Page 214 of Captive Ruin

It’s a grin this time, playful and amused. He takes my nipple between finger and thumb, rolling it as he pulls slowly upward. Lightning shoots through me, straight to my brain, my sex, and my fingers tighten on the bars of the headboard.

“Turn over, Little Stray,” he croons.

“Is that… all you’ve got?” I ask, breathless.

He chuckles, low and soft, and his grip tightens around my throat, constricting my air. His other hand roughly pushes my thigh aside, and before I can realize what he intends, his fingers slap down on my pussy.

I cry out, eyes widening, struggling to draw a breath as he spanks my sex again, and again. None of the blows are hard, but it’s so sensitive. Each strike sends a jolt through my clit, and after half a dozen, I try to close my legs. He doesn’t allow it, tutting at me as he forces my knee open, and the next spank is the hardest one yet.

I whimper, the sound so quiet I’m not even sure he hears, but it’s all I have air for. His grip on my throat loosens immediately, and I draw in a shuddering breath. Every nerve is alive, my pussy on fire, so much that I’m only vaguely aware of the tingle in my breast.

He leans down and kisses me, and I open to him, closing my eyes as I lose myself in the feel of his tongue. His fingers play through my folds and tease my entrance, caressing me gently, and I moan my need into his mouth, my back arching.

He pulls back and gazes down at me, his eyes soft. “Are you going to obey?”

I scoff. “No.”

A rueful smile. “Are you always going to fight me?”

“Yes,” I whisper, yearning for this dynamic between us and so very aroused. Then I think about it. “No,” I correct, “not always.”

“I’ll take that,” he murmurs.

Then he flips me over, like I weigh nothing to him, my breath catching at the suddenness of it. His hand grips the back of my neck, holding me still, and the cuffs close around one wrist. I could struggle, and maybe one day soon I will. But for today, I lie docile, letting him thread the other end through the bars and tighten the cuffs around my other wrist.

Only then do I pull, closing my eyes at the feel of the chain catching, knowing myself bound by him. This is freedom. This is release. This is what I’ve been craving.

“Lift your hips, Little Stray.”

“Screw you, Van Wyk.” I smile into the sheet.

His fingers dig into my neck and he leans over me, his lips near my ear so I don’t miss a word. “I’m going to spank you until you lift your hips for me. And then I’m going to fuck you.” He pauses. “How long it takes you determines whether it’s your pussy I enjoy, or your tight little ass.”

“All of me is tight,” I retort.

“True,” he says, the word carrying his amusement. “Won’t be so tight when I’m done with you.”

His hand trails lightly down my back until his palm cups one cheek. He gives it a squeeze, spreading me open, then it’s gone. An instant later, his palm cracks into my flesh, driving a gasp from me. The heat comes a second later, the pain a second after that. I draw a ragged breath, bracing myself with my hands on the bars. I already want to lift my hips, but I don’t. That would be too easy.

The next blow lands on my other cheek, and I hear his grunt of effort in the same moment. He’s not holding back, and the whole of my ass is on fire.

“You wear my handprints on your beautiful ass so well,” he comments.

It’s hard to find enough breath to speak. “That’s because… my ass… is yours.”

“And all of me is yours.”

It doesn’t stop him spanking me again, and again, and I’d be disappointed if it did. Van Wyk isn’t a gentle man, and I wouldn’t want him to be. There’ll be time for quiet love-making in the days to come, but this isn’t the moment.

He pauses to run his hand over my searing cheek, soothing the sting, and it sends the heat direct to my pussy. I moan at his touch, pressing my hips to the bed not because I’m provoking him, but because I want the friction.

As if he can tell, his fingers dip between my legs. “You’re my good girl, all ready for me.”

“I’m not your good girl.” But I am. I really am.

“Such a bad girl,” he corrects, and his hand slaps down on my ass again.

This time, when I moan, I hear his grunt at the same moment, and the hint of pain carried within. He might be stronger, but he’s not yet strong, and I can’t imagine the stress on his shoulder. It’s his good arm that’s spanking me, his bad one pinning me down. His weight and strength are holding me helpless—by the scruff of my neck, as he always calls it.