Clubwhore (Devil's Renegade MC #1)(21)

In one step, he’s close enough to grab my wrist in his large hand. My mouth parts in anticipation of the pain I should feel by his touch, but there is none. He’s so gentle, I barely notice his grasp.

Uncurling my fingers, he removes the blade from my hand. Anger and desperation are a poisonous mixture. And I’m both. “Don’t touch me!” I scream, jerking my hand out of his hold. He seems taken aback by my outburst, but recovers quickly. His eyes darken as he narrows them on me.

“Calm down.”

“No! You don’t know me. You don’t know what I need.” I spit the words, seething as I feel the blood from my palm drip onto my thigh. “Get out!”

“Delilah, you’re bleeding.” His fight to stay calm is a struggle. Fuck him and his struggle. This is all his fault anyway.

“I said, get out!” I scream, squeezing my eyes shut and fisting my hands at my head. My nails dig into the cut and the pain is there, but so is the turmoil I’m feeling inside. It hasn’t numbed at all.

Before I can fully process what’s happening, I’m jerked from my sitting position and pushed roughly against the vanity. I’m confused about what’s happening. This isn’t like him. He’s never put his hands on me like this. Even though he hasn’t hurt me, the possibility that he might seems to weaken that beastly monster inside me. That alone is enough to have me throw caution and concern about his behavior to the wind.

I feel my shorts being pulled up by my belt loops, causing them to tighten over my ass and give me the mother of all wedgies. I’m on my toes, my face pressed against the mirror when his hand that must be made of steel collides with the cheeks of my ass. I let out a yelp that catches in my throat as he quickly follows up with another blow.

His hand is so large it seems to touch every inch of my backside. The impact is so loud, I’m sure it can be heard in the front of the clubhouse. But I don’t care. With every spank he delivers, a part of the mayhem inside my head seems to die. It hurts so bad…and so fucking good.

I’m crying. I’m begging him to stop. I’m pleading with him to let me go. But really, I don’t want him to. Either he knows this, or he’s just a sick fuck who gets off on spanking women. I don’t give a shit one way or another. I need this—to hell with why he’s willing to give it to me.

When my cries become whimpers and I quit struggling completely, he stops—just as quickly as he started. Then I’m pulled in his arms, lifted to his chest and carried to my bed. I wish I could tell you how good he smells, but all I smell is snot. I wish I could tell you how wonderful his arms feel, but I’m too distracted with the burning ache in my ass. What I can tell you is how good I feel—mentally.

Aside from the pain in my behind and my palm, I’m like a new woman. My slate has been wiped clean. The anxiety I’ve been feeling has completely vanished. So has the pressure in my chest that made me feel like I was suffocating. That demon I have inside me has been put to rest. For now.

Laying me on my stomach, Bryce kneels beside me and takes my hand in his. Pulling a bandana from his back pocket, he uses it as a tourniquet. I turn away from him—unable to look in his eyes. I’m not one to get embarrassed, but this is more than that. I hate I forced him to do this to me. I hate he’s now aware of the sickness inside me. And I hate how good I feel in this moment.

Bryce doesn’t speak the entire time he wraps my hand. I know the cut can’t be too bad if he’s managing to treat it without as much as a first aid kit.

The bed dips and I hold my breath. Now that I’m not in need of any physical pain, I’m hoping like hell he doesn’t give it to me. But if he does then I’ll take it like a champ. He doesn’t seem like that type of guy, but I can’t keep the fear from creeping inside me. I guess I’m a little too scarred.

His hand touches my shoulder. He leaves it there a second, and when I see he has no intention of breaking it or anything, I decide it’s okay to breathe. The moment I take a breath, he slides it down my back then across my bruised ass. I pinch my eyes shut and bite my lip, trying to prepare myself just in case. But his hand curls around my hip as he eases me to my side.

I avoid looking at him by keeping my eyes closed. His fingers make quick work of the button on my shorts, and I’m trying to talk myself into asking him to just let me sleep a little while. But I can’t find the will.

The bed dips again as he stands, before rolling me back to my stomach. I hate not being able to see what’s happening. I wish I wasn’t too chicken shit to open my eyes.

