Page 56 of House of Cards

For a glorious moment not resisting, but submitting.

Christ, I want to kiss her. Her pouty little mouth is begging me to nip and suck until it’s bruised, bleeding. My lips tingle, but I fight back the urge now like I did back in the playroom.

But when she tips her head back and stares up at me with pained, hooded eyes, the last of my will crumbles.

I drop my head, and she cranes back even more, until our noses touch. Warm rain showers us, her eyelids fluttering when the drops skim her face. I hear her breath coming faster, tiny little pants I’m desperate to suffocate.

“Get. Out,” I murmur.

She blinks, her throat moving under my hand as she swallows. “What?”

“Out.” I lick my lips, clear the hoarseness in my throat. “Now.”

I’m struggling to keep my face neutral as she stares at me with open confusion.

“One. Two. Thr?—”

Her jaw bunches, mouth drawing into a tight line as she blurts out, “Asshole!” and pushes past me.

Christ. How the fuck can she be so feisty after that session when I saw her go into sub-drop? Has she already recovered?

Instead of cordoning myself off from her like the noxious, toxic poison she is, I keep breathing her in.

I turn off the shower, slip my glasses back on. Zoey tries to dart out the shower, but I snag her with an arm around the waist. When she tries to claw at me, I snatch her wrists together in one hand and tighten my grip until she whimpers.

I use my body to herd her out of the shower, and point to one of the guest robes hanging near the towels. “Put that on.”

She must be glad for the coverage, because she goes over and eases into it with an exaggerated wince, no hesitation. If she thinks she’s hurting now, she’s going to be in agony when all the endorphins leave her body.

Why can’t I get the sound of her hoarse yells out of my head?

The way she kept sobbing out, “Stop!” like she stood a chance at halting that cane?

Clenching my jaw, I grab a towel to dry myself, and pull on my pants without bothering with my shirt. The bandage on mychest is still damp, so I peel it off and examine the row of holes. They’ve stopped bleeding and are already beginning to heal.

“I hope it scars,” she says, fussing with her hair in the mirror like she has no plans to leave this bathroom.

I eye her for a moment, releasing a heavy sigh. “Go wait on the bed.”

Zoey freezes, glares at me, and then slowly goes over to the suite’s king sized bed. The dramatic whimper she lets out when her ass touches the Egyptian cotton sheets makes my eyes roll.

“Keep going and I’ll give you something to cry about.”

I open the suite’s mini fridge, taking out a bottle of mineral water and an energy bar.

She’s propped up on her side, watching me warily as I move through the room.

I set the water down on the nightstand, and Zoey tries to move away when I come to sit beside her. But I simply grab her hips and tug her back.

“Ow, fuck!”

“Lie down.” I click my fingers.

She carefully eases down onto her side, hesitating before reluctantly resting her head in my lap.

I lean back so I can slide the tube out of my pocket. I hold it out so she can see it. “Warm shower, or a bath, after every session. Then you apply heaps of this.”

I expect her to snort and say something sarcastic, but she just lies in my lap like a dead thing. I slip the robe down her shoulder and slide it over the curve of her hip, baring her naked, bruised skin. She hisses when I start smoothing ointment over that injured flesh, but after the first few strokes, she falls silent.