Page 127 of Captive Ruin

His hand slips around my throat, his grip lighter than usual yet all-too familiar. I can’t repress my shiver. “It tells me you want to fight.”

“I don’t,” I say quickly. Maybe I do, but I know I’ll lose.

He doesn’t release my neck but steps around me with fluid grace, pulling me back against his chest. And this is why I’ll lose; he’s not just so much stronger than me, he’s faster too. He’s a predator, and he moves like one. I will always be his prey.

The cuffs slip around one wrist, drawing tight, velvety against my skin. He pulls my other hand back, and I shiver but don’t resist.

He pushes me toward the breakfast table. “Do you remember what I said to you, that first time in your apartment?”

Almost all of it. His words from that night are engraved into my memories.

“Hands behind your back, please.”

“Don’t kick. If you do, your punishment will be far worse.”

“Oh, shush. We both know you want me here.”

“Mostly you refused to leave,” I reply, closing my eyes as I can’t help but strain against the cuffs. The chain holds, as it always does. “And you may have mentioned how gorgeous my ass was.”

He chuckles. “It still is, and that’s a convenient segue.” He pushes me against the table, then bends me over it, the wood cool against my breasts and smelling strongly of polish. “If you recall, I told you I hadn’t intended to punish you so soon, but there’s a merit to getting it out of the way. Then you’ll know what happens when you defy me.”

“I’m not going to defy—” I break off with a gasp as his hand slaps into my ass.

“You did earlier.” He pins me with a hand between my shoulder blades and slaps my other cheek. Heat radiates out and the blow is hard enough to push my thighs against the edge of the table.

Great, more bruises.

What’s worse is how getting spanked like this sends the ache right to my pussy, and not in a bad way. It’s as if I like it, even though I don’t.

That’s not as convincing as it should be.

“You like this, don’t you?” he asks, as if reading my mind.

“No.”

His fingers dip between my legs. “Are you sure?”

I moan, feeling him part my labia, teasing my entrance, spreading my arousal around. Is there any point denying it? Is there any point saying no to a man who sees that like a bull sees a red flag?

He spanks me again and again, while my wrists strain at the cuffs, my knees buckle, and each blow causes my breasts to rub against the polished surface. It’s not merely the pain, it’s the way he does it. Keeping me pinned, even though it’s redundant. The irregular delays, making me anticipate each new strike. The way some blows are on the crease of my thighs, which is a different kind of sting and deliberately sadistic, the bastard.

If it were only that, I could endure. But it’s not. What breaks me is when he gently runs his palm over my ass, his touch soothing and so damn electrifying. Every time he does, my pussy clenches, and I can’t help the whimpers that escape. It seems I can keep in the sounds of pain, but not the sounds of pleasure. It’s humiliating.

“God, I love spanking you,” he murmurs. “The feel of your body, the noises you make.”

“So glad,” I bite out. At least one of us enjoying our marriage.

“And the best bit is now I get to do it whenever I want, wife.”

“Because before, you had to ask my permission.”

He chuckles, squeezing one cheek as I screw my eyes tight in an effort not to moan. It’s only partly successful. “I was referring to you living in your apartment. Now you’re by my side.”

“Only until death do we part,” I say, trying to make it as much of a threat as I can.

“I’ll get you that book on toxic plants for Christmas,” he replies, “and you can buy me one on antidotes. A marriage is all about balance and partnership, right?”

I laugh mirthlessly. “Does that make it my turn to bend you over a table?”