Page 46 of Sinful Bride

"Three."

He's methodical about it, like he truly is punishing me, not trying to be cruel. Each strike lands in a slightly different spot, spreading the pain across my entire ass and upper thighs. The belt is thick leather, and every impact sends shock waves through my body. I can hear the sound of it cutting through the air before it lands. Can hear my own breathing, harsh and ragged, then the small, involuntary sounds I'm making despite my best efforts to stay silent.

"Seven"

My skin is on fire. Every nerve ending screams. I'm sure I'm bruising, sure there will be marks, that I'll feel this for days. And he just keeps going.

“Eight.”

I'm shaking now, my legs trembling as I sag forward on my elbows. The pain has transformed from sharp stings into a deep, throbbing ache that pulses with my heartbeat. And underneath the pain and the humiliation and the fury, something else is building.

Something I don't want to acknowledge.

“Nine.”

Heat. Not just from the strikes, but from somewhere deeper, lower. Between my legs, where I'm suddenly, horrifyingly aware of a different kind of sensation. A slickness, and a warmth that has nothing to do with the belt. My body is responding to this.

No. No, no, no.

“Ten.”

I can feel myself getting wet despite the pain and humiliation. My body is betraying me in the worst possible way, responding to his dominance, to the control he's exerting. Somehow the burn has begun to almost feel good, spiking something in me even though it still hurts. I don’t understand. How can anyone like this? How can this be… be good, somehow…

“Eleven.”

Please don't notice. Please don't⁠—

"You're wet." His voice cuts through my desperate internal pleading, suddenly taking on a rasping note. It’s so fucking humiliating I want to die. "I can see it through your panties, Elena. You're soaking through them."

"Shut up,” I choke out desperately.

He chuckles darkly. “I was going to stop at fifteen. But we’ll go to twenty for your smart mouth. Your body knows what it wants even if you won't admit it, princess." Another strike, harder this time. "Twelve."

I sob. The sound tears out of me before I can stop it, and I hate myself for it. I hate him for doing this.

"You can disrespect me with your words all you want," he continues, his voice still that same deadly calm. "But your body tells the truth. You're wet. You're aroused. And you're going to remember this every time you think about insulting me or my men again."

"I hate you," I gasp out.

"I know." The belt comes down again. "Thirteen."

The pain and the arousal are tangled together now, inseparable. Each strike sends jolts through my entire body—pain radiating out from my ass, but also something else that makes my core clench and my breath catch for reasons that have nothing to do with the sting of leather on skin. I'm crying now, but I'm also pressing back slightly into each strike. My body is seeking something I don't want to name, something dark and twisted and wrong.

“Fourteen.”

My panties are definitely soaked now. I can feel the wetness, cool against my heated skin. I can feel how swollen I am, how desperately my body wants something he's not giving me. The humiliation of it is almost worse than the pain. My clit is throbbing, desperate to be touched.

"You're dripping," he observes, and I can hear a strain in his voice now. "Your thighs are wet. You're making a mess, Elena."

"Stop," I beg. "Please stop."

"Fifteen." He doesn’t stop or slow down. He just keeps bringing the belt down, counting out the strokes as I grow wetter, my skin flushed and hot, my hips arching down toward the bed like I could somehow get some relief that way.

I'm not sure I can take much more. My ass is on fire, throbbing with each heartbeat. My legs are shaking so badly I'm barely staying upright. And between my legs, I'm so aroused it's painful. So desperate for friction, for pressure, for anything that might ease the ache.

“Twenty.”

The final strike lands harder than all the others. Right across the center of my ass, catching both cheeks. I cry out, my body jerking forward and my fingers twisting in the sheets. The pain is exquisite and unbearable. I feel like I’m on the verge of an orgasm, but I can’t quite get there.