17. Bad Pain - Rafe
I was too aware of the weight of my belt around my waist; thick, wide leather that would leave welts if I swung hard enough.
Fuck, I was tempted to.
But that was the anger talking because I rarely drew blood. Not purposefully. Certainly not born of the type of rage invading my system now. Alex needed punishment—a harsh lesson to reshape her behavior. She didn’t need my sick tendencies driving the act.
Fucking her would be reward enough for me. Hearing her beg to come would be enough. The ginger would be enough.
I had a large root with her name on it, just waiting for me to decide how big a piece she deserved before I carved the perfect shape to lodge into her ass. The idea of beating her ass first, then leaving her bent over the bed to watch me carve the ginger made me harder than fuck. The pain from the whipping would drive her insane as she waited for the burn she despised.
Oh hell.
The smile curving my mouth wasn’t good. This was supposed to be about punishment. About driving home the fact that she couldn’t just take off and put herself in danger whenever she fucking felt like it. Her fuck-up had gone way beyond mutilating her skin, or mouthing off, or disobeying some rule. She’d put herself at risk. Again.
Damn straight the punishment would be severe.
I filled a bowl with cold water, grabbed the ginger, and strode toward the hall, exhaling the most dangerous of my anger as I went, but Angel’s voice stopped me in my tracks.
“Don’t h-hurt her.”
The girl looked terrified. I gave Jax a meaningful glance. “You better take her for a long walk. We’re gonna be at least two hours.”
He nodded, understanding what I was getting at. Angel did too, because she cried in protest, begging me not to hurt Alex as he ushered her outside. But what she didn’t understand was that Alex needed the lesson.
She needed the fucking pain.
I’d reneged on doling out appropriate discipline a few weeks ago on her birthday, shortly after we’d set up camp. I hadn’t had the heart to punish her on such a special day, so I’d given her a verbal lashing and a pass on the physical punishment.
After all, her fingernails had barely left a mark on her skin—not deep enough to draw blood.
A few days later, I regretted it, because she’d gone apeshit with the sharp end of a roasting stick on her arm, leaving a nasty gouge. A nightmare had probably triggered the incident, and that had been my second mistake.
Instead of forcing her to talk, I’d waited for her to come to me.
In the end, the wound healed, but apparently my belt hadn’t done its job, and neither had her imprisonment in the bedroom these past few days, ankle shackle keeping her safe; if it had, she wouldn’t have even thought of going to her father without me.
I would not…could not go easy on her again. This time, I’d have to go beyond the physical.
As I headed into the bedroom, the realization cracked me in two, threatening to dent the shell I’d built around my heart all day as I agonized over her safe return.
My first glance at her in the corner, naked and on her knees with her hands together at her back, only armed me with more ammunition. She was so fucking prim in this moment. Demurely submissive. Too damn obedient. Alex knew exactly what she was doing. Everything about her body language spoke of repentance, but underneath the perfected pose, did she really feel remorse? Or was she playing me like only she could—appealing to the softer side of myself?
The man with a fucking conscience, with a healthy sense of socially acceptable versus socially fucked.
Alex was not this submissive doormat in front of me. Fuck no. She was the spitfire that fought me every step of the way. The strong woman who flipped the bird at me and anything else standing between her and what she wanted.
That type of behavior was how she’d ended up in that corner, telling a lie with the language of her body. Deceit stormed through her veins.
I wasn’t falling for it. Letting the door slam behind me, I started across the room with purpose and set the bowl onto the dresser, followed by the ginger root. From her corner of shame, she peeked at me.
“Rafe…no.”
“Was your visit with the old man worth it? Did you find what you were looking for?” Despite the hell she’d put me through, I hoped she’d found the closure she needed, though I highly doubted she had.
“You were right,” she said, and I knew admitting so cost her a huge chunk of her pride. “He’s a cold-hearted bastard.” She peeked at me again before her gaze darted to the ginger. “Don’t do this.”
“Your ass is gonna burn for what you did.” My tone left no room for argument, and the slump of her shoulders told me she heard it. “Bend over the bed.”
“Please!”
“Begging won’t help you, babe. Now get over there before you make things worse for yourself.”
She rose on shaky limbs and trudged to the bed, her head dipped, spirit dragging as if she were facing the firing squad. In her mind, she probably was. Alex could handle a lot of shit—all kinds of pain from whips and canes to the reliable weight of a firm hand.
But stretch her ass and make it burn, and you’d see her fracture.
She cast one final glance my way, imploring me for a stay of punishment. If not for the dampness on her cheeks, she might have persuaded me. But those tears of regret, fear, and even anger drew me in. Hardened my heart and my dick. Those tears were my weapon against her pleading, sorrowful eyes.
She draped the mattress, and I couldn’t have positioned her better myself; hands at the small of her back, legs planted shoulder-width apart on the floor, ass out.
She was the sublime picture of capitulation.
Still not falling for it, but I’d test it.
“I’m wearing your least favorite belt.” I let that dangle out there for a few seconds, giving her time to envision the agony the strap of leather would inflict, because her pain threshold was levels below it. “Can you stay still for this?”
“I’ll try.”
“No, babe. You either stay still, or you don’t. There’s no trying.”
“Don’t do this.”
“Don’t put yourself in danger again.”
Silence.
What could she say to that?
She chose the smart route and said nothing, and I reached for my buckle. “You’re damn lucky Jax has his hands full with Angel, because I’d let him whip you for what you did to his tires.” I slid the belt from the loops of my jeans, and she flinched.
I waited.
Seconds ticked off in my head, each one never quite the right moment to begin.
The first strike to her ass landed in surprise, and I got a high-pitched mewl as a reward for my sneak attack.
“How many?” she cried, voice strained with desperation. Giving her a number would allow her to focus on the end in sight instead of the pain of each burning lick. After what she’d pulled, I wanted her to feel every strike to the follicles of her hair and the bottoms of her feet.
“You’ll know when I know.”
I laid another one on her, the sharpness of thick leather on skin echoing off the walls. Then another.
I didn’t count, and even if I had kept count, I probably would have lost track. Turning her ass red did that to me—sent me to the darkest corners of my mind. The part of myself that terrified me most. With each jerk of her body, the tighter she fisted her hands, the closer together her whimpers came…
The more I fell into the pit of all that was twisted. My cock lengthened and hardened in my jeans, straining against the zipper. Painfully aroused.
Still, further into the black hole I went.
It took her letting loose a howling shriek and a break of the pose to snap me out of it. She got back into position before I could reprimand her. Dropping the belt on the floor, I filled my lungs with a calming breath, counted the rapid beats of my heart, prayed for patience and composure.
“Does it hurt?”
“Yes.” She sniffled.
“Is it a bad kind of hurt?”
She hesitated, no doubt tempted to lie.
“The truth, Alex.”
“It’s a…a g-good kind of hurt.”
Her butt cheeks were beet red, welting in some areas, and despite her low tolerance for that particular belt, I’d known what her answer would be. If her quaking thighs didn’t let me know, the shimmer of arousal between them would. Those sexy tanned legs of hers weren’t weak from pain. Fuck no. They shook with the effort it took to keep them spread. Not that closing them would give her relief. Her deviant cunt would still throb.
I pulled the chair from the opposite corner where I’d found Alex and moved it next to the nightstand, followed by the bowl and ginger. Removing a pocketknife from my jeans, I sat and began peeling and skinning the first finger off the root. “Time for the bad pain, sweetheart.”