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I hiss, “Fuck you.”
It’s silent except for the slap of the wood against my skin. I buck forward and moan.
“Your ass is already red, brat. You should start counting. Fifty is a lot. You might not make it.”
He hits me harder, and I arch up, trying to wiggle away, but can’t manage. I’m trussed up.
“Again?” he asks as I struggle to form words.
When another lands, I scream out “One!” only to feel my chest swell when Skylar praises me for being a good boy. Fuck, I love when he says that. Every time he does, something grows inside of me.
Me, good? Who would have thought?
And thus it begins, the long and torturous fifty spankings, with me screaming and shouting the numbers, my ass on fire, my dick dripping with precum as I find myself in between pleasure and pain. Euphoric. Sensational.
I sob through the last ten, each number tumbling from my mouth in a plea. For less, for more.
More.More.
Those words ring through my head as the final blow lands, Skylar’s breath coming out roughly, his hands cradling my ass as he trails his fingers over the welted skin.
“Fuck you’re so pretty,” he says as I feel the ropes loosen from my wrists and ankles. He pulls me into his arms, my skin stinging as he jostles me slightly and carries me to the bedroom. Gently, he sets me on the bed and strips out of his clothes, tossing the lube onto the bed next to me and crawling up between my legs.
My arms reach out to hold him to me as he slides wet fingers into my hole, opening me up to him. And when his cock enters me slowly, I moan his name, pulling him in for a deep kiss.
As he thrusts into me, slow and almost too gentle, he whispers, “I could never forget you. You. Are. Mine.”
My eyes sting and I shut them to keep him out, but he tells me to look at him, to let him see me, so I do. He swims before me as he rocks into my tight, slick channel, his words settling in my chest.
“Mine. Mine. Mine.”
Those words settle somewhere in my chest, and I sigh as I come, the wordyourson my lips.
CHAPTERNINETEEN
EPILOGUE-SKYLAR
Diablo and I don’t have a traditional relationship, but I knew it wouldn’t be with people like us. Things are different, but I like it.
I like him.
“You were late,” Diablo says, standing in the kitchen of our new apartment, trying to cook, but from the smell of it, failing miserably.
“Sorry, brat, I stopped and got you something,” I say, leaning down to press a kiss to his neck and grabbing his ass. He hisses at the rough way I handle him. I spanked him again yesterday for being a little shit, but he was asking for it by slashing my pillow with a knife.
Apparently, I forgot to kiss him goodbye.
Some would say it’s toxic, but it works for us.
“What did you get me?” he asks, turning to look at me. I reach into the bag around my wrist and pull out a saw.
Diablo’s eyes light up. “A reciprocating saw?”
“The one and only.”
Diablo’s eyes crinkle in the corners as he throws himself at me, hugging me tightly before pulling away. He doesn’t do it often, but when he does, my stomach gets butterflies. I think he likes cuddling and touching more than he lets on.
And I’m happy to give it to him. He’s mine.
