Page 16 of Vows in Sin

R eign

I feel it. I know it. She’ll be back tonight. It’s settled deep in my gut, a private radar only for her. I swear I’ve got a memory bank that holds every piece of her—how she sounds when she whimpers and begs, her smell, her taste, and the salt of her sweat when I put my mouth on her.

I picture her, already knowing what she’ll look like when she finally steps inside. Beautiful. Strong. Yet broken.

She doesn’t even try to hide it or pretend she’s here for any reason other than sin. She’s dressed for it—short skirt, no bra, painted pink lips parted as if she’s ready to suck on something hard.

She’s waiting for me to catch her. She craves the punishment. That’s why she’s here.

This time I’m not giving it to her for free. I’m going to make her ask for it, beg for it, earn it. I’m going to make her work for the chaos she loves. She thinks she’s the one in control, and that’s where she’s wrong.

I’m on her before she’s halfway down the hall. Hand clamping on her arm, hard enough to bruise. She gasps—loves it—and when I push her back against the wall, she moans so loud I grin.

I sense she’s willing to do anything to get what she wants tonight.

But she has no idea how hard I’m going to make it.

I don’t say a word. Not yet. I hold back.

I nod over my shoulder to catch the eye of one of my bouncers. He’s young. Closer to her age. Confident. Cocky. Watching with way too much interest. I wave him over.

Her eyes flash with shock. She didn’t expect this. Didn’t expect me to share.

And I don’t. I won’t.

But she craves shame tonight, and I’m going to give it to her. Her eyes go wide like a startled animal. She starts to speak, but it’s my turn to decide how this will go.

“Wha—” she stammers.

I shove two fingers into her mouth. “No talking.”

Then I lean down and growl into her ear. “You want Daddy’s belt again?” I feel her quiver against me, soft strawberry-scented curls brushing against my cheek as she nods.

“I told you to call. I told you to ask. Instead, you come prancing in here like you own the place. Like you own me.” My hand slides around the back of her neck, and I squeeze, hard but not too hard.

Never too hard. Only enough to make her go limp around the edges.

“But you’ve got it all wrong. You’re my pretty doll, and I own you.

You want my cock tonight, princess?” I bite her earlobe to hear the little noise she makes when I do.

Too eager, she quickly whispers, “Yes.”

It’s so good, the way she says it. I want more. I want everything. “Not good enough. You need to ask for what you want.” I breathe it against her skin, making her tremble from head to toe. “I’ll teach you to use your words.”

I jerk her away from the wall, dragging her stumbling.

She may be smaller than me, but she’s a force.

I can feel that, even when I’m hauling her down the hallway deeper into the storeroom, back to her wall, her crate.

But now there’s him, the bouncer, all cocksure and ready, leaning in the doorway like this is a goddamn show.

I push her down till her ass is perched on the edge of the crate.

“Look at him,” I order, and it comes out low and thick. “Tell him what you want.”

This time, she hesitates. She hesitates, and that’s when I know I’ve got her and really got her. Cupping my hand around the back of her neck, I repeat my words. “I said—look at him.”

She lifts her face. Humiliated. Wet already. My little masochist. My little doll in her heavenly hell we’ve created together. When her voice finally comes, it’s barely a whisper. “I… I want to be punished.”

My fingertips dip into her soft flesh. “Louder.”

“I want you to punish me.” Her breath hitches, swelling erratically, as she tries to catch it.

The shame drives her, and she glances up at me, eyes wide and glossy.

“Please.” I grab a fistful of her hair, force her head back so she has to look up at both of us, look up at both the bouncer and me watching her fall apart.

“Tell him who you belong to.” I’m relentless, and she’s giving me the show I’ve been waiting for.

Her lips tremble, and I can see her lose herself to it. “Y-you. I belong to you.”

“Now ask me properly. While he watches.” She squirms, caught between her humiliation and her need. She wants this: the shame, the heat, the eyes on her. I can see her thighs clench, see her rock against the edge of the crate. She knows I won’t touch her until she says it.

