Grayson
I had to get out of there. I needed to smash something, and being angry at her only made my dick hard. As tempting as it was, I couldn’t do a ruthless fuck right now, because I was going to hurt her. I needed to clear my head. Heading to my gym, I started the treadmill at 10, and ran until my muscles were screaming. After an hour, it still wasn’t enough. My mind was on two things. Killing and fucking, and I couldn’t kill right now. But I could fuck. Hard. Seeing her standing there biting her bottom lip, as she wrung her hands and stared at me with her big green eyes. I swear I've never seen her looking so conflicted, with sadness in her eyes. For the first time in my life, I didn’t know what to do; other than locking her up in a room to keep her from whatever, or whoever it was.
I got in the shower, allowing the heat to relax my muscles. The scent from her lavender soap instantly made me hard. My dick didn’t care I was pissed. Fucking traitor.
Fifteen minutes later, I walked into our bedroom. Emmalin was sitting in the corner. She had changed out of her work clothes, and her hair was swept up in a messy bun. I wanted to take her hair down, wrap it around my wrist, and fuck her hard. It was taking all of my strength not to walk over to her and make that happen. She stood up slowly, keeping her gaze on mine. She licked her bottom lip and nervously tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. The thin tank top she wore showed her hardening nipples, and the cutoff shorts she made— that probably shouldn’t be called shorts—had my dick at attention. Fuck. Me.
She stepped closer to me and opened her mouth like she was going to say something, but changed her mind at the last minute. My inner beast was ticking to get out. The gate was damn near broke. Fuck it. I grabbed her around the waist so fast she let out a sharp yelp. I leaned down to her ear. “It’s my turn. I need it, and right now, I need you to run. I need you to fight, because I’m going to chase after you, and when I get you, I plan on fucking you. Like you mean nothing to me, other than a sweet pussy.” She let out a small gasp before looking me in the eyes. They were filled with lust. I watched as she took one step back. Then another. Then she bolted out the room.
I took a deep breath and headed to the closet to grab a few things, putting them in my pocket. I grabbed my phone, setting the house alarm, and locking the elevator. I knew there wasn’t too many places for her to hide, but I also knew she would make it work. I set out quietly, listening for any sounds. I took a deep breath. The lavender vanilla scent she loves to wear was also the key to giving her away. I headed toward the kitchen quietly. I peered over the kitchen island when, out of the corner of my eye, she darted out of the walk-in wine pantry. She was fast. But I was faster.
She screamed as I caught her around her waist and lifted her up. Her legs went flailing as I tightened my grip around her. I used one arm to swipe all the dishes from the kitchen island and threw her on top of it. She tried shoving me off of her, but her attempts were futile. I managed to get the leather bindings around her wrists, securing her, then lifted her over my shoulder, taking her back to the bedroom. She screamed as I landed a hit on her backside out of pure enjoyment.
“If that was your idea of running, you fucking failed, Emmalin.” I flung her on the bed and before she could scoot away, I dragged her back down and flipped her over. I grabbed her bound wrists and hooked them to the side of the bed. I reached down and grabbed both her ankles and tied them both down so she was spread open. Then I took a pair of scissors and shredded her clothes.
“Motherfucker!” Her voice was muffled since her head was down. I grabbed her hair and yanked her head back.
“I’m sorry, love, did you say something?” Before she could speak, I shoved my tongue down her throat, swallowing any words or cries she had. She let out a soft moan, and I moved off the bed.
“Seems you’ve been very bad, Emmalin.”
She looked at me as best she could. I walked out of her view.
“I think you need to be taught a lesson, because punishing you isn’t fucking good enough. Fucking bratty indeed,” I muttered to no one in particular.
She whimpered softly and pulled on the leather bindings. I ran my fingertips up her slit, and she shivered. Fuck, she was drenched. I needed to focus. I went back to the closet, getting what I needed. Something she’s never experienced, and something I haven’t used in quite some time. My cane. I grabbed it without giving it a further thought.
“Count them out.”
Before she could speak, I caught her hard just above the back of her right knee. She screamed out.
