Page 105 of Coal Hearts

My mind shot back to that awful night when I’d been so fucking close to ending it. The urges in my blood had been too insistent, too savage. I’d tried to block them out. Tried to hurt myself instead of another.

I’d barely been aware I stabbed the knife into my upper thigh, corkscrewing the blade, hunting for my femoral artery, doing my best to feel anything other than the sick monstrosity inside me—

Stop.

Blinking away bad memories, I focused on Ily.

Our eyes locked.

Her sunshine-golden ones seemed far too bright and innocent for this place. A ray of light in a world of nightmares. That was her true calling. Her real identity. She wasn’t the sun shining upon my darkness but a nightmare dragging me deeper.

“Five strikes to start.” I raised my arm, fisting the book. “Five hard smacks to ensure you understand, once and for all, that there is no escape. Nod so I know you’re listening.”

She nodded.

My cock thickened.

“You’re mine now. Your every breath, every drop of blood, every bone, every thought and prayer and scream belong to me. Nod.”

She nodded.

I swallowed a groan. “Let’s see how pink we can get your ass in five swats, shall we? Ensure everyone out there knows you belong to me.”

I didn’t give her time to react.

With a grunt, I brought the leather-bound classic down and smacked her. I added as much violence as I could for the cameras, all while tempering my strength a second before the pages collided with her ass.

My mouth went dry as the resounding thwack echoed in the mote-dancing library. Instantly, her ass bloomed an incriminating red.

And just like that, I went disgustingly hard.

Real. Fake. Didn’t matter. The savagery of hitting a vulnerable woman. A woman I’d just sworn to protect through brutality unravelled me.

Ily didn’t make a sound.

Her silence made everything a thousand times worse.

Keeping one hand on her hip, I brought the book up again.

Our eyes locked.

She shut down.

And I choked on a groan as I struck her a second time. My entire body jolted. I ran my thumb over her hipbone, tracing the colours I’d delivered on her skin, stroking her with the tiniest bit of kindness.

“Scream for me,” I growled, raising the book again.

Ily was my reckoning and condemnation all in one as I wrenched my arm down, adding as much force as I could for those watching us, narrowly preventing my full strength from hurting her.

This time, she cried out.

Not quite a scream. Not quite a yelp.

A heady, hurting grunt that set my heart on fire.

My entire body turned into a pyre. My stomach knotted. My cock throbbed. I did my best to ignore the feelings she conjured in me and threw myself into the pantomime.

“Again.” I struck her a fourth time. The singing slap was the sweetest, foulest music.