The bouncer watches, his breath ragged, eyes locked on her as she begs. “Please,” she whispers. “Please use me.” Her voice shakes like it might break. “I want you to bend me over and spank me. I want your belt. I want your cock.” She’s spinning out, and I’m the only one who can catch her.

I smile. Dark. Hungry. “That’s better.”

I drag her to her feet, shove her over the crate, her skirt riding up. No panties, of course. Seeing the naked lower curve of her bare ass makes something hot and possessive rise in me. I address the bouncer with a curt, “Now get the fuck out of here.”

Her beautiful curves are for my eyes only.

I pull off the belt. She trembles.

And I give her everything she begged for. Everything and more.

The first crack of the belt echoes through the room, and she jolts forward; a cry catches in her throat.

Her hands clutch the edge of the crate, knuckles tight, body braced.

But she doesn't run. She never runs. I strike her again, the belt licking across her flesh.

Her gasps fill the room with her need and her pain.

I punish her with my belt. She’s a stunning sight to behold, and she's all mine. I pause, running a hand over her hot skin, feeling the welts rising. She shudders under my touch, a low moan escaping her.

"More?" I ask, leaning down, my chest pressed to her back, my voice a rough growl. But I don’t wait for an answer. She came here to use me, but tonight, I’ll take what I want from her.

Right now.

She’s already where I want her—hands flat to the wall, skirt bunched high, bare and waiting. Soft rising welts against skin that trembles at my touch. Her back arches, involuntary, hungry. Arranging myself, I slide the latex sheath down over myself with practiced ease, the snap of it a prelude.

I press in close, my hips against her backside, the heat between us sparking like flint to tinder. My hand snakes around her waist, not tender—possessive. Her breath hitches.

“Ready?” I rasp near her ear, but it’s rhetorical.

I’m not here for permission.

I draw my fingers along her side, nails dragging a path just shy of pain—her pulse flutters where my lips find her neck. I grind against her slowly, teasing, letting her feel how hard I am, how ready.

She pushes back—desperate, aching.

I thrust forward.

She gasps—sharp—her body jerking as I fill her. The slap of our hips echoes, obscene, furious. One hand keeps her pinned, the other threading up into her hair, yanking her head back so I can watch her face, flushed and undone, teeth dragging across her bottom lip like she’s trying not to scream.

“Good girl,” I mutter against her jaw, voice thick and dark. “Take it.”

She does. Oh, she does. Every snap of my hips drives her forward against the wall, palms scraping concrete, the sound of skin on skin a brutal, staccato drumbeat. I want her dazed, hollowed, entirely ruined for anyone else.

I give her everything—every inch. Every ounce of fury, lust, and want. She shakes beneath me, strung tight and soaked through, legs trembling but refusing to fall. She’s mine like this—marked, used, owned. And she knows it.

I’ve grown addicted to seeing her, to having her seek me out, to our dark, carnal encounters.

I step back, putting some distance between us. She senses the shift, looks up at me with those big doe eyes. I can see the questions swirling in them, the desperation for something more. But I steel myself, lock away the part of me that wants to comfort her, to tell her it's all going to be okay.

"You should go," I say, my voice cold, detached. I see the hurt flash across her face, but she nods, pulls herself together. She stands up, straightens her skirt, and turns to leave.

I reach out, grab her, and hold her in my arms, demanding one last kiss. Heat and energy flow between us as I swipe my tongue against hers. She clings to me like I’m her savior, and in this embrace, I feel more alive, more…real…than I have in…

Too long.

She’s too young. And I’m far too bitter. She’ll never end this. She’ll continue to use me.

And I’ll continue to let her.

There’s too much at stake. Jane broke my heart. This girl could break me completely.

I won’t make the same mistake twice.

“This has to be the last time,” I say.

She stares up at me eyes full of regret and something else. “I know.”

And she leaves.