Reading Online Novel

Clubwhore (Devil's Renegade MC #1)(36)



There’s something in the back of my mind reminding me that the last time I felt embarrassed was around him. But I ignore it—allowing my need for that sense of security I feel when he holds me to fuel my act of defiance.

I count to thirty, wait for what I presume is the most opportune moment and look at my imaginary watch once again. Even as I do it, I can feel my heart flip and my blood rush faster in anticipation of what’s to come. “Three minutes.”

Wordlessly, Bryce drops his magazine on the coffee table, grabs his phone and stands. I hold my breath—eager for his next move. When he doesn’t return, I decide I better breathe before I pass out. My enthusiasm begins to fade as nervousness sets in.

The loud rumble of pipes echo in the distance, and the closer they get, the more fidgety I become. Where the hell is Bryce? Headlights flood through the windows in the living room as they rumble down the driveway. The engines die and I strain to hear any movement from Bryce who’s still somewhere in the house. I’m not sure if he walked to the bedroom or the kitchen, and I’m too shaken with nerves to get up and look.

Someone knocks on the door, and I don’t have time to think about what to do before I hear Bryce’s footsteps as he comes from the kitchen. He’s carrying two dining room chairs in his hands. He ignores me as he passes, and I watch as he calmly sets them down before he walks to the door and opens it wide, inviting the two Prospects in.

I know them both—Chuck and Bass. One got his name from the shoes he always wore and the other from his trophy fishing days. I’ve had sex with both of them, but it wasn’t anything worth remembering.

They tip their chins at me. I smile and stand to greet them—you know, be polite like I’m supposed to be.

“Sit.” I’m not sure Bryce’s demand is for me until I look up to find him pointing his finger … at me. I look nervously at each of the men in the room. Bryce is stoic, while both Chuck and Bass seem to be fighting a smile.

Oh shit. Ohshitohshitohshit… Surely this isn’t about to go down like I think.

“Take a seat, Prospects. You’re in for a treat.” The men take a seat and now they’re facing me…

Oh shit…

I let out a nervous breath of laughter. “Bryce?” My voice is more like a squeak—a childish, bratty squeak.

“I warned you, babe.” It’s the only explanation he offers. He sits on the other side of the couch—directly opposite from where the men are seated. It’s only then I notice what he holds in his hand—a wooden spoon. Ohhhh…shit.

He did warn me. He warned that he would punish me like a bratty child in a grocery story—humiliate me. He wins. I’m humiliated. No sense in following through. Message received.

“Come here, Delilah.”

I shake my head as my eyes fill with tears. It’s not intentional—they do it on their own accord. “Bryce, please. I’m sorry,” I plead, but it falls on deaf ears.

“Come here, Delilah.” His voice is a little sterner this time. I search his face for any sign of weakness I can play on. There’s nothing. There’s not even a sparkle of amusement, regret or desire in his eyes. They’re dull, but determined. Shit!

I’m struggling. Not because I’m scared he’ll hurt me, but because this is a first for me. I use my anger to get what I want. This time, that shit backfired. And I have no idea how in the hell I’m gonna crawfish my way outta this one.

Bryce seems to sense my discomfort, and hope soars through me at the possibility of him shedding some mercy on my bratty little soul. “You have two options here, babe.” I’m nodding before I hear them. His lip twitches, and he tries to conceal it by continuing, but it’s too late. I saw it.

“Option one, you willingly comply and afterward we forget this ever happened. All of us.” His eyes swing to Chuck and Bass. Out of the corner of my eye, I see them nod. “Option two,” he says turning back to me. “You force me to hold you down, and afterwards I take you home and they forget this happened, but I won’t.”

That’s the shittiest options I’ve ever heard.

“Either way, I’m giving you exactly what you deserve. I don’t take shit off nobody. Not the club, not them.” He nods his head in the direction of Chuck and Bass, but keeps his eyes on me. “And not you, sweetheart. So what’s it gonna be? The choice is yours.” His matter-of-fact tone is almost as bad as the bored one he’s been using.

Dammit. Shit. Fuck. How did I get myself into this mess?

