Page 4 of Shame
He laughs softly, still behind me. “For real? Every bitch in the universe says they’re eighteen.”
“I—I have papers.”
“Sure you do. Lift up your arms.”
My nipples harden from the surge of sudden fear. I hate that I can’t see him. I let go of the cramped hold and raise them straight out to the sides. My breaths come out erratic, and I can’t calm down enough to hide it. When something strokes along the naked skin on my back, a finger, slowly from my nape and then down, I can’t help flinching.
“Are you afraid of me?”
“No, sir.”
He leans in, his chest warm against my back, his breath fans my ear. “Yes, you are. You’re terrified. I love it.”
His hand disappears only to land on the inside of my thigh, gripping my flesh hard, then it moves up, all the way, pushing up my dress, connecting with my naked pussy. His growl makes heat shoot to between my legs despite the trepidation.
“Why are you afraid, Miss Carmen?”
I begin to turn, to look at him, but he grabs my shoulder and pushes me forward until my hips connect with the hard edge of his desk making me whimper from the pain. He keeps the pressure, forcing me to bend over until my cheek lies flat against the cold wooden surface.
“Don’t move. Not one fucking inch.” He shakes me. “Do you understand?”
I nod, unable to connect my voice with my brain.
“And she disobeys me.” He sighs. Then a smack so hard it robs me of my breath lands on my ass. “Will you move again?”
I’m about to shake my head but manage to whisper instead. “No.”
“Good girl.”
A second slap lands on my ass, not as hard as the first, but the surprise makes me jump.
“Oh, I love it when they jerk. Spread your arms, lay them on the desk. You have a beautiful ass, Carmen, a real fucking asset.” He laughs.
I get the lame pun, I just don’t find it funny, and I already hate this man who owns my life, my flesh, and my every breath. I grip the sides of the desk so hard my knuckles must be white. He’s gonna fuck me here, like this. And it’s all good. I can take a pummeling.
He presses against me, his hard bulge against my naked pussy, the rough fabric of his jeans scraping against my sensitive flesh. He pushes a button on a panel on his desk, a few inches in front of my nose, and a disembodied voice comes to life.
“Sir?”
“I need you, Ivan. Get in here.”
My heart rate doubles. Two. Okay. I can do two. I just hope it isn’t the giant by the door. I hope I at least get to be on top if it’s him. Salvatore takes a step away, and I find myself missing the heat of his presence as cool air wafts against my naked skin. The door whispers open and close. Steps.
“Where do you want me?”
His voice is a deep baritone, rough, as if he’s unused to talking. It’s almost sexy.
“Hold her wrists for me.”
My eyes shoot open, but I remember not to move. I do nothing as my wrists are clasped in giant paws, held tightly, stretched over my head. I can’t see who it is, and I don’t dare to look. I’m pretty sure this Ivan is the same man who opened the door, though, and the thought isn’t comforting.
“Are you afraid yet, young Carmen?”
He’s just talking. It’s just words. “I’m here for your pleasure, sir.”
Salvatore barks out a laugh. Then the first rap of fire hits my butt and I scream from the shock.
“She’s never tasted the belt before,” he says as scorching agony hits my behind again, a little lower this time, right where my thighs meet my ass. I buckle, but I’m held firmly in place.