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“Yes, ma’am,” he drawls. But he sneaks one last look—and in those eyes, I don’t see Noah. I seehim. . . And for a breath, I want to do something awful. And then I think,Why not?
I walk around to his back, run my nails across his skin until welts appear. “Lean over the bed,” I command.
He complies immediately, still on his knees,big hands bracing himself against the fabric. I look around the room—a pair of pants hangs over a chair in the corner, and I grab them, whip the belt through the loops, and wrap it around my fist, bringing it down in a firm smack across his ass.
A grumbling laugh comes up from his chest. “Elizabeth,” he whispers, not upset, butmoreexcited. Suddenly, an image flashes in my head—me on my knees in that dimly lit hotel room. I’d liked those first smacks. They were more playful than painful, until they weren’t anymore.
“Quiet,” I hiss.
And I do it again, and again, and again, using all my might.
Eventually, after he’s stained with marks, swollen with welts every which way across his flesh, we end up in bed. Me on top, his hands tied to the bed frame. I ride him until he’s about to come, and then I stop. Pull away. He groans in pain, and I smile.
“Did you enjoy your punishment?” I undo the knots at his wrists.
“I liked you riding me. But what was I being punished for?”
“Your sins, of course.”
“Well, I got plenty of those.” Hands free, Noah rubs one wrist, then the other, before reaching for me. “Now come here, let me finish what you started, darlin’.”
I step back. “Sorry. But we’re already finished. At least for today.”
CHAPTER
33
Ihate sitting in the front row.
Hated it in school, but church is far worse. It feels like the statues are all staring at me, and there’s nothing to distract myself with watching—no kid sneaking to look at his phone, no God-fearing dad checking out the ass of another man’s wife as she walks a few pews in front of him, no mother with pursed lips ready to listen to a homily about acceptance while judging the length of every young girl’s skirt when they walk in.
I check the time on my phone. One minute after nine. Why haven’t we started yet? A voice from behind me makes me jump as my head comes up.
“Is that seat taken?”
Noah.
He smiles like he’snotin church, like it’s last night and he’s looking at me naked. It makes my cheeks heat. Noah doesn’t wait for me to respond. He brushes past me and sits so close, we’re shoulder to shoulder in the pew.
“What are you doing here?” I whisper.
“Figured I’d keep you company. You don’t seem like the type to enjoy coming to church.”
I raise a brow. “Why is that? Because I like sex rough and out of wedlock?”
He grins. “Actually, I assumed you weren’tfond of the place because last time I saw you here you were outside in the car waiting for your mom, rather than sitting next to her.” He leans toward me and lowers his voice. “But if I have to choose between premarital sex and being a Catholic, I’ll be going down the block to the Episcopalian place from now on.”
A few minutes ago, I couldn’t wait for the service to start. Now I’m disappointed when the church organ begins playing and all heads turn toward the back. Father Preston makes a grand entrance, leading the procession, followed by three altar boys—the one in the middle carries a giant cross above his head, and the two on either side carry poles with candles. In the back is my mother’s glossy red oak casket, being carried by men from the funeral parlor.
Noah reaches over to my lap, takes my hand into his, and squeezes tight. My gut reaction is to pull away, but any fight I have is quickly forgotten when the casket passes by and a man in a suit is right behind it.
My eyes grow wide.
Sam.
What the hell?
He smiles at me like I’ve been expecting him and couldn’t wait for his arrival. But the corners of his lips quickly wilt when he notices the man next to me has his fingers laced with mine. Sam’s face turns stern. He clears his throat and leans over to speak quietly. “Do you want to move down, or should I sit on the other side of your friend?”