Clubwhore (Devil's Renegade MC #1)(26)

“Well, I don’t know.” My hands involuntarily move up my arms again before sliding over my shoulders and neck. Dammit. I feel like something is crawling on me.

He watches me, wordlessly appraising my every move. I know what this feeling is. It’s not just my skin that’s crawling, but I can feel my blood tickling my veins. I can also sense the heavy fog that’s coming. I didn’t anticipate feeling this so soon, but after the day’s events, I’m not surprised either.

The longer he looks at me, the more fidgety I become. “Would you like to watch TV?” I ask, searching for something that will distract my mind and his stare.

“If I wanted to, don’t you think I would?” Well, shit. “Why don’t you ask me what it is you really want?” I look at him confused.

“I don’t understand,” I say, letting out a nervous laugh. “I was just trying to be polite.” What the fuck is wrong with me? Why do I feel all shy and antsy? Say something rude, and force him to hurt you, idiot!

“Okay.” Okay? That’s it?

I stand in shock as he moves toward me, pausing when his giant body is next to mine. Leaning down, I feel his breath tickle my ear as he speaks. “If you have something to say, say it.”

After a few beats of silence, he straightens, and I watch as he turns and walks away. “I’m going to get a drink.” My gut churns and my breath hitches as I realize he’s fixing to leave. The moment his hand rests on the doorknob, something inside me bursts—making me forget all sense of reason and focus on the sole thing that’s making me ache with need.

“Wait!” I call out, immediately clamping down on my lip as soon as I speak. His eyes meet mine. His expression is void. I’m not sure if that’s because he feels nothing, or because he doesn’t want me to know what it is he’s feeling. Stop overthinking everything!

“I-I…” I’m stuttering like a fool. I’m unsure of what to say. So I close my eyes. The moment I do, I feel my mood darken. My fingers claw at my skin. My hands pull at my scalp. Finding the tender flesh on the back of my arms, I pinch the skin between my fingers looking for release.

Without seeing him, it’s like the little control I had, I was channeling from him. Now that all I see is darkness, the fog in my head thickens and I’m back to that emotionally detached, aching need I crave every Sunday—despite Craig’s vicious attack from earlier. It should have been enough. But it wasn’t. Not anymore. I feel guilty for being so weak. And my guilt only has one cure. There’s only one thing that can make it go away.

“I need you.”

I hear the click of the lock, which seems to echo loudly through the silent room. I sense him closing the distance between us. I can feel his presence—the heat of his body, the scent of whiskey and leather, and the sound of his deep, controlled breathing completely surrounds me.

“Tell me what you need.” He nearly growls the words and I suppress a moan. Even in my current state, I can’t say the words. I’ve never had to. I know this man won’t hit me or treat me like I’m used to. His method of pain is so much more intimate—so intimate it makes it even more impossible for me to ask.

“I can’t.” I shake my head, having to pinch my eyes tight to keep from opening them and looking at him.

“Do you trust me, Love?” Love…

“Yes.” I don’t have to think about it. It’s a given. Even if I didn’t trust him, it wouldn’t matter in this moment. He can do to me what he wants. But I do trust that he couldn’t do any more damage to me than what’s already been done.

“Do you want to feel pain?” Before now, this has never been an option. Now that I’m hearing it out loud, I don’t want to answer. But I do anyway.

“Yes,” I whisper. I should be feeling a sense of shame, but my need overpowers it—so much so, I open my eyes.

His face is tilted down slightly, so his mouth is near my hair. Surprisingly, I find his eyes are closed.

“How much?”

“It doesn’t matter.” At my admission, a pained look crosses his face. His brows draw together, and his head turns slightly as if the impact of my answer was like a slap in the face.

I feel guilty for asking him to do this. I don’t want to see him hurt. I don’t want to force him to do something he’s not comfortable with. “I don’t enjoy hitting women.” His words play on a loop inside my head. I’m just before telling him to forget about it when his face smoothes out and his jaw tightens. Without moving his head or straightening his stance, his eyes open and he’s meeting my gaze.

