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I can hear the sound of a buckle, and I glance over my shoulder, seeing him sliding his belt from his pant loops.
“What are you doing with that?” I whisper.
He smirks, pulling the belt the rest of the way from his pants. He folds it over, and the leather makes a loud clapping noise that has me jolting in place.
“What are you keeping from me, Lakyn?” he asks me quietly.
I shake my head, glancing over my shoulder at him. “Nothing!”
The sound of leather cutting through the air reaches my ears before a burning pain ripples across my skin.
Slap.
I arch, my hands releasing the counter as I glance over my shoulder, my fingers pressing against my burning skin. “Ouch!” I scream.
He growls, his hand going to the back of my head. He twists it around, pointing my face away from him.
“Tell me what you’re keeping from me,” he growls.
I know I’m not the best at keeping secrets, but I can’t be that obvious, right?
I settle my forehead against the countertop. “I’m not keeping anything from you, Reign,” I plead.
Slap.
The slap is dangerously close to my pussy, the tip of the leather just grazing my folds. The burning turns to a throb, abating off to an ache that has me rubbing my thighs together.
Slap.
I let out a groan, rolling my head to the side as pleasure-filled pain rushes through my limbs. My eyes begin to water, and my lips open on a gasp, pressing against the counter.
It feels so fucking good. It feels horribly bad.
I don’t know how I feel, but I can’t stop the pleasure that rips through me.
Slap.
My eyes roll in the back of my head as the leather, gentler this time, slaps right against my wetness. Directly over my clit.
It starts thumping, pulsing, begging for a release that I’m unsure I’ll receive.
His warm body rests over mine, his fingers slipping between my folds. I roll my hips as he slides two fingers inside me, curling them until I jolt under him, my vision fading from the pleasure.
“If you tell me your secret, I’ll give you the orgasm you’re so desperate for,” he mumbles.
I swallow over the lump in my throat, my hips grinding against the heel of his hand, needy for release.
His fingers slip out of me, and I let out a cry, turning toward him. “Please,” I beg.
He leans in, his nose brushing against mine. “Tell me,” he seethes. He speaks gently, yet the tension radiating off him is enough to flatten the world. He is full of rage, vengeful, and he’ll do anything to get the answer he wants.
I take a sharp breath, my lungs constricting in fear.
But I’m so desperate.
I lick my lips, hoping I can give him at least a half-truth.
“The slasher came to me,” I whisper.
