Page 21

CHAPTER 21

Ophelia

“Oh, God.” I bury my face in my hands.

His stare is heavy on me as he flips the phone open aggressively. He answers it with a rude, “Hello?”

His eyes widen as he hears the voice on the other end of the phone. They talk to him for a long moment while I sit here, trying to breathe. Finally, he holds the phone to me, a dazed look of shock on his face.

He moves toward me. “It’s for you.”

“Oh. Um… Okay.” Holding the blanket tight around my chest, I scoot to the edge of the bed. Staying as far from him as possible, I take the phone.

He goes to find his pants, pulling them on one long muscular leg at a time while I answer the phone.

Threading his black leather belt loop by loop through his pants, he eyes me as I speak. “Hello?”

A long string of curse words in Italian comes through from the other end of the phone. At the end of the monologue, Gian says. “Sorry. I thought he’d be in his room sleeping, and it would be safe to call. God, he’s going to kill me.”

I try to ignore the dark stare from the shirtless man in the corner of the room as I tell Gian, “You and me both.” There’s a loud snort from the dark side of the room.

I glance up. If looks could kill, stab a knife through my heart. Now he’s pacing. He’s got a hand yanking through his hair. Good lord, we all know that’s a bad sign.

I’m already dead—why not press my luck?

“Harrison,” I ask sweetly, “would you mind giving me a little privacy?”

“PRIVACY.” His brows fly sky-high. “Are you being serious right now?”

“I just need to take this call.” I offer a weak smile.

He throws his arms in the air. “Unbelievable.”

I wait for his answer with my heart in my throat. He’s either going to tear me off this bed and spank my ass or leave. He stares at me a beat, then says, “Fine,” and storms out of the room. He closes the door behind him.

I Can Not Believe that worked. I have a little more power here than I imagined. That, or the afterglow made him weak. Collapsing against the bed, I exhale into the phone. “Oh wow. He left.”

“DIO MIO! Ophelia the Miracle Worker!” Gian cries into the phone.

I laugh, hearing his voice. “Don’t call me that yet—let’s see if I can keep us alive first.”

He gives a belly laugh, which makes me feel warm and homey. I say hello properly: “Mr. Gian! Hi!” Then, I rudely pepper him with questions: “How are you? Where are you?”

“I’ll tell you where I’m not at.” He heaves a stressful sigh. “I hated to lie to you, but I’m not with my family.”

“Yeah, I heard something about that,” I say.

“I went on a little trip.” Emotion sweeps through his voice. “For you.”

“For me?” I squeak.

“For you,” he says. “I went to Scotland.”

“Scotland!”

“Scotland. I feel like there’s an echo on this call,” he laughs. “I had to go. Like Haze probably told you—I have no family. I’ll tell you more when we have time, but our conversation made my heart go out to you.” He takes a breath. “So here I am.”

I can’t believe this! “You’re there—now?”

“Yep!” I notice the echoey voices and music in the background as he says, “At a wee pub diving into some haggis right now.”

“Gah. Don’t eat that. Get the stew. That’s what my Grandma makes,” I say. “Wait—why are we talking about food? Tell me everything! What have you found out? I can’t believe you went all the way there for me?—”

The door flies open. I jump out of my skin. Haze has returned, still shirtless.

OH GOD HE’S BACK.

He storms over to me.

His thunderous voice booms through the room. “Hang up that phone. Right. Now.”

“Gian. Gotta go. I’ll call you back.” Grasping my only protection, my quilt-dress, I pop up from the bed like I’ve been struck by lightning.

“The hell you will.” He takes the phone from my hand and closes it with a flip. He tosses it over his shoulder, where it lands on the closet floor.

I gulp so hard I think I swallow a tonsil.

The man is l-i-v-i-d.

Must. Save. My. Ass.

Literally.

I stretch, yawning. “It’s SO late. Should we get some sleep?”

Ignoring me, he walks over to the cozy pink velvet armchair in the corner of the room—one of my favorite pieces he’s bought. I watch in awe, shock, and slight confusion as he drags it to the center of the room.

My interest turns to horror as he pushes the back down hard. My precious chair! Does he know the joy of settling down into a chair large enough to curl your legs up in, but small enough to embrace you like a hug? It’s so nice. If only I wasn’t dyslexic, I swear she’d turn me into an avid reader.

How dare he destroy my stuff in his anger! Well, technically, it’s his stuff, but still?—

“Hey!” Dragging my quilt-dress with me for modesty, I run to save her. “Careful. I love that chair. Don’t break it, please.”

“I’m glad you like it. I bought it just for you.” The chair now lays flat, almost like a chaise. But he’s not done. He grabs the top of the back of the chair, pushing it horizontally toward the center of the chair. As he does this, the middle of the chair slowly rises, creating a smooth velvet mound.

Before I can ask what he’s doing, he reaches up, tearing the quilt from me with one yank. I stand there, naked, cool air rushing over my body, making my nipples peak, tight with discomfort. His hungry gaze devours me. I want to cover myself with my hands, but before I can, he grabs me in his arms.