I’m more than surprised and beyond relieved when he finally speaks. “I want you to stay in here for the rest of the night. Can you do that?” His voice is velvety smooth, without the least bit of anger. I nod into my pillow. “An answer, Love.” Love.

“Yes.”

“Good girl.” Okay…why does that make me all tingly and shit? I’m not so sure I like it.

Gripping the waistband of my shorts, he pulls them gently over my ass that has got to be black and blue. I listen hard for his reaction in hopes that he’ll give me some idea of what it looks like. He doesn’t. His breath doesn’t even hitch. Maybe it’s not that bad… It really doesn’t even hurt—especially considering I’ve had much, much worse.

After covering me with a quilt, his fingers run through my hair with a touch so light I almost wonder if it was real. I feel him lie down next to me, softly stroking my head. This is something new for me. And the feeling is so comforting, I start to drift. Minutes later, I feel his lips press against my scalp before whispering, “Sleep.”

He didn’t have to tell me--hell, I’m already there.



You ever just wake up feeling amazing? Like you slept on air and cuddled with rainbows? Yeah, me neither. My hand is sore, my ass is kinda sore and I have this big ball of shame lodged in my throat.

Bryce now knows my secret. He may not know all the details, but he’s got the gist of it. There’s a part of me that’s disappointed in myself for allowing him to give me what I needed. Having the secret wasn’t a burden to me. Now that someone knows it, it suddenly is.

I don’t like the idea of involving people in my own problems. I don’t like that someone knows the real me. Luke, of course, is very aware of my situation, but he’s never treated me any different. I’m not so sure I can say the same about Bryce. He seems too…connected.

The truth is, I’m embarrassed.

There it is.

I’m so ashamed, I want to bury my head in a pillow, stay in the room and starve to death. Okay…maybe that’s a little extreme. But if I never saw Bryce again, that would be okay with me. Would I miss him? Sure. He’s somehow claimed a role in my life without me even realizing it. I’ve spoken less than a hundred words to the man, yet he’s one of the closest people to me.

Damn. That sounds really, really pathetic.

The spray of hot water feels good on my face. There’s nothing like a scalding shower to clear your head—that is, until it runs down your back and scorches your battered-and-bruised ass. I bite my lip and force myself to feel the pain as I gently wash the tender flesh. When I’m finished, I stand naked in the tub, contemplating whether or not I should even attempt to dry off.

You’re the one that needs the pain, Delilah.

Wiping the steam from the mirror, I turn and glance back over my shoulder. I’m surprised at what I find. My ass is bright red, with only a few purple bruises in the areas that got the most attention. I look down at the vanity, remembering how it felt when he shoved me against it. It was better than any orgasm I’d had. The feeling of reprieve was instant.

I grab a bottle of lotion and lather my entire body, rubbing an extra amount on the one place that needs it the most. I find an oversized T-shirt in my dresser and slip it over my head—deciding against any underwear.

I spend the next ten minutes tidying my room, and wishing like hell for a cigarette and a cup of coffee. No matter the time, this is still considered morning to me. Afraid I might see Bryce’s face, I text Linda and ask if he’s here. She doesn’t replies.

Easing open my bedroom door, I lean out into the hall and listen hard for any sign of life up front. It’s eerily quiet—almost too quiet. I tiptoe down the hall, and into the main room. There’s not a soul in sight. Weird…

I put on a pot of coffee, constantly surveying the room and keeping my ears open in case someone walks in. If they do, I’ll fake a smile, then a cough and excuse myself to my room. Luckily, I don’t have to do any of that. My mountain of a coffee cup, my entire pack of smokes and my naked, bruised ass make it back to the safe confines of my room without one human encounter.

I’m standing by my window, taking my first sip of morning goodness when my door opens. By the way, nobody fills out a doorway quite like Devil’s Renegades SA Bryce. His shoulders are so wide, I’m surprised he doesn’t have to turn sideways to enter.

“I’d have gotten that,” he says in greeting, pointing to my coffee and unlit cigarette as he closes the door.

I shrug. “It’s fine. Nobody’s here anyway.” I avoid looking at him, but I don’t drop my eyes. I read once that submissives do that. I don’t want him getting the wrong idea. Just because he spanked me doesn’t make him my master.