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She shivers. “Alright.”
Fuck. After last night’s frenzy, I expected some resistance, but this submission has me weak at the knees.
I lower myself onto the mattress, the springs groaning under my weight. My erection presses painfully against my zipper, and I suppress a moan.
Finally, I have my good girl who used to warm my heart on cold mornings with her heated words. She’ll fall in line after thisround of spanking, then we’ll interrogate the men downstairs and fuck in a pool of their blood.
“Come here.” I gesture for her to come closer.
“Spank this.” She snatches the bowl, tosses its contents in my face, and bolts toward the door.
“Fucking hell!” I lurch after her, half-blinded by the spray of cereal and milk.
By the time I reach the door, she’s already grabbing the bannister, her light steps turning into panicked stomps as she barrels down the stairs.
Amethyst Crowley is a creature of many personalities, and I’m not liking this uncooperative version of her one bit.
Cursing under my breath, I give chase and hurdle over the banister to where she’s reached the bottom of the stairs.
She charges toward the front door, screaming like she’s trying to open the gates of hell, but I’m faster. Grabbing her from behind, I wrap an arm around her waist and jerk her back against my chest.
“Let go of me, you murderer!” she yells at the top of her voice. “Help?—”
I clamp a hand over her mouth to muffle her scream. As she gasps and flails and kicks, I lean into her ear and snarl, “Are you trying to get me arrested?”
The vicious little ghost has the nerve to nod.
“Nice try, but the cops already moved out of number 11, and Mrs. Baker in number 15 knows how to keep her mouth shut.”
She clamps her teeth around my finger, but the pain goes straight to my cock and only makes me groan. “Keep struggling. I didn’t lay a finger on you last night when you were having that little episode, but today, I want to fuck a wildcat.”
Amethyst falls limp in my arms and doesn’t struggle when I lead her into the living room and take a seat on her sofa.
Laying her across my lap, I run a hand over her rounded ass. “I was going to give you four spanks for not eating your cereal. How many do you think you deserve for throwing it in my face?”
“Get off me, you psycho!”
I grab her hair and pull it back to meet her defiant eyes. “Is that the way to speak to the man keeping you alive?”
She laughs, the sound hysterical and shrill. “There’s a word when a killer ties a woman to a bed and scares her half to death, and it isn’t alive.”
Heat flares through my veins at her audacity. “You little brat. There’s only so much ingratitude a man can take before he snaps.”
“Let me go.” She squirms on my lap, rubbing that delectable little body against my cock.
Frustration wells in my gut. If she were any other woman, I’d rise off the sofa, watch her fall to the floor, walk the fuck out of number 13 Parisii Drive, and leave her to her fate.
But she isn’t.
She captured my heart for the entire time I was in captivity, and showed me her vulnerabilities. Made me fucking care. I devoured her manuscripts and tasted her soul. I read her letters and inhaled her heavenly scent. And after lights out, it was her images in my mind and her musk in my nostrils when I stroked my cock to oblivion.
Amethyst has made me her captive in a prison based on pretty lies. That’s not something I can easily forgive.
“Six,” I say.
“What?” she squawks.
“You can accept six spanks or twelve.”