He tugs me over to the chair. “Hey! What are you doing?” He pulls me forward so I’m lying face down on the velvet, with my ass perfectly perched over the mound he’s created.

“You’ll stay put over this chair and take every lick of my belt.” He warns, “If you disobey me at all, I’ll plug your ass with the largest toy, then start all over again.”

Flurries of ice flutter throughout my belly. His belt? I’ve never been punished other than by his hand. I can’t imagine what being spanked with leather will feel like. “I—I don’t think I can.”

“You can and you will.” The clack of his metal belt buckle sends a chilly shiver down my spine. I tremble at the whoosh of leather as it slides through the loops of his pants.

I cringe, sensing him raising the belt behind me. My ass cheeks clench, and my eyes squeeze tight as I wait for the strap to fall. The belt whips down, leather cracking against my skin, filling the room, the pain hitting.

My fingers dig into the soft velvet edges of the chair. I cry out, choking with agony. “Oh, my—god!”

He wastes no time, bringing the belt down a second and a third time, each strike on fresh skin a new stripe across my ass. I tremble as his fingers trace over the fresh welts on my skin, each touch reigniting the searing pain. My body instinctively arches into his hand even as my mind screams for me to push away from him. But I don’t dare move.

I know better than to disobey the man wielding the belt.

"I love how the leather leaves red marks across your beautiful ass. When you sit down tomorrow, you’ll think of me.” He gives a dark chuckle. “If you even can sit.”

I’m overwhelmed by the pain, the humiliation of being naked, bared to him, entirely under his control. Another strike lands, and I gasp, liquid stinging at the corners of my eyes, the tears not just from the physical pain. There’s something more confusing mixed in, a medley of emotions I can't untangle.

Deep in my belly, the complete surrender to him creates a deep sense of trust and vulnerability, the feeling intensely intimate and arousing.

I’m wetter with each stroke of his belt.

The belt continues to caress my skin, leaving behind traces of heat and lust. My determination remains unshaken, though I’m caught in a seductive game of pleasure and defiance. He will not hear me beg him to stop.

Each lash of the belt sends waves of pain and pleasure through my body as I struggle to maintain my composure. My skin tingles with a fiery desire fueled by his dominance over me. He prowls around me, his piercing gaze locking onto every inch of my exposed flesh.

As I adjust to the pain, I peel away at the layers of the heady experience. The power he wields is intoxicating. I’m reveling in the control he has over me.

The belt comes down lighter now, taking its time as it lightly strokes over my skin as it leaves. With my eyes closed, I let myself sink into a state of erotic bliss amidst the onslaught of his lashes. Each strike only increases my desire, and I bite down on my lip to contain the moans that threaten to escape.

"How much more can you take, baby? Are you learning your lesson? You never, ever hide something from me. Do you, little girl?”

“Don’t call me that,” I hiss between my teeth. The pet name makes me seethe, like when he said something about my “tight little hole.”

“You like it when I call you baby.” He strokes lightly over the burning skin with a gentleness contrasting so starkly with the intense strikes. “Don’t you?”

I don’t answer, and I’m punished with a spank from his hand. He peppers my already burning ass with spanks till I finally admit, “Yes! Okay. I do!”

“Good girl.” The belt hits the floor with a thud.

I didn’t realize every muscle in my body was tensed till I heard that sound, but now my belly and chest collapse against the chair. “Oh god.” I try to breathe, think, and calm myself down.

I’m not even close to even breaths when he speaks. “Now, I want you to return to what you were doing before your little phone call interrupted us. I want you to lay here, on your back, and touch yourself. And I’m going to watch.”

Thank God my face is buried in the chair right now, and he can’t see how flushed his words make me. I did so well, never begging through all the fiery lashes of the belt. But what he demands now is too much. Doing it with him while perched on his lap was different. Putting on a show for him?

The shame comes in a hot wave, threatening to drown me.

“No,” I beg. “Please. Don’t make me do that.”

“I’ll give you one more option,” he says, his voice low and dark.

“What?”

His rough, calloused hands find my back, smoothing their way over my shoulders, down to my waist. I suck air between my teeth as they stroke my punished curves. “I’ll take care of your clit for you?—”

Okay, that sounds really good right now. But I’m guessing there’s a catch.

His hands go between the tops of my thighs and slide my legs apart, my knees dragging along the velvet as they spread. Cool air dances over my wet creases. His fingertips find the arousal there, dipping in long enough to make me moan with desire.

They leave too soon, dragging upward. He fingers my tight rear entrance with a slick fingertip, making my breath hitch in my chest. “I’ll own your pleasure, but I’m going to fuck you in your tight little ass while I do it.”

All the color drains from my face, the air leaving my lungs. I finally gasp out, “But I’ve only ever had the first toy inside. How would that work? How would you fit?”

He gives an amused chuckle. “It’s meant to hurt, baby. It’s a punishment fucking.”