“I said count them out!”
She was breathing heavy, her knuckles white from clenching too hard.
In a shaky voice, she finally spoke. “One.”
I landed a second blow right above the first mark. She screamed again. This time she was definitely crying. I wanted her tears. I wanted to break her. This is exactly what I’ve been wanting to do since day one.
“Two,” she choked out.
I adjusted my stance and laid another hit on the opposite side even harder, this one turning red immediately. I smiled at my handy work. It was like a work of fucking art.
“Stop. Please.”
She wasn’t going to take ten of these, and could probably barely take the five I wanted to dole out. I ignored her pleas. She had a safeword. We both knew it. She could stop this at any time. She had the power in all of this. “What number was that?” I was already getting ready for the next hit.
She sniffed. “Three,” she whispered.
“Louder!”
She jumped at my voice. She started to breathe harder, and I thought maybe she was hyperventilating.
“Three!” she shouted.
She took a tearful deep breath and that broke me out of my reverie. I released her ankles and immediately sunk into her, and she gasped. She moaned and arched her back, causing her pussy to clench me. I gripped her hair as I surged on harder, never taking my eyes off her, and the fact that her juices were now running down her thigh. Taking a glance at how red her skin was, I gripped her hips tighter, reached around, and rubbed her clit hard. She screamed as her pussy started pulsing around me. I dug my hand harder into her skin that was surely going to leave my prints and let out a thunderous cry, as I filled her with my seed before collapsing.
We lay there, breathing heavy. She was still tied to the bed, hair matted, face still streaked with tears, and shaking. Fuck. I quickly got up, and got the arnica oil. When I walked back to her, I froze. The welts were bad. I went too far. Too fucking far. I did the one thing I was never supposed to do. Scene out of anger. Not only that, but I used the fucking cane. I quickly untied her and pulled her to me gently.
She leaned back and slapped me as hard as she could, before burrowing her face in the crook of my neck. I shakily put my arm around her. “I shouldn’t have done that. I shouldn’t have done that when I was that angry. There’s rules, and that’s the number one rule. Never scene out of anger.” I felt my throat knot at the thought of hurting her. It wasn’t okay for me to do it, so it sure as fuck wasn’t okay for anyone else to do it.
She leaned back. I was preparing for another slap. “I didn’t like any of that, but I can’t figure out why that was one of the most intense orgasms of my life.” She looked at me, green eyes a bit glazed, cheeks flushed.
I tucked some hair behind her ear and sighed. “That’s because you’re a masochist. You have been for quite some time. I just don’t think you realized.” Her eyes grew wide and she frowned.
“Hey. It’s nothing to be ashamed of. Makes us even more perfect.”
“Or it makes us more fucked up.” she quietly said.
I ran my hand through my hair. “Lay on your front.” She obliged without any remarks, and I began to work, carefully rubbing the oil on her skin. She lightly flinched occasionally. My heart clenched. “You’ll have some bruising, and you’ll be sore for a few days,” I said when I was finished. I started to gently massage her skin to get her to relax. For about ten minutes, she said nothing. What she said next took me by surprise.
“Is this what you were like with them?”
I momentarily paused. She’d never brought my past relationships up before. Hell, they weren’t even relationships; it was just fucking. Pure rough enjoyment. I got off on the torment. “Yes. For the most part.”
“Is that what you want me to be? Like them. Do you wish I was more like them?”
I froze and started to think back at all the ways I’ve been pushing her limits sexually, and then tonight. Times when she should’ve safeworded me but didn’t. Did she want to safeword me, but she was so caught up trying to compare herself to them? Have I been hurting her this entire time? Did I mistake her sexual prowess of wanting more as my own sexual sadistic mindfuck?
Before I could respond, she kept talking.
“Because I can try harder if you need me to. I can try being more like them. I can take more.”
Her voice was small. I hauled her up, gripping her shoulders tight. Probably too tight. Her eyes were watery. “Emmalin. Where is this coming from? Did someone say something to you?”
She looked down. She looked conflicted again. “Nothing. I was just thinking out loud.”
More lies.