Clubwhore (Devil's Renegade MC #1)(27)

His hand moves between my shoulders—the small break from his whipping welcome as he changes position. He has to force me to stay still as I fight against him, but his one hand pressing against me is strong enough to make any attempt at my escape worthless.

“Stop! Please, stop! I’m sorry!” I wail, beg, sob and plead for him to quit. My demon is caged. My vision clear. The reason for my crying is evident—no longer a result of my monster, but now solely due to physical, unrelenting pain.

“Bryce! Please!” He ignores me. He continues to hit me, over and over until every inch of my ass and the very tops of my thighs have been punished multiple times.

I’m going to die. He is going to beat me to death. I’m pretty sure he’s working on my third layer of skin—he has to be. I can’t remember anything being as awful as this. Something in my head screams at me that this is the first time I’ve had a punishment I actually deserved.

I did put myself in danger by going to my mother’s. I knew what would happen to me, yet I went anyway. I’d gained nothing from the trip. I’d only lost—my car and the flesh of my ass.

My hips jerk from the sting of a blow that hurt worse than the others. Two more follow before I hear the belt fall from his hands. My knees give way, but he catches me just as they’re about to hit the floor.

Wrapping an arm around my waist, he supports me as he rips the bandana from my eyes. I’m sobbing with reprieve—feeling just as good as I did the last time he spanked me. Maybe even better. Pulling me to his chest, he bears my weight while he strokes my hair. When he speaks tenderly to me, I block out everything and focus on his words as he holds me tightly in his arms.

“It’s okay, Love.”

“Shhh…it’s over.”

“I got you.”

“Calm down.”

“Just breathe.”

“You’re okay, Love.”

And I am. I mean, I’m okay. I’m better than okay. Sure, I’m weepy and exhausted and I feel like someone shot me in the ass with a case of Roman candles, but I’m okay. Emotionally, I don’t feel paralyzed or shut off from the world anymore. Most of all, I know exactly why he did what he did.

Not because I needed it.

Not because I asked.

But because I deserved it—for reasons specified by him. Justifiable reasons that leave nothing to my imagination. My slate is clean. He’s no longer angry with me. Him and I are good. In turn, I’m good. Maybe better than I’ve ever been.

“You’re okay. Calm down, baby. Deep breaths. The spanking is over.” The word “spanking” has me flushing as red as my ass. It sounds so erotic on his lips. But there was nothing erotic about what he just did. It was a punishment—a well-deserved, well-delivered, well-received one I won’t soon forget.

I concentrate on the steady rhythm of his heart and hands as they caress my back. My sobs die. My tears stop. When he pulls back and cups my face in his hands, I don’t meet his eyes. I’ve never been one to get embarrassed, but this is downright humiliating. He’d just spanked me. Again.

“Look at me, Love.” When I don’t, he clears his throat. When that doesn’t work, he threatens me. “I have no problem tearing your ass up again. Now look at me.” I do. How can I not?

I have no problem tearing your ass up again. I shiver.

“Better?” he asks, kinder, gentler than I expected. I nod. I know he’s not talking about my tight, raw, burning cheeks. He’s talking about my sickness. He gives me a warm smile, his thumb brushing over the swell of my cheek, but he keeps his eyes on mine.

“You need to rest. Take some time to relax and get yourself together. I’ll call Luke and tell him your car got stolen, and you won’t be in for a couple days.” Panic fills me at the thought of him telling Luke what he…did to me.

“Please don’t tell anybody.” Shit. What if he already had? What if York was still at the door? My eyes shift behind him, and he shakes his head—aware of my thoughts.

“I won’t tell anyone. I haven’t told anyone. York left when I got here. I’ll tell Luke your car was stolen and I’m staying with you until you hear something from the police. That’s all he has to know.”

Guilt has me dropping my gaze, and the subject. “I’m really tired.”

He nods. “Lay down and let me look at you.” My flush deepens. I don’t like this aftercare shit. It doesn’t feel right. Doesn’t he have something to do? Somewhere to go? A liquor store to rob?

But I don’t ask. I just do as I’m told—physically and mentally too tired to care anymore. He pulls back the covers and I wince as I bend my knees to lie on my belly. My skin feels too stretched—tight and burning, even throbbing in some places.

