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"Such a beautiful slut you are, Abby. Who’d have thought the mafia princess would turn out to be the poster child for an obedient slave?"
Something cool touches me between my butt cheeks, and I sigh as he dabs the wet washcloth between my legs. He spreads a salve over my arse-cheeks, and the burn instantly fades to a low-level throb. A heaviness drags down my arms and legs, and I sink my cheek further into the pillow. I hear him cap the ointment and place it on the bedside table, then I shiver, for he’s dragged his finger down my lower cleavage.
"Are you tender?"
I nod.
"Did it hurt?’
I nod again.
"Mission accomplished."
I hear the smirk in his voice.Goddamn him.Anger curls under my skin. I dig my fingers into the wood of the headboard.What a bastard he’s turned out to be. And you’re responsible for it. So, it’s only right you’re the one paying for it, too, right?
Heat cocoons me, and the next second, he’s unwound the ties around my wrists. He pulls off my blindfold and removes my gag. I blink, then sit up on my knees. I hear his steps move toward the doorway, and I pivot around on the bed.
"Where are you going?" I call after him.
He doesn’t stop.
"Cade!" I push off the bed. My knees tremble, and the space between my legs throbs, but I limp out of my room and am halfway across the living room before I find him standing by the doorway.
I slow to a halt, and he turns to face me over his shoulder. "What is it?"
"I…" I swallow. "Can we do that again?"
17
Cade
And with those words, she floored me. I’d expected her to scream at me, rage at me, tell me how much she hates me. Hell, I’d been counting on it, to be honest. It’s why, although a part of me wanted to stay and care for her after how I’d taken her, I forced myself to walk away. In fact, I tried to leave without even applying the ointment to her reddened behind, but I couldn’t talk myself out of it.
She makes me weak. She forces me to find the last dregs of goodness in myself. She makes me want to become a better man, and I hate her even more for that. She asked me that question, and I gaped at her. It took a good few seconds for me to find my balance, then I drawled, "Sure, sugar, but next time, I won’t go easy on you."
She paled further, and I knew I’d had the last word. It should have made me happy, but instead, I only felt like a heel. So, I turned, slammed the door shut behind me, and left.Fucking hell, she’s going to make me a motherfuckin’, pussy-whipped, sniveling coward—unless I prove otherwise to myself.
Which is why I came straight to practice, hungover as hell. It’s why I pushed myself to run an extra three laps on the track. Then practiced my sprinting, breaking my previous records, before putting in an extra hour at net practice with the lads.
Now, I’m back at the gym on the lower level of Lords, trying to bench press an additional fifty pounds. Sweat slides down my temples; my biceps burn; my triceps hurt. My pectorals scream in protest, but I don’t pause. I continue to try to lift the weight-laden bar over my head. 'Try' being the operative word, for the bar begins to slip. My heart crashes into my ribcage. I’m braced for impact from the weights hitting my chest when a pair of hands grabs the bar and rights it.
"The fuck, King? Don’t you ever know your limits?" Declan helps me lower the weights back into the cradle behind my head. I sit up with my breath coming in pants. My shoulder muscles feel like they’ve been put through the wringer. My abs ache. My entire torso feels bruised. I push up to standing, then let out a groan. My entire body is one giant, throbbing ache. Just like she must have been hurting after I took her.
Oh, she loved it, was on the verge of climaxing so many times, but I didn’t let her. I took her to the edge over and over again, but I didn’t let her orgasm. And I commanded her not to come until I give her permission. Which means, submissive that she is, no amount of her trying to bring herself to climax will work. It’s the kind of punishment that’s going to drive her out of her mind with anticipation and craving. An erotic retribution for what she did to me, but disciplining, nevertheless. It will serve to heighten her pleasure when I finally fuck her into a climax, of course.
Doesn’t mean it won’t hurt her in the meantime, and not only physically. She loved it when I spanked her. And the sight of my palm prints on her backside was enough to give me a permanent hard-on. Still, leaving without taking care of her and bringing her down from her high will have hurt her even more. I’m a bastard. At least, I’m living up to the reputation I’ve earned from all of the women I’ve dated, so far. Except, none of them counted. But her? She’s different. It’s why I need to keep my feelings divorced from my plan of making her pay.
"Cade, did you hear me?"
Declan’s voice cuts through my thoughts.
"Yes, I did, and yes, I’m going to Zara’s wedding." Yep, in between the shit-show that my life has become, my sister called me to say that she’s getting married, and to Hunter Whittington, no less. She’s marrying the man tipped to be the next Prime Minister of the country. Oh, and it’s going to be a surprise to Hunter, so I’m not supposed to breathe a word of it to him. Not that it’s a likely scenario, considering the only time I’ve met Hunter in person, at the V & A Ball, we came to blows. And now, he’s going to marry my sister. At least, he’s in love with her. That much was clear from our last encounter. And this is the least I can do for Zara, given I spent so much of our growing years not being there for her.
"Cade? Get your head out of your arse, man, and get a move on," Declan interrupts me.
"Eh?" I grab my towel and mop my forehead before I drape it around my neck. "The wedding’s not for another few hours."
"And you need to shower and get dressed."
