Page 81 of House of Cards

I tug down her frilly panties, my breath hitching when I see the faint bruises left on her skin.

“Fast healer. I love that for you.” I land my folded suspenders on her ass with a loud crack, dragging a shocked gasp from her. She throws her head back to glare at me, and I nearly come in my fucking pants at the flash of pain scrunching up her face as I land another blow.

This won’t feel anything like a cane. Leather is supple. It bends, curving to meet the skin. I can’t decide which sound I prefer—leather meeting flesh, or Zoey’s agonized whimpers as I lay another three strikes to her reddening ass.

I use one hand to press her wrists into the small of her back, keeping her pinned, the other to administer another five lashes that have her howling in pain. Or outrage, judging from the murderous glares she throws over her shoulder at me.

She flinches when I toss my suspenders to the table, well out of her reach.

“If this is your idea of foreplay, what’s next? Chloroform and duct tape?”

Christ, I’ve never wanted to fuck the brat out of someone this desperately in my life. I can feel her body quivering, and while the lighting doesn’t really bring out the fresh bruises on her skin, I can see I’ve left marks.

I rip my glove off with my teeth, landing a searing slap on her ass with my palm. She yells, eyes throwing daggers at me. If she’s wondering why that hurt more than the suspenders, it’s because I’ve been doing this for years. It only takes ten-thousand hours of honing a craft to become a master at it.

“Drunk frat boys give me harder spanks than you.AndI get a four-dollar tip out of them.”

I chuckle, glancing down at her ass as I trail my hand over her cheek. Her flesh is warm from the spanking, but not as hot as her already slick pussy. The gasp she lets out when I slip my hand between her legs to cup her has me biting back a groan.

“I’m going to fuck that spirit out of you, load by load. Let’s see how tough that mouth of yours is after I’ve?—“

As I lean in to whisper more depravity in her ear, she elbows me in the sternum.

“Christ!” I’ve never heard myself wheeze like that before.

Seems I underestimated her desperation.

Zoey slips from my grasp, ducking under my arm and scrambling away with a victorious, “Fuck you, psycho!”

I’m behind her a second later, catching up in two long strides, reaching her as her fingers close on the door handle. I grab her, spin her around. She drops, her flimsy costume ripping through my fingers, and fuck it if she doesn’t finally start crawling.

Awayfrom me.

I grab her hair and wrench her to her feet. Fear flashes in her eyes, but the defiance doesn’t waver. She swings at me, nailsaimed at my face. We shuffle over the floor in a frantic, violent dance that ends a foot away from the chair.

When she spots it, her eyes go wide.

“No! Fuck!”

It’s already too late.

I’ve worn her down. She barely puts up a fight when I catch her wrist, forcing it down and into one of the chair’s restraints.

The metal cuff clicks shut with satisfying finality.

“One down,” I murmur as I slide my hand down her free arm.

But she was just biding her time, rallying.

She jerks her arm free with a hoarse, “I’ve still got another one!”

Her free hand claws at my face, my neck, anywhere she can reach. I dodge most of her furious attacks, but her nails catch my cheek, drawing blood.

“Enough.” My command echoes in a beat of silence before I repay her earlier kindness and thump my fist into her sternum.

She doubles over with a rattling gasp, retching like I punched her in the gut with all my might. If anything, it was a hard shove—just enough to wind her.

“Stop being so dramatic,” I tell her as I shove her down in the chair. She flinches when the second restraint slips over her wrist and clicks closed.