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“Sing for me, little bird,” he growls behind me, trailing his knuckles over the raw skin he just claimed. “Sing for me, and I’ll stop.”
A new heat bubbles under my skin, one fueled by my stubbornness. I clamp down on my lip so hard my skin breaks. He won’t get the satisfaction of breaking me, even if I can’t separate my mind from the wrath of his hand.
Even if…
Fuck.I dig my teeth into my bottom lip even harder, and I don’t even stop when I taste metal. Not only can’t I seem to take my mind above the clouds but I can’t even get it out of the fucking gutter. I’m more aware than ever. Aware of my nipples stiffening against the cloth. Of the dull ache in my pussy every time his hand departs my skin. I want to give him what he wants: my scream. But not because the pain is unbearable, but because of what the pain is morphing me into.
By the sixth slap, I’m more at war with myself than I am with him. My inner thighs are sticky, tingling with the anticipation of each slap.
I brace myself for a seventh, but it doesn’t come. All movement ceases behind me, my labored, strangled panting the only noise filling the air. After a few beats, I tilt my head, catching the Devil’s glittery eyes. His pupils are enlarged, the darkest shade of black. Mouth taut in a hard line. He’s thinking dark, dangerous thoughts. I can practically see them swirling above his head like his own personal storm cloud.
I know, just by that manic stare, that I haven’t won this battle.
I’m not even close.
Without warning, he lunges over me, pinning me to the table once more. His mouth grazes the shell of my ear while his finger swipes over my bottom lip. He brings my blood to my eye line. “You’d rather make yourself bleed than break for me, silly girl. I wonder, is your resolve so high because…” He finishes his sentence by sliding two of his fingers over my sensitive folds. It’s instinctive for my legs to buckle. He brings his other hand to my hip to steady me, letting out a malicious laugh. “As I thought. This is why you didn’t want me to stop,” he whispers in my ear. “You like being punished.”
“No,” I croak, emphasizing my point with a frantic headshake.
“Liar.” He spits the word out like a dragon spits fire and punctuates it by sinking his teeth into my neck. The warm pain sends a sonic boom through my body, and a moan finally pushes through my mouth.
“There it is,” he murmurs to himself, “I knew it. You’re a depraved little slut.” As his teeth graze over my throbbing pulse, he continues to stroke my pussy lips. “Like husband, like wife.”
I use all of my might to block out his words, making a last-ditch attempt at reaching the sky. But I can’t ignore the heat that builds in my lower stomach with every stroke. How the ghost of his slaps burns hotter than before, adding to my torture. “You said pain,” I wheeze, biting on my bloodied lip again, smashing my nose into the cloth.
“No, fate said pain, sweetheart. But fate isn’t the boss here. I am.”
He flicks my clit just like he flipped the coin. My back arches, my toes curling underneath my feet. “Sing, baby,” he taunts me. “Sing like a broken little bird.”
“No,” I stammer. “I won’t.” I don’t know who I’m trying to convince, him or me. But when he flicks my clit again, then rolls it between his thumb and forefinger, I can’t control the explosion that lights up my core, exploding outward throughout my body.
My release is chasing me, and there’s nowhere to run. My only defiance is that I continue biting my lip, refusing to let out even a whisper of pleasure. Even when my body shakes violently, even when my knees buckle underneath me, I clamp down on my flesh, like I’m hunkering down in a storm.
I come down off my high like it’s a sickening fairground ride. I’m queasy, dizzy, conflicted about what my buzz is.
His hands pushed me off the cliff, and I fell into the abyss. But I didn’t break. In the pregnant silence, I can’t resist turning, getting a glimpse of the Devil I defeated. I want to etch his expression into my memory, so I can pull it up whenever I need to remember my own strength.
But he’s not disappointed, nor is he angry. His expression is frighteningly calm as if he’s detached himself from the situation. Suddenly, he grips my hips and flips me onto my back, like I weigh less than a helium balloon. My breasts fully escape my torn dress, leaving another private part of me exposed to him.
He looms over me like a venomous thought. His beard tickles my chest, lighting the nerves in my nipples on fire. “Fight all you like, but you’re only delaying the inevitable. And when I make you break, it’ll taste even sweeter.”
With one last lingering look, he strides past me and out of the dining area, leaving me exposed. “And Romy?”
I don’t move.
“You were right. Your dinner tasted fucking awful.”
