Page 49 of Brutal

Brutal pulls me down onto his lap, moving my limbs like I’m a doll until I’m straddling him. I can already feel through his pants that he’s hard. He cups my breast in his hand, toying with my nipple. “Let’s just sit here for a bit,” he says, as though the lit candle’s mere existence isn’t any sort of threat at all.

But I’m aware of it, and I can’t stop thinking about it.

He plays with both of my breasts for a moment, leaning in to kiss my throat. He’s being gentle, so very gentle, and it’s at odds with his usual demeanor — and with whatever he’s planning.

Hot wax has the potential to be very, very painful, especially if he puts it on more sensitive areas. He’d gotten off on caning my feet until they’d split open; there’s no reason for me to think that he’d go easy on me now.

So much for our “bonding” last night.

It’s in keeping with what I know of his psychology, though. He doesn’t like to lose, and he doesn’t like to be reminded of his shortcomings.

That’s no different from most men, though. He just takes it to the extreme.

I hold myself still while he continues to paw at me. It’s difficult to keep my breathing even when he’s playing with my nipples like that. They perk up at his touch, and I remind myself that nipples perk up at everything. Maybe it’s just the temperature.

Goosebumps spread across my skin.

He continues to kiss along my neck, going up to nibble on my earlobe. The contrast is sharp compared to what I know he could do — what I’m sure he’s going to do — but for a moment, it almost feels good to have him touching me.

Almost.

For several long moments, he treats me gently, but it comes to an end too soon. He grabs me by the waist and pushes me down onto my back on the bed, staring down at me. “You’ll want to be very, very still for this,” he tells me. His voice is too casual for someone I know is about to potentially do a lot of damage to me.

He grabs the glass jar of the candle, and I can see where wax has pooled up around the wick. He swirls it around a little, considering it, then turns back to me. He sits down on the bed next to me, and he pauses only briefly before lifting the candle and tipping it over ever so slightly so that a few splatters of red wax land on my skin.

I gasp in pain, instinctively pulling in my stomach in order to escape it, but of course there is no escape. My mind is telling me to run away—fuck Brutal’s orders—because it’s only going to get worse.

But I’m extremely aware of the fact that wax play is nowhere near the worst thing Brutal has subjected me to.

It’s nowhere near the worst thing he could do to me, either.

“How’s that?” he asks, and I’m not sure if it’s a rhetorical question or if he really wants to know the answer.

I look up at him, trying to figure it out.

He scowls at me. “I said, how’s that?”

“It hurts,” I say honestly.

That turns the scowl into a calculating smile. “Good.”

With that, he tips the candle again, this time splashing more of the wax onto my skin.

It looks like blood.

I whimper and try to breathe through the pain, but it’s a hot, burning flash. It cools quick enough, but the pain lingers—and he drips more wax onto me before I have time to prepare myself.

This time, I cry out, and he groans like that’s what he’s been waiting for. He runs his finger through the hot wax where it’s still malleable on my skin, though he doesn’t react from any sort of pain. It’s still warm, but I guess it’s not warm enough for him to be uncomfortable.

The next time he pours, it’s a steady line from between my breasts down to my belly button. I arch, unable to keep myself from thrashing a little as I scream. He’s holding the candle so close to my skin that I can feel the heat emanating from the bottom of the glass itself.

It’s strange how the parts of my skin with cooling wax feel more sensitive. Not in pain anymore, but still different.

“S-stop,” I say, shaking my head. “I don’t like this.”

“Do you think I give a shit what you like?” Brutal retorts, pouring a swirl along my breast before toying with it again. “How do you think it’s going to feel when I pull all of this off?” He laughs. “I do like this. I can do it again and again, and Hunter can’t bitch at me about hurting you too badly.”

It doesn’t sound like he’s in control, but I’m not going to point it out to him.