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Enzo’s eyes darken, and all traces of his playfulness are gone. “You think I’m the one who hurt you?” he asks, his tone low and lethal. “You think I could ever hurt you?”

Before I can stop myself, I reply, “No.” If I’m honest, I don’t think he would. That’s why I’ve been okay with leaning on him while remaining in denial about what happened to me. “No, I don’t think so. I’m just… stop making me beg.” At the last part, my voice rises.

“No,” he stubbornly states. “Beg or I’ll carry you to bed so you can sleep.”

Closing my eyes, I inhale sharply and pinch the bridge of my nose. I’m tempted to beg, to give in to the constant ache between my legs. But no. I won’t lower myself to do that.

“I won’t do it,” I hiss.

The words barely leave my mouth before Enzo moves us. Standing, he grabs my wrist and pulls me over to the sink, bending me over it. His hand presses between my shoulder blades, holding me down. My cheek hits the cold marble, my breath fogging the glass in front of me.

“N-no. Stop. Fucking stop,” I cry while bucking and trying to pull myself free.

“You want to act like a fucking brat?” His hand tightens. “Then you’ll take your punishment like one.”

I gasp as his palm lands hard across one ass cheek—once, then the other. The sound echoes off the tiles. My thighs clench without permission. The sting blooms into heat. Shame and arousal twist inside me.

This is the second time he’s spanking me, but this time it actually feels like a punishment rather than play.

“You think you’re not begging, Toy?” His voice is cruel now. Calm and cruel and fucking devastating. “Your body’s doing it for you. Your tightcunt is so wet you’re dripping on the floor.”

Then he drags the tip of his cock through my soaked folds at an agonizingly slow pace. It’s a cruel reminder of how ready I am for him because it proves how pathetic my resistance was.

“You feel that?” he breathes against my ear, voice so low I barely catch it. “That’s your cunt begging for me while your mouth lies.”

I hate how true it is. I hate how much I need him to keep going. And I really hate how much I love the sound of his voice when he’s being like this.

“You don’t get to accuse me and walk away clean.” He moves so the tip is positioned perfectly against my soaked opening. But he doesn’t push in. “I take care of you. I protect you. I fuckingownyou.”

“Then fucking act like it,” I choke out, the sob slicing through before I can stop it. “Stop playing games. Prove I’m yours.”

He chuckles darkly, lips brushing my ear. “Lifeisthe game. You’re either the one pulling strings or dangling from them.”

“Except you,” I hiss.

He tisks. “You still don’t get it,” he murmurs, squeezing my ass hard enough to leave a mark. “You’re the one pulling my string, Little Toy.”

I’m so surprised by his words that I can’t think of anything to say.

While I try to process what he just said, I feel him moving behind me. He reaches for the closet, but I don’t check to see what he’s looking for, or if he’s found it when he slams the door closed.

I flinch hard when something cold kisses my inner thigh. I glance down—and ice sluices through my veins at the sight of my spare electric razor.

“What are you doing?” I gasp, my throat tightening as fear needles down my spine.

The sleek handle is cool against my skin, deliberate and slow as he drags it upward—closer to my center. It’s not switched on, but I still don’t want the blade anywhere near my pussy.

“Let me go,” I demand. I begin fighting him again, doing my best to somehow slip free.

“Careful,” he rasps, dragging the blade higher. “It’d be a shame to scar your perfect cunt.”

“Stop it,” I whisper, the breathiness betraying the terror clawing up my throat. I rise to my tiptoes, desperate to put more distance between myself and the blade. “I’m not kidding, Enzo.”

He laughs low in his chest. “Look at me,” he orders, voice dragging over my skin. “In the mirror, Toy. Now.”

But I can’t. I can’t fucking look away from the shaver that’s slowly moving closer. With a low growl, he fists my damp hair, jerking my head up so I’m forced to face the mirror. Sweat beads across my brow and lip. I’m shaking, begging—until the cold touches my folds and I go still, trapped by terror.

Chapter 32