Page 79 of Hook

He chuckles. “Why do you have to be so stubborn?”

Stubborn.

This man makes my blood boil the longer I’m trapped in this house with him.

“Why don’t you write the apology I asked for and the torture can stop?” He brings his glass of scotch to his lips and takes a sip before smirking at me over the rim.

I’ve never wanted to murder someone as badly as I want to murder him—or fuck him. Again, my mind is so conflicted it’s insane. “Or is it because you secretly love being tied up and spanked before I fuck you?”

My thighs clench in response. “I can’t stand it,” I lie. I hate myself for enjoying every spank he doles out and the way he makes me climax afterward with his cock. I hate myself for being so twisted in the head.

He’s taken to forcing me into the shower afterward to wash me and take care of the bruises on my ass, putting balm on them. As if he cares. It makes no sense.

How can he be so cold in doling out punishment and then so caring afterward? And why the hell does my dumbass like it?

He shakes his head. “Naughty little liar. How else can you explain why your orgasms are more explosive when I spank you?”

“I don’t wish to speak about this at dinner.” I spoon myself a helping of potatoes and grab my fork, making sure I don’t look at him. The fact is, he’s right and I’m in denial.

He chuckles, but doesn’t push the matter. A tense silence follows for the duration of the meal, and it’s because I know what comes next. Like clockwork, he’ll drag me to his sex room and tie me down before putting me through a tough spanking that makes me wetter than anything else does. And the thought makes me wet; who am I kidding? I’ve been wet the entire time I’ve been sitting opposite him. Anticipation playing havoc on my desire.

My arousal from pain is something I can’t hide from him. Once I’m sure I can’t take anymore, he’ll enter me and fuck me like an animal. My ass is getting more bruised by the day, but he doesn’t care. Even sitting here at the table is painful. He got me three cushions to sit on, but it still aches.

I reluctantly drop my fork as all the food is gone, keeping my gaze fixed on the plate.

“Don’t worry, princess. You’re stubborn and I think I like that about you, but tonight I’m going to give you a rest.” He winks at me. “We’ve got somewhere to be.”

“Somewhere to be?” I ask.

He nods. “Another surprise.”

I sigh heavily, as his last surprise was good until it all went to shit. “I’m too tired for that.”

His jaw works. “It’s not a request. You’re coming.” He stands and offers me his hand.

I ignore it and get to my feet by myself. “Whatever.”

He grabs me by the wrist then and yanks me into his powerful body, chestnut eyes blazing with dominance. “I may be giving you a rest, but I’m still your captain,” he murmurs, his hand moving to my SORE ass as he cups it. “Be a good girl and do as you’re told.”

I clench my fists by my sides as he searches my eyes. “I’d rather punch you in the face.”

He laughs. “Come on.” He yanks me toward the exit of the dining room, but I manage to swing my arm around and punch him in the back of the neck.

Cillian doesn’t flinch, but he turns still. And then, his eyes snap around and the rage burning in them scares me to the core. I think I forgot how crazy he is. He drives me insane with anger, which is an emotion I’m not used to feeling.

“Try that again, princess, and see if I don’t give you a real fucking punishment.”

My eyes widen. “Are you suggesting what you’ve been giving me isn’t a real punishment?”

“Certainly not, since you enjoy it too much. Now, stop being a brat and come with me.” He yanks my wrist and pulls me out of the house. I’m still stunned by the fact he’s telling me bruising my ass every night for a week isn’t punishment.

A shudder skates down my spine as I try to imagine what he believes is arealpunishment. He leads me out to the front drive where his black Ferrari is waiting with the engine running. “My lady,” he says, as he opens the passenger door for me to get in.

I get into the car, since I’ve no choice. And the moment he gets into the driver’s seat, he puts his hand on my thigh. I can’t believe my stupid body reacts to his touch, making me angrier. The anger isn’t necessarily directed at him. I’m angry with myself.

“You look like someone pissed in your cereal,” Cillian remarks, only adding fuel to the bonfire.

“You might as well have.”

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