Page 5 of Broken Discipline
I scrambled to a standing position. He angled his head to the side, staring between my legs. He cupped me there, his palm warm.
“Sensitive, Ramona?” he asked.
“How do you know my name?”
“I know a lot about you. But these men?” He motioned back toward the door. “They don’t understand you, but I do. You like being a good girl. You like obeying a powerful man like me. You like being an empty-headed little toy, ready for me to use.”
Shivers rolled down my spine, heat pooling between my legs.
I started, “Sir—”
“Finn,” he corrected.
“Finn,” I said, staring into those deep, cloud-gray eyes. His burning gaze roved over me, taking me in, calling me back to a dream. But my thoughts fogged. I tucked a lock of hair behind my ear. I stammered out, “Do I know you, Finn?”
His eyes darted to my hand and I realized what I had done. It was a small mistake, a simple one at that, but he glared at me, his eyes full of dangerous ice. He flipped me around, bending me over the table, forcing me to behold all of those weapons and restraints. Cuffs. Knives. A stun gun. Needles. A medical stapler. My stomach flipped, anxiety rising like bile in my throat.
Would he be like my husband’s cousin and whack me with a wooden club until I was unconscious?
Somehow, I knew he wasn’t like that. He was still dangerous and possessive, but he was different too. Protective, maybe. And I was desperate for that comfort.
“You can’t follow simple rules, can you?” Finn growled into my ear. “Tell me. Did you do that on purpose? Do you want me to hurt you?”
He let go of me and I tripped forward, catching myself on the table. I spun around to face him. Satisfaction rushed through Finn’s expression, dripping slowly to his lips. Those gray eyes held me as if soon, everything would click together. The back of his knuckles stroked the side of my cheek, my skin tender and raw. Without thinking, I nuzzled into his hand, but then I flicked my eyes down. I was so embarrassed. Who seeks comfort from a stranger?
A man who had paid my husband for me.
“Look at me,” he demanded, anger seeping into his tone. My stomach twisted, but I looked up, meeting his iron-filled eyes. His gaze flickered over the bruise on my cheek, the one my husband’s cousin had given me. “A mark like this shouldn’t be on your face,” Finn said. “Save it for a better area. What a waste.”
My stomach flickered with heat. His eyes drank me in, a smirk building on his lips like he could hear my thoughts. He grabbed the wooden club off of the table, and then pinned me against the table, his legs on each side of mine. He put the club between us. It shined with liquid in the purple light.
“Is that your come?” he asked.
My cheeks flamed. “I didn’t come.”
He bared his teeth. “Lick it up,” he demanded, his voice primal and raw.
Energy rushed through my body. Finn held the club horizontal, rubbing it against my face, the smooth wood sliding across my skin like a massaging tool. I flattened my tongue against it, tasting my own sour flavor. He pressed his hips into me, his bulge so hard, it was almost like it was threatening me. My hips bucked forward, my fingers itching to grope his length until it grew in my palm, but I held back. I didn’t have to pleasure him unless hemademe.
But I wanted to do it. Needed to do anything to get me away from the reality of this Masquerade for one second.
The wooden club shined with my saliva, my cheeks traced with come. Finn stepped back, giving me some space. I rested against the table.
“Turn around. Bend over,” he said.
I did as I was told; the metal table dug into my hips, and I pressed each palm onto an open space on the surface. He cupped my hips, then tapped the club on my bottom. I glanced over my shoulder. His focus was fixed on me, but it was like he was vacant. Like someone else had taken over his mind. His pants were damp with my arousal and little drops of blood. Whose blood was on his clothing? Had he killed someone before buying me?
“Such a decadent little treat,” he said, licking his lips. “It’s one of my favorite positions. Bent over. Your slit wet and ready for me to ram inside of you. And if you arch your back enough—” he pressed on my lower back, making me rest against the table, then lightly tapped my ass with the club until my cheeks perked up, on display for him. “It helps with punishment.”
“Punishment?” I whispered.
A blunt thud of pain smacked across my ass, the club hitting my slit, making me yelp as I jumped up. It stung with a low ache, but more than that, it surprised me. Before our eyes could meet, Finn did it again and my body danced along, trying to endure it.Wantingto endure it.
“The door is a few steps away,” he said in a low voice.
“Do you think I’m stupid?” I snapped. “I know where it is.”
“Why do you submit, Ramona?” he said, his voice full of power.
