Page 22 of House of Crimson Kisses
“I… I don’t know. Five? Six? Seven, ten times?” she says, her voice hitching up a notch.
“We’ll start with seven. One smack for every time you stole from me. Now. What is your safe word?” I say.
“Villain.”
“Good. Now bend forward.”
She does, pushing her arse out as she’s bent in half, her head level with her arms.
“Are you ready?” I ask. “Because this will be a punishment.”
“Y—” she starts as I land a slap in the centre of her arse cheek.
“Count.”
“One,” she says, already panting.
I pull my hand back and swing again, harder this time, and collide with her soft flesh.
She gasps, “Two.”
I slap again. And again, it’s harder than the last.
“Three,” she whimpers. I slide my hand over the reddening skin and then I slip between her legs. She’s wet and soaking her thighs.
“If you take the punishment like a good girl, then I’m going to take care of this,” I say and draw a finger through her excitement. Her legs shake, her breathing hitches faster.
But I also increase the ferocity of the smacks. She’s right, a part of me needs this. Needs to make her pay for what she’s done to me. And with each smack, I’m a little less furious, a little less vindictive.
“Four,” I say as I bring my hand down on her arse. This time it hurts enough to sting my palm. But there’s something in the stinging sensation that threads through my body and wipes every emotion away.
I don’t know how we’re going to continue when this is over, because I’m never drinking her blood again. Never touching her, fucking her or being near her unless it’s under duress.
She can break the bond. This was a terrible mistake.
How can I ever be with someone who has lied and betrayed me? Who took a piece of me without my permission?
“More,” Octavia says. “Harder.”
“Did I tell you to speak?” I snap, and I pull my hand back and slap harder still. The sound rings around the tunnel, echoing off the walls. “Five.”
She shunts forward this time, almost slipping off the wall. She makes a strangled sound, something between a gasp and a moan.
“I need…” she starts.
“What do you need?”
“To… to touch myself,” she pants.
“No. Now spread your legs.” I reach up and break a thick branch of ivy off the bush. I tug all the leaves off and then brandish it. Flicking this way and that. The swish of the branch cuts through the air, making a whipping sound that has Octavia jerking around to see what it is.
“I said face the wall or I’ll make it eight.”
She does, and I bend to slide my head between her open thighs, inhaling the sweet scent of her soaked pussy. I inch toward her clit. I can practically taste her sweetness.
“You don’t get to come, you don’t get to touch yourself, until I decide you can.” My words brush against her folds.
She whimpers, the heat from my face pooling around her pussy. Then I’m gone and standing up again. It’s cruel. But this is a punishment for a reason.
