’s it. You’re so good at taking pain, love.”
I bring the paddle down again—and again, and again, and again.
Her ass cheek blooms bright red, and when I’m one whack away from breaking skin, I switch to the other cheek. I check in with her color-wise, too entranced tolookat her. To get a visual of her face, to gaze into her eyes to make sure she’s not in a frenzy like I know she’s prone to be.
“Please, Master,” she sobs. “More. Harder.”
My brows furrow, and I keep going—down her legs, one at a time. My cock doesn’t respond at all, but it still feels good—so much so that I lose myself and go into autopilot.
I think of Layla’s words.
I told you not to kiss me.
My lips curl away from my teeth as sweat beads down the sides of my face.
You can’t just keep doing whatever you want.
Like fuck I can.
I grip the paddle, my fingers curling around the slippery leather as I bring it down hard and fast against Nadine.
I don’t want to see you ever again.
The smack of the paddle breaks me out of my stupor.
“Color?” I ask, my voice monotone.
“Green.”
She sounds weak and feeble, so I set the paddle down and walk around to face her.
Her pupils are nearly black, and her cheeks are black from her mascara. Layla’s face comes into view for a second, and I crouch down to take her face in my hands.
“Look at me.”
She doesn’t. Instead, when I move closer, her whole body goes limp as she falls onto her stomach.
“Nadine?” Turning her over, I brush a hand along her hairline. It’s wet, and she looks pale. “Color?” I ask, guilt threading through me.
“Green,” she whispers, lips dry.
Fuck.
