Twisted (Never After #4)(71)

I move quickly, dragging her by the wrists until her body flies forward and drapes over my knees. She squeaks in surprise and then starts to struggle against me, but my forearm locks against the small of her back, small zips of pleasure zinging down the length of my cock as she writhes on top of my dick, making it so hard it strains against the zipper.

My other hand flips up that tight black skirt she couldn’t stop touching earlier, exposing the smooth apple of her ass cheek, prime and ready to be punished.

I bring down my hand without a second thought, the slap reverberating through the room and off the walls. My cock jerks to attention as I rub my fingers across her flesh, soothing the area.

Glancing toward her, I loosen my forearm, realizing that she isn’t fighting against me now. She’s just prone, on her stomach, her elbows sinking into the couch cushion and her breathing so heavy, I can feel it escaping from her lungs.

“It’s far past time somebody taught you how to shut that mouth of yours,” I murmur, smoothing my hand over the flesh.

“Did you just spank me?”

I bend down until my lips ghost across the shell of her ear. “If you want me to stop, tell me to stop. Otherwise, I’ll do it again, gattina. Over and over until your ass is so sore, you can’t sit for days and your sweet little pussy begs for a taste too.”

She sucks in a breath, her torso fidgeting against my lap, and my stomach tightens, enjoying her reaction. I pause, waiting to hear what she says, but the silence rings louder than ever, just the way I knew it would.

“Now, apologize.”

“Go fuck yourself,” she sneers.

Smack.

The sting radiates through my palm as my hand once again smooths over the cheek.

Her body jerks as she tries to free herself from my hold, but I don’t let her escape, instead pressing her firmly down until my dick pushes into her stomach.

“I’d rather fuck you, wife,” I murmur. “But little brats who need to learn their lessons don’t get things unless they play nice. Now.” My fingers dance over the reddened area of her ass. “Be a good girl, and do what I say.”

She twists her head to see me, fire blazing in her eyes, her pupils dilated and desire sneaking through her features. She can pretend she doesn’t like this all she wants. We both know the truth. This is what she needs.

And I’m the man who can give it to her.

“I’m not sorry,” she whispers.

My cock pulses at her disobedience.

Smack. Smack. Smack.

Three more slaps in quick succession and she sinks deeper into my hold, her grunts morphing into moans.

“Julian,” she breathes. “Please…”

My fingers dip between her thighs, running along the lace of her underwear, her pussy dripping so much it drenches the fabric. “You know what I want.”

“I’m sorry,” she finally says, grinding herself against me.

“What’s that?”

“I’m sorry,” she repeats.

I lean down and press a soft kiss to the reddened area on her ass cheek. “You’re so sexy when you behave.”

Relaxing my forearm, I expect her to move, but she doesn’t, choosing to stay in her prone position. The moment itself is vulnerable, and I move to wrap my arms around her body, dragging her into me to hold her tight against my chest.

It’s odd, to…cuddle like this. But what I did was intense, and while I know she enjoyed it, I also know it’s important to make sure she knows she did well.

That she pleased me.

We sit that way for a few minutes, and then I move her to the side, making sure she’s comfortable on the couch. Her arms reach out to bring me back. “Where are you going?”

“Don’t move.” I push her hair back from her face. “I’ll be right back.”

She hums, her eyes glazed, and I head down the hall and to the medicine cabinet, grabbing the arnica cream to make sure she doesn’t bruise.

Walking back over, I see she hasn’t moved from her position, and she twists her head toward me, smiling softly.

I stand in front of her, tapping her thigh. “Up.”

She moves without complaint, and I put her back over my lap, lightly rubbing where I spanked before opening the cream and spreading it on the area.

“When I was three,” I start, “I got a stuffed animal. A hand-me- down teddy bear from some kid who lived around the block and didn’t want it anymore. It was dirty and used and already coming apart at the seams, but it was mine.”

Yasmin pulls back slightly, her face turning toward me and her eyes growing wide at my admission.

“My father came home that night and saw me with it. I was afraid he’d take it from me, so before he could, I ran to my room and found a hiding place, beneath the slats in my tiny little bed.” My throat swells with the memory and I swallow around the pain. “I didn’t even make it back out before I heard my mother screaming and him yelling at her for treating me like a girl. For raising her son wrong.”

“Oh my god,” Yasmin whispers.

“He never took it out on me though. It was always her. She didn’t make me enough of a man. She didn’t cook dinner right. Sometimes the way she was breathing just annoyed him, I guess. It was always her fault.” I grit my teeth, my nose scrunching against the burn growing behind it. “But my mother is a vengeful woman, and she knew who was really to blame.” My eyes go unfocused, and I stare at the wall behind Yasmin, the memories so vivid it’s like I’m there. “That was the first time I remember my mother beating me. Hours after her own pleas quieted and my father had gone back out to the bars, I was lying in my bed, that stupid fucking bear cuddled tight against my chest. And she came raging in, dried blood around her nose, a shiner on her face the size of New York, and my father’s belt wrapped around her fist.” I lift up my shirt from my torso, pointing to a small scar, one of many that are hidden beneath the ink. “She liked to use the metal end. Really get her point across.” I let out a small laugh. “There were tears in her eyes though, and she promised it would only hurt for a little. But that’s the thing about abuse, I guess. The pain always lasts even after the bruises fade.”