Page 11 of Filthy Little Lies

“Yes, if you don’t want it, then you’ll learn from it. Hopefully, we won’t have to repeat this punishment in the future.”

“Future? There’s no future. If I do this, I get to leave.”

He lifts an eyebrow, which explains perfectly that he’s done talking.

“If I have to put you into position, I’m tying you to the bed .”

No need to threaten me twice. I move to the foot of the bed. It’s a four-post bed with the most comfortable bedding I’ve ever sat on while waiting for an angry mobster to come kill me.

“Pants and panties down, all the way,” he orders as my trembling fingers work the button on my jeans.

Hooking my thumbs into the waistband, I shove them down to my knees and stop.

He sighs.

Before I have a chance to speak, his huge paw of a hand pushes me between my shoulder blades, bending me over the bed and holding me there. He tears the jeans and panties down to my ankles; then one by one, pulls them over each of my feet and tosses them across the room.

“Wait!” I fling my hands back, covering my bare ass.

“Move your hands. Now.” Before I even have a chance to consider obeying him, the belt strikes my thighs.

I shoot up to my toes, crying out from the lightning coursing across my skin.

“Okay! Okay!” I pull my hands back and tuck them beneath my chest.

The next strike lands across my asscheeks, but it hurts no less. I jump at it, then the next and the next.

“Stop! Oh, god, it hurts!” I wiggle, but he’s holding me down, giving me no room to escape the blows.

Methodically, he brings the belt down across my upturned ass, not missing a single inch of flesh. Tears build, then fall down my cheeks.

Not only from the pain, which is insanely sharp, but the humiliation. I’m bent over, being strapped by this huge man as though I’m some naughty little girl.

It’s horrifying.

And yet there’s a slickness between my thighs that’s getting worse as the spanking continues.

“Do you have any idea how dangerous it is to fuck with men like me? With men like Vincent Ricci?” He pauses, lightly dusting his fingertips over my tender flesh.

I’m fully aware of the danger, but something tells me if I tell him that it will only enrage him further.

“Savannah, answer me.” He slaps his open palm across my right cheek.

“Yes, I do.” I tense, waiting for the next strike of the leather. It doesn’t come.

He leans over me, his body flush with my own. The roughness of the denim further reminding me of the discomfort in my ass.

Brushing the hair away from my ear, he presses his mouth to the spot just beneath. The tenderness of the gesture is ruined when he speaks.

“I’ve killed men for less. Do you want to know how?”

“Not really, no.” I fist the bedding beneath me.

“How many times have you pulled this scam?” The question throws me. One of his tactics to keep his prisoner on their toes.

“Does it really matter?” I swallow, suddenly having a severe case of dry mouth. Probably because all of the moisture in my body has been reverted to between my thighs.

“It does.”