I bite the corner of my lip, knowing there’s really no choice for me. Something tells me he knows that too. In one final effort, I widen my tear-filled eyes at him. “Bryce, please. They’ll see,” I whisper, like they can’t hear me anyway.

“That’s the point, babe.”

“What if they tell people? That’s my job.”

He shakes his head. “They won’t.” If he could maybe sound a little more convincing, it might make this a little easier for me. I’m sure that’s another thing he knows. Fucking know-it-all.

“Come here, Delilah. I won’t tell you again.” He’s at the end of his patience rope. I’m out of options. My lips turn town and my throat tightens as I stand. Dammit. Why do I feel so shitty about this? Embarrassment is a horse pill to swallow.

I stifle a sob, fighting hard to hold onto what little dignity I have. My shaky knees somehow manage to keep me upright as I walk the few steps toward him—stopping when my legs brush against his thigh. I avoid making eye contact with him. Instead, I find a spot on the wall to stare at.

“Lie down.” I’m shocked at his demand. Narrowing my eyes, I meet his gaze to see if he’s serious. He is. Over the knee? Really? Boy, he’s going all out.

“Fine,” I snap, but immediately regret it when he shoots me a look of warning. I try to apologize with my eyes, but I’m not sure if it worked. Fuck it. Let’s just get this shit over with.

I lie across his lap and bury my face in the cushions—happy that I can’t see the two men who have front row tickets to my spank show. Just as eager to get the ball rolling as I am, Bryce wastes no time lifting my robe and baring my ass to the world—well, not really.

At the angle I’m laying, the only thing the Prospects can see is my hip. They’re sitting significantly lower than Bryce is which obstructs their view of my ass. I’m pretty sure he planned that too.

There’s no warning, no counting and no warm-up. One moment my ass is getting tickled with air, the next it’s getting spanked—hard. Or maybe I just feel it more this time.

The blows are relentless—as unyielding as the wooden spoon used to deliver them. The only sound is the constant crack that rings out across the room every time the wood makes contact with my flesh.

I don’t scream. I don’t yell. I don’t beg or move a muscle. I lie perfectly still, and keep my face buried in the couch as I cry silent tears. Even though I wasn’t told to, I’ve been counting. Fifteen whacks later, Bryce stops, covers me and says two words.

“Get out.”

The sound of chairs scraping against the floor is quickly followed by footsteps and the opening and closing of the door. Then there’s a loud rumble of pipes that eventually fade into the distance. The lack of noise makes my sniffles sound like an air horn.

I stay across Bryce’s lap, not ready to face him just yet. He doesn’t speak, but after several minutes, his hand lifts my robe. I guess he’s surveying the damage. The thought that he might hit me again doesn’t even cross my mind. He kept his word, did what he promised he would and now it’s over. If I don’t know anything else about him, I know this—he doesn’t enjoy hurting me.

He slides out from under me, laying my legs across the couch before leaving the room. I figure he’s going to let me suffer in silence, but he returns and I feel his hand on me again—smoothing something cool across the heat of my ass. The relief is instant, but my tears still silently flow.

When he’s finished, he covers me, then plants a kiss on the back of my head. His hand pets my hair a minute before he speaks. “I’ll be in the kitchen.” With one final kiss to my head that lingers a little longer this time, he walks away.

Immediately, I feel more alone than all the endless hours I was in that dog cage combined. Not only was I humiliated, but I didn’t get that aftercare I yearned for. A part of me believes he might have suspected that’s what I was up to. Sadness fills me at the thought. But as seconds tick by, I find myself forgiving him.

Minutes later, I leave all my dignity, pride and humiliation on the couch and give in to the desire to be near him. I just miss him too damn much.





CHAPTER 20



By the look on his face, he’s surprised to see me so soon. “Hey…” he says, eyeing me cautiously as if he’s not sure of what I might do.

“Are you mad at me?” I ask, not fully realizing how dependent my state of being is on his answer.

His brow creases. “Why do you ask that?”

Honesty…the silent reminder is always there.

“Because it’s the only thing that matters to me.” A sob bubbles up my throat, but I close my mouth to stifle it. Although I can’t prevent the quick rise and fall of my chest or the brimming tears that give me away.