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Not like this.
She tucked the sonogram in her bag. “Chloe, you can’t tell anyone. Not until after I figure out how to tell Brendan, and he should be the one to tell his cousins, you know?”
Chloe took her hand in hers. “Sweetie, I would never betray a confidence like this one. I know what you’re feeling, and trust me when I tell you everything is going to be okay—more than okay. Brendan loves you. He’s going to be so happy when he finds out he’s going to be a daddy.”
Maybe.
She hoped so.
As soon as she figured out how.
There was no chugging sound, just the strained grinding of wheels on the elevated track. As each second passed, the train brought him closer to satisfying the darkness that permeated his soul. To easing his hunger, quenching his thirst. He could feel his pulse quicken in anticipation, the blood pumping and coursing through his veins.
The city, frozen in winter’s icy clutches, flew past. A muted blur through the cold glass, but he didn’t notice. She flashed in his mind. How had he fallen for her lies? He let her in and allowed himself to be caught in her web of seduction.
Restless. He needed off this train. Then the sophisticated games he had choreographed in his mind could finally be played. Every detail was perfect. He rifled through his bag one more time, fingering the leather of the whip, the silken bonds, the objects of pain that brought pleasure.
He could almost feel her petal-soft skin, her fragile wrist, as he let the silk slip through his fingers. She would struggle, and the bonds would tighten, cutting into her delicate flesh, bruising her unmarred skin. The thought made him smile. He would tenderly caress the markings of her bondage, sweeping his fingers over every inch of flesh. She would quiver and moan as sweet sensations swept over her body, as she undulated within the bonds in readiness for him. Yes, she would like the game to begin that way.
The fantasy flourished in his mind. He swallowed back his own saliva, but it was her essence, her thick, salty-sweet blood that he tasted. He imagined the terror that would fill her eyes when she saw the blade, when it cut into her thigh, and the crimson nectar welled from the wound. And just as the blood began to trickle down, he would lap it slowly, savoring the feel of it and the taste of it on his tongue. His cock was hard now, as hard as forged steel, its length and girth increasing in proportion to his lust.
She owed him.
He rubbed himself through his clothes to heighten his arousal. He didn’t want to come, just to keep himself on edge. He couldn’t wait to pour his seed into her dripping cunt, explode inside her hot little mouth, her tight ass. He had come this far, and had to play the game to its conclusion. The train reached his stop. He wouldn’t have to wait much longer.
Only a thickness of rich mahogany wood stood between them. He tapped on the door and heard her footfalls padding toward it.
“Oh, it’s you.” She held a glass of red wine in her hand.
“You lied.”
She smirked. “I did.” And with a shrug, she drained the wine from her glass.
He already knew that, of course, but the admission of her deceit rocked him. His anger and sense of betrayal boiled just beneath the surface.
“Why?” He looked into her amber eyes for the truth, but it wasn’t there.
He pushed past the door and turned her to face him. Startled. Her eyes went big and wide. That pleased him. He held her head firmly between his hands and lowered his lips to hers, brushing them softly, before plunging his tongue inside her hot mouth. He wanted to devour her.
He kissed her mouth until he was her breath, until her knees threatened to buckle out from underneath her. Abruptly, he pulled his lips away and grabbed a fistful of her long black hair, forcing her head back roughly, exposing her neck to his hungry mouth. His fingers trailed over her creamy skin, tracing the pulse that beat just beneath its surface.
“Bitch!”
He slapped her with such force that she was knocked against the wall, falling into a crumpled heap upon the hardwood floor. She brought her hand to her cheek, and before she could stand on her own accord, he grabbed her by the hair again and dragged her to the foot of the bed.
She looked up at him stunned. Dazed. He wanted her to feel his anger with every contact of his boot against her ribs. And when his fist slammed hard into her gut, she sat bolt upright and doubled over, clutching her belly, but she didn’t scream. She didn’t cry. She didn’t make a sound. There was pleasure in the pain he brought her.
Standing over her, he watched as she sat with her arms crossed over her stomach, her chest heaving up and down. He thought how it must hurt her to even breathe, how every inhalation and expiration of precious air caused her pain.
It wasn’t enough.
She didn’t hurt enough.
She, the woman he once needed, and he, the man she once craved. Still, he hungered. He would give her all that she craved, everything she deserved, and more.
Without conscious thought, his carnal impulses, his dark urges, took over. He hauled her up from the floor, and casting aside the bonds of silk, he reached for the coarse rope and tied her wrists to the foot posts. It annoyed him that she didn’t try to squirm out of his hold, that she didn’t struggle in her captivity, that she didn’t even utter a sound.
The whip rested gently in his palms. He traced it delicately with his fingers and breathed in the scent of leather, before gripping the handle is his right hand. He drew his arm back and snapped the whip. He loved the feel of it, the sound it made when it connected with flesh. He loved to watch the perfection of skin glowing hot and pink and then red. The welts as they rose and then bled. She had a nice ass. High and round, with delicate skin.