They’re on fire—blazing with dominance and determination. It’s a look that’s familiar—once again so intense I feel my knees go weak. He’s like a powerful force that instantly has my mind and body under complete submission. He takes several steps away from me, then stops when he reaches the foot of the bed.

I hold my breath in anticipation, while I fist another handful of my hair at the nape of my neck and pull—looking for some kind of immediate release. It doesn’t work.

“Come here, Love.” His soothing demand has my feet moving toward him on their own accord. When I’m so close I swear I can hear the steady rhythm of his heart, I stop. Pulling an orange bandana from his back pocket, he gives it a shake—causing the muscles in his neck to tense.

“Cover your eyes.” I frown at his demand. I open my mouth to protest, but he speaks. “It wasn’t a suggestion, Love. I won’t tell you again.” I’m not afraid of him hurting me more if I refuse, I’m afraid of him not hurting me at all. Right now, the only way this punishment could be worse is if he simply walked out and left me to deal with my demons on my own. It’s not worth the risk.

I take it from him, tying it tightly around my eyes. The room is bright enough I’m not engulfed in darkness, but I can’t see anything other than the orange material. My breathing becomes heavier as I stand blindfolded and completely at his mercy. My pulse quickens with every moment that passes in silence.

Finally, I hear the rattle of chains as he moves from in front of me. Then his voice fills the room. “Bend over and put your hands on the desk.” He takes my elbow, guiding me a few steps before releasing me. I lean forward as my hands wander aimlessly in front of me until I feel the cool, smooth wood. Palms flat against the surface, I’m bent at the waist forcing my ass in the air.

When his hand touches the small of my back, my body jerks then immediately relaxes. After a moment, I feel his hand smooth over my hip before gripping the towel that’s tied tightly around me. My flesh is on fire, and the moment his cool fingers connect with my skin I shiver. With one swift movement, the towel falls away.

“I’m going to spank you, Love. Do you know why?” His voice is stern. Even the sweet endearment doesn’t soften the powerful effect his tone has on me.

“Because I deserve it,” I breathe, allowing myself to feel the full impact of my self-loathing.

“Why do you deserve it?” The guilt of my sins becomes heavier. I know that’s part of repenting—I just wasn’t expecting to verbally admit all my wrongdoing to him. Too desperate to go through the entire list, I sum it up with the simplest answer.

“Because I’m sick.”

For a minute, there’s complete silence. Then I feel his hand gently caressing my ass. “No, Love.” There’s a hint of sadness in his voice. “I’m doing this because you hurt yourself, after you promised me you wouldn’t. You lied to me.”

My brow furrows in confusion. “I didn’t—” His hand at my back silences me. The sound of his belt unbuckling at his waist makes my knees tremble in anticipation, and a hint of fear.

“Yes, you did. You clawed your neck, pulled your hair and pinched your arms.” How the hell does he know that? Oh yeah…he was watching. “That’s why you deserve this. Nothing more. Do you understand?”

My head is spinning, trying to process what he’s saying. The hate I feel toward myself about all the horrible things I’ve done in my life lifts. Suddenly, I only feel guilty about the transgressions I committed today. It’s a welcome relief I wasn’t expecting. This is what I’m owed. It’s not just a medicine to me, it’s a cure.

“I’m going to make sure you remember the consequences of endangering yourself. When I’m through with your pretty little ass, you’ll be reminded for days of what happens when you’re careless about your own wellbeing.” He’s serious. His threat is real—menacing. He’s angry with me. Angry I lied. Angry I hurt myself. And I have a feeling he’d have spanked me even if I didn’t ask him to.

Hot, searing pain lashes across my ass. The crack of the belt sounds loud in the room. I gasp at the contact, but welcome it. Another jolt of pain shoots through me as he swings again—hitting the exact same spot. I can feel the flesh swell from the attack, but the belt strikes me in a different position—temporarily taking my mind from one sting to focus on another.

My toes curl in the carpet as blow after blow comes. Tears fall from my eyes and pool in the fabric covering my face, but I’ve yet to cry out. Several strokes later, I begin to lift my knees and try to wiggle away from the next lash. After a while, my slick palms begin to slide and sobs burst from behind my lips.