Page 128 of Villainous Intent

“You think you’re failing,” I gritted out, my voice rough. “You think because you’re crying, because you’re scared, that you’re not doing this right.”

She sobbed, a hitching breath that shuddered throughout her whole body.

“Listen to me,” I commanded, biting down on the crook of her neck, just enough to sting but not actually hurt. “If you just opened your legs and took it like a good little whore, I’d be bored out of my mind.”

I pulled my fingers out slowly, letting them drag, then slammed them back in. She screamed, her head falling forward.

“I don’t want easy, Annie. I’ve had easy. I’ve had women who see the mask and the suit and get wet because they want to fuck a Villain. They’re predictable. They’re useless to me.”

I slapped her again, hard, right on the sensitive crease where her ass met her thigh.

“I want this,” I growled. “I want you fighting it. I want you terrified and wet at the same time. I want you hating how good it feels.”

I felt the change in her instantly. The tension in her shoulders shifted. She needed to know she was performing to standard. God, she was such a Keeper. Even here, bent over and breaking, she needed a performance review.

“You’re perfect like this,” I told her. “Broken. Messy. Mine.”

I withdrew my hand. My fingers were coated in her, shining in the red light. I held them in front of her face so she could see the evidence of her own desire.

“Look at that. That’s you. That’s what I wring out of you when you stop thinking.”

I wiped my hand on her lower back, marking her skin with her own scent.

Her whole body was humming with a frequency that screamed overload. She was at her limit, teetering on the edge of a panic attack or a complete shutdown, and she wouldn’t say a damn word. She’d bite her tongue until it bled before she admitted she couldn’t take anymore.

I wasn’t going to wait for her to break the wrong way.

I stepped back, my hands going to my belt. I shoved my jeans and boxers down, kicking them aside. The relief to my cock was immediate, but the hunger was worse. I wanted to be inside her. I wanted to bury myself in that heat and forget everything but her.

But I had promised her a lesson. And I was feeling generous.

“You were looking at the wall earlier,” I said, stepping back into her line of sight. “Curious about the inventory.”

“Yes.” Her voice was hoarse from screaming.

“Do you want to feel it? Just once?”

She hesitated, her knuckles white where she gripped the bench, then gave a jerky nod.

“I need to hear it. Use your words, Annie. Tell me what you want.”

“The crop,” she gasped. “Please. Let me feel the crop.”

I took down the riding crop, testing its weight in my hand. It was flexible, the leather tip broad enough to sting without cutting. I walked back to her and dragged the tip along her spine. She flinched, her muscles seizing tight under the light touch.

I traced the leather over the curve of her waist and let it rest against the side of her thigh. She was waiting for the strike, her breath held, her body coiled tight.

“Relax,” I ordered, moving behind her.

I positioned myself, lining my hips up with hers. I was going to make this seamless. Pain, then pleasure. Shock, then fullness.

“Spread your legs a little wider.” She obeyed, the cuffs clinking as she adjusted.

I raised my arm and snapped my wrist. The leather bit into the fleshy part of her ass, right over the redness my hands had already left.

She made a sharp, shocked sound, her hips jerking forward.

I didn’t give her a second to recover. I dropped the crop to the floor and stepped in, my hand immediately covering the stinging mark, rubbing it firmly as I drove my hips forward.