“Fourteen!”

Sweat poured down my face as I hit again and again. My breathing matched hers. I’d never been so turned on in all my life or so fucking disgusted.

It made me face things I’d hidden deep, deep inside. It drew ghosts and terrors all into confrontation. I needed to run. Before I lost myself.

But I couldn’t leave. I knew in my heart, I wouldn’t be able to walk away from this without fucking her. There was nothing on this earth that would stop me from taking her the moment I’d finished the last lash. I didn’t care I wasn’t supposed to touch her until the Third Debt.

I don’t fucking care.

Everything was on the line. Everything that before had been enough to keep me subservient and in my father’s pocket, now wasn’t.

I’d been obedient. Loyal. Done everything he ever asked of me.

But that was before I found something I wanted more than what my future held.

My cock rippled with pre-cum as I struck.

“Fifteen!”

Nila was mine.

I wanted her.

I’d take her.

I grunted as I swung again, throwing my body weight into the strike.

“Sixteen.” She shifted, pressing her forehead against the post. Her hair stuck to the blood oozing on her shoulders. She gasped, dragging in air as if she drowned.

“Seventeen!” she screamed as I drew forth more crimson agony. Her abused, glowing skin split, sprinkling rusty droplets down her ribcage.

My eyes glazed; I stumbled closer.

I’m sorry.

You’re not sorry.

I needed to touch her. Heal her. Fuck her.

My arm bellowed as I delivered three in quick succession.

“Eighteen.”

“Nineteen.”

“Twenty!” Nila collapsed, her knees buckling. Her weight transferred entirely to the cuffs.

My arm fell by my side. I could barely stand. My lungs sucked in air as if I were dying; my heartbeat existed everywhere, vibrating in the plants around us, roaring in my ears.

One more.

Do it.

I looked to the camera hidden in the ferns. My father would watch this later and reprimand me for being affected. He would see the glaze in my eyes, the desire on my face. He would make me pay for not freezing her first. He would destroy all the warmth that now existed in my heart and take me back to the person I hated.

That was my future.

But this was our present.

This was ours.

I struck. Hard. Too hard. Too fucking hard. My mind couldn’t free itself from things Nila would never understand. Her world was black and white. Betrayal versus love. Truth versus deception.

My world was different. So very, very different.

“Twenty-one!” Nila let go of her frayed self-control. Sobs broke through her lips, tears cascading down ghost-white cheeks. “Please—no more. Stop.” She tried to stand but couldn’t find the strength. “Please! No—I can’t—”

Twenty-one.

The lucky number.

Her tears dragged dangerous compassion from my arctic soul, hauling me into humanness.

Bad things happened when I let myself get this way.

Terrible things that I couldn’t control.

But Nila was my undoing.

I think I’d known that the moment I tore her dress off in Milan. I had no strength to pretend—not after this. Not now.

I needed to take her. To fully claim her, so I could give in completely to the one thing I’d run from all my life.

If I took her now, there would be no turning back for me. Damn the fucking consequences.

Groaning, I threw away the flogger. “It’s over.”

Nila sobbed harder, gratefulness a sharp tang in the air.

With shaky fingers, I unbuttoned my jeans, moving forward into destruction and disrepair.

She was my prize.

Nothing would stop me from taking it.

I COULDN’T MOVE.

I couldn’t stand up, breathe, think, or feel without being bombarded by agony. I’d never hurt so much. Not even after a tortuous fifteen-hour day huddled over a sewing machine, or twelve hours on my feet in stilettos.

I’d never been subjected to pain such as this.

To a beating such as this.

And this was the easiest of the debts?

Terror clogged my throat at the thought of what the others entailed.

Movement caught my attention. I forced my tear-stained vision to focus on Jethro as he prowled to the ferns and reached into the foliage. What was he doing?

A second later he moved toward me¸ every step full of temper and thick, thick lust.

Shit.

I squirmed, tugging on the cuffs. Before the whipping, I would’ve willingly let him take me. I wanted him to.

But not like this.

Not like this!

Not when my brain wept with agony and my emotions were completely screwed up.

“No,” I groaned.

Jethro gritted his jaw, his hand disappearing into his jeans.

A keening wail clawed up my throat. I couldn’t let him fuck me. I hurt. So damn much. I wasn’t turned on or interested in the slightest. I couldn’t stomach being molested further.

You don’t have a choice.

My heart cracked at the thought. No, I didn’t have a choice. He would take me. There was nothing I could do about it.

Apart from…

Appeal to the warmth you know is inside him. Make him listen. Make him see.

Jethro’s hands landed on my hips, yanking me away from the post. My body was jelly, my skin slick with sweat and blood.

Shaking my head, I moaned, “Please don’t touch me.”

Jethro’s only response was rubbing his thumbs in slippery circles on my damp hips.

Clamping my thighs together, I forced my depleted body to obey. My ankles crossed awkwardly, my breathing tattered. “Jethro—please…don’t do this.”

He froze, panting harshly in my ear. “You want me. You’ve toyed with me and offered yourself up every time we fight.” His forehead rested against my nape, his breath scattering down my spine. “Yet, now that I’m willing to throw away the fucking rule book, you decide you don’t want me?” His voice dripped with venom. “Make up your damn mind, woman.”

His knee tried to wedge between my legs, working its way to widen my thighs. I used every ounce of remaining strength to lock my knees tighter.

“Let me give it to you. Don’t take it. Not by force. Don’t make me ha—hate you more than I already do.” Tears torrented from the corners of my eyes.