“Stay put,” he demands, disappearing into the bathroom. I roll my eyes. Where the fuck am I gonna go? I can’t even wear underwear…

He returns moments later, carrying a bottle of lotion from the bathroom. “This will have to do for now,” he says, taking a seat on the edge of the bed beside me. I turn my face to look at him, noticing how he keeps his expression blank, but it’s a struggle.

“I didn’t go easy on you,” he starts, his voice nearly a whisper as his hand feathers across my battered flesh. Even the light touch burns. “But only because you deserved it.” His eyes move to mine—the intensity of them emphasizing the warning in his words. “Don’t ever lie to me again, Delilah. When I ask you not to do something, and you promise me you won’t, I expect you to keep your word. I don’t tolerate liars in my club, and I won’t allow you to get away with it either.”

His threat was meant to scare me. And it did. He’s right. The club doesn’t tolerate liars. It’s an unforgivable sin. Something warm swims through me at the thought of him holding me to the same standards as he does his brothers.

“Spread your legs, Love.” My stomach constricts and I let out a long breath—my nostrils flaring and my eyes widening as I shake my head. His hand smoothes the hair from my face. “I’m not going to hurt you, Delilah. I’m not going to fuck you either. I just need to take care of you.”

My eyes well with tears for the millionth time. This time it’s not from the pain or the humiliation, but from the tenderness in his touch. The reassurance in his voice. The care of him. Damn, I’m fucked up.

Parting my knees, I do as he says. To some, this would be a turn-on—the pleasure/ pain mixture is often craved by submissives. But to me, they are not one and the same. As if he wants to see for himself, I notice his eyes dart to my exposed sex. His jaw tightens when he finds my folds dry without a hint of arousal. Now he knows too.

Squirting lotion in his hands, he warms it by rubbing his palms together. When one large palm covers a cheek, I wished he hadn’t warmed it at all. His touch is like fire, causing me to hiss through my teeth. “Shhh…” is the only offer of reassurance I get.

He continues to rub the lotion into me—moisturizing the too dry, overheated flesh. His hand moves from one cheek to the next, before coming to the back of my thighs. That seems to be where the pain is worse—the skin there more tender than that of my ass. I bury my face in the pillow and bite hard on my lip.

He’s finally finished, and when his hands leave me, the cool air in the room feels heavenly on my damp bottom. It’s like aloe to a sunburn. “Get some sleep, Love. I promise I’ll be here when you wake up.”

Something about that promise unnerves me. I really don’t want him here when I wake up. I want him to be gone. Why can’t he just let me heal on my own, and take care of myself? As I drift, I hold tight to that hope. Maybe, just maybe, I’ll wake up and realize this was all just a bad dream.





CHAPTER 16



“Delilah…” Go away.

“Delilah.” Hardening your voice won’t help you.

A loud sigh. “Delilah.” It’s a warning, but I’m too tired.

A swat to my ass has my eyes flying open and tears pricking the back of them. Motherfucker, that hurt. “Ow!” I yelp, seconds after the contact. The pain seems to intensify as it lingers. “Why would you do that?” It’s the most pitiful whimper I’ve ever managed.

I look up to find green eyes flash with regret. I’ll have to remember that sleepy whine and use it to my advantage in the future.

“We have to go. I’m needed in Hattiesburg.” What? No apology?

“Why?”

“Why’s not important. Get up and get dressed.” Glancing at the clock, I find it just a little after four in the morning. I hadn’t been asleep three hours, and my body demanded more.

“Come on, babe. You can sleep in the truck.”

“Truck? Where’s your bike?” I ask, cringing as I slide off the bed—avoiding sitting on the side. I’m being a wimp, but I don’t care.

He shoots me a look, his eyes moving to my naked pussy. “I don’t think you want to ride bitch in your state.” I hadn’t thought about that. Just the idea of how painful it would be to feel the vibrations from his bike on the bruised cheeks of my ass has me shivering.

“Well, where did the truck come from?” Damn, I’m nosy. If I’m annoying to my ears, I can only imagine what I must sound like to him.