Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 121310 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 607(@200wpm)___ 485(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121310 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 607(@200wpm)___ 485(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
And there, in the dark of her eyes as she begs me, I see something of what’s eating me alive. The need to escape into sensation. The desperate hunger for someone else to take control when your own grip on reality is slipping.
In so many ways, Anna isn’t just my interlocking puzzle piece—she’s my mirror.
We’re both running from something. Both trying to save ourselves through this twisted dance of pain and pleasure.
“Tell me what’s going on,” I say, but even as the words leave my mouth, I’m already reaching for my shirt, tugging it off. The cool air of the club raises goosebumps across my chest.
“Nothing’s going on,” she insists, but I can taste the lie. Doesn’t she know how that drives me crazy?
Stubborn woman. I walk deliberately to the wall of implements, selecting each one with care. The flogger first—soft leather tails to warm her up. Then the paddle. And finally, the cane. I watch her eyes widen at that one.
“Tell me what’s bothering you,” I demand, landing a sharp spank on her ass. The sound cracks through the air, drawing interested glances from nearby patrons.
She gasps but shakes her head. “Nothing.”
I start with the flogger, working her flesh in a relentless figure-eight pattern, watching her skin bloom pink beneath the strokes. Around us, the club continues its rhythmic pulse, but I’m aware of eyes on us now, drawn to the sight of Anna’s reddening flesh and the power exchange playing out before them.
“Why are you a bad little toy who deserves punishment?” I ask, switching to the paddle.
“Because I made a mess!” she cries out, her voice breaking.
I pause. “The house is spotless.”
She hesitates, searching for another lie. “In the... kitchen. Yesterday.”
I don’t give a fuck about kitchen messes. I step closer, pressing myself against her back, letting her feel my hardening cock through my slacks.
“What is this really about?” I growl into her ear. “You don’t give a shit about the kitchen, and neither do I.”
I slide my hand up to her throat, applying gentle pressure. She swallows hard against my palm.
“I made a mess,” she repeats, tears gathering in her voice. “I lost Mads. I miss her. I—I need her.”
I exhale, resting my forehead against the top of her spine. So that’s what this is about. The integration. She feels guilty about absorbing Mads back into herself. As much as they fought, of course, it would feel like a loss.
But there’s something else too. Something darker in her desperation that matches the chaos in my own head.
“Are you having difficulty with intimacy again?” I ask softly.
“No,” she snaps, twisting to glare at me over her shoulder. “I want this. This makes sense. It’s the only thing that does sometimes. Please. Punish me for the mess I’ve made.”
My heart aches for her, but she’s shown me what she needs. What we both need. By coming here and begging for punishment, she’s proved what we’ve always known—that sometimes the only way to quiet the noise in your head is to wear the pain on your skin instead.
“So you need to be punished until you can feel like a good girl again?” I ask, my voice dropping to that register that makes her shiver.
She nods, head hanging between her bound arms. “Please. Domhn. I’m a bad little cunt bitch and I need you.”
The words are so unlike her usual vocabulary—something darker, more self-loathing. It triggers something savage in me, something that recognizes her pain because it mirrors my own.
You create family by taking care of the needy.
Maybe Dr. Ezra’s right. Maybe I am just a broken little boy, desperate to prove he’s worth keeping around by fixing everyone else’s damage. But if that’s true, then Anna and I are perfect for each other—two broken people trying to save each other through the only language we both understand.
Pain. Control. Surrender.
I bring my hand down hard against her ass, and she lets out a throaty scream that has nothing to do with pain and everything to do with release.
I take up the cane, trailing its rigid tip along the sensitive skin of her inner thigh. She shudders, breath catching when she realizes what I’ve chosen.
“You’re so fucking pretty when you scream,” I whisper, my cock hardening to the point of pain. “I’m going to make you scream until your throat is raw.”
“Yes,” she breathes, fresh tears spilling down her cheeks.
I grab a fistful of her hair, yanking her head back sharply. I lean in and drag my tongue slowly across her cheek, savoring the salt of her tears.
“I want more tears,” I murmur against her skin. “I want them running down your throat by the time I’m done with you.”
My cock strains painfully against my slacks. I reach down to free myself, my thick shaft springing out heavy and engorged. Pre-cum beads at the tip, and I smear it across her lower back, marking her.