His words send a chill through me. His fingers venture between my thighs, gliding along the intimate folds of my body, playfully nudging at the entrance of my pussy. His now slick fingers trace a tantalizing pattern around my sensitive nub, as promised, but the pleasure is out of reach.

The fiery sting radiating from my punished ass is now warm as he touches me. I find myself swaying in time with his teasing caress. Then he’s gone. The sounds of a drawer, a cap popping open, and a squeeze of lube leave me panting, terrified, and clutching the velvet edges of the chair, agonizing over what is to come.

My heavy breaths and his lowering zipper are the only sounds in the room.

Before I can ready myself for what’s coming, he parts my cheeks, pressing the lubricated head of his cock against the tight ring of muscle of my ass. Without warning, he drives his substantial girth into me, causing me to gasp as I accommodate him. I cry out from the intensity of his entrance.

My mouth gapes, my fingers stretch out, reaching for safety as tears burn at the backs of my eyes, my ass on fire. Despite the stretching, burning pain and discomfort, to my shock, my body welcomes every inch of his massive girth.

A low growl escapes him as he keeps a firm grip on my hips, delving deeper into me. Each contact of him against my tender flesh amplifies the rawness left by welts on my skin as I gasp and buck beneath him.

This punishment is doled out in intimacy, and he wants my discomfort. As our bodies move together, I know this is about his retribution, not my pleasure. Luckily, his hand snakes around my waist, finally fulfilling his promise.

My cries echo in the room as pain mingles with pleasure. The feeling deep within becomes all-consuming; him in my ass, on my clit, an overwhelming sensation that blocks out everything else until there is only me, him, and the relentless rhythm of his body claiming mine.

I whimper as the familiar tight sensation tugs at my core. It’s unreal how quickly I’m now teetering on the precipice of an orgasm deeper than any of the others. He pinches my clit just as the tsunami hits, stealing my breath and sending me spiraling off a cliff into a mind-numbing ecstasy of pain and pleasure.

My body quakes as my inner muscles clench around him.

He doesn’t stop. Instead, he continues his relentless pace, driving me further into the velvet cushion, rubbing my clit, and fucking me into the abyss of pleasure that seems never-ending. It consumes me whole until my eyes roll back, and my body convulses beneath him.

“I can’t take any more!” I beg.

Finally, he gives a deep moan, clinging to my hips as he leans further over me. I feel his cock explode in my ass, filling me with heat and liquid. His come spills over, running down the inside of my thighs.

My precious chair. My afterglow quickly dissipates as the burning from my ass turns to throbbing, and the horror of the mess we’ve just made on the velvet creeps into my worries.

He strokes my hair back from my face, both my skin and hair damp from perspiration. And he whispers the most beautiful words in my ears. A phrase that tells me he not only cares for me—immensely—he knows me.

His voice is a purr. “Don’t worry, baby. The fabric was made for this. It’s waterproof and easy to clean.”

I relax against my lovely chair with a soft “Ah…”

He strokes my back, avoiding the throbbing welts across my ass. I can sense him bending down, and there’s the sound of a drawer opening as he reaches beneath the magical chair. “You’re far too perfect to be in pain any longer.”

Curious, I glance over my shoulder, watching him clean himself with a cloth. He then twists the lid of a small silver pot, and the soft scent of warm vanilla reaches me. He scoops two fingers into the pot, gathering a generous amount of a clear, jelly-looking substance.

He moves to me, kneeling beside me. It feels strange to be laid out on the chair on my belly, completely exposed, leaking sex liquids with him kneeling at my side, his face right at my ass. But then his fingers are on me, spreading the wonderful warm salve all over my skin, and my eyes close. All I can do is melt into the cleanable velvet.

“As much as I enjoy seeing the lovely red marks my belt made on your skin, you’re far too beautiful to leave them.” His finger glides between my ass cheeks, rubbing the salve over my sore hole, instantly soothing my skin. The throbbing leaves my tight muscles healing like magic.

“What is that stuff?”

“Magic Bachman Balm. Twenty-five hundred euros a pot, and you must be family to buy one. You’re my first patient. How do you like it?”

“I love it,” I croon. I like it even better that I’m the only woman he’s used it with.

He wipes a fresh bead across the last welt. “All the wives talk about this stuff.”

“The wives?” A prick of a question tugs at my mind. “Are they nurses or something?”

“Nurses?” He belly laughs. “What makes you say that?”

“Why else would they all need this salve?” I ask.

He stands, wiping his hand on a fresh cloth. He puts the salve back where it came from. Then our eyes lock.

He says, “Same reason as you.”

Wait—what? ALL the wives do this kind of stuff as well? A million questions fill my mind. I pop up on an elbow, ready to interrogate him. “You can’t say something like that and not tell me more?—”

The ringing of a phone cuts off my words. The same sound that started this whole crazy sexcapade.

This time, it’s his phone that’s ringing. It must be three in the morning by now. Nothing good ever comes from a phone call in the dead of night.