Page 16 of Bloody Savage God
“Electric,” Gianna says, a twinkle of laughter in her eyes now. Then she flicks a switch and swats my cock, an electric zap shooting through my sensitive bits. The current doesn’t stop there either, traveling all the way through my body to my brain, where something fires and makes my balls furtively try to draw up against the ball stretcher yet again.
Another slap.
And another.
Pain, pleasure, defiance. I feel it all, but most of all, I feel my obsession with the woman in front of me grow because I was so right.
She can deliver.
“Don’t hold back on me, or are you not a real man?” she asks, showing me she picked up on my earlier complaint.
I’m more of a man than she can know. I’ve killed, I’ve tortured, I’ve done despicable things. Things that would probably drive her need higher, too.
When she slaps my aching balls with the swatter, zapping me with yet another electric shock, I groan in agonized pain. My cock pulses and cum shoots out earlier than I wanted.
“I can handle anything you throw at me.” My words are a challenge, a demand that she come back and try to best me, but Gianna only laughs.
“Perhaps.” Then she steps around me and releases the chain, ignoring the way I ball my hands into fists instead of shaking them out.
“Take off the toy and leave it in the room. I’ll tell the staff they need to clean it. And put on some clothes before anyone sees you. I don’t want to deal with any reprimands because you wanted something more intense.” Her eyes trace the red G on my chest for a second, pleasure radiating in her green eyes, before she turns away.
Her reference to the blood that is crusting on my cock and across the thin lines she’s drawn across my upper body, is so utterly callus that I’m once again impressed. The men in our kind of life that underestimate women are idiots. There is no one more calculating and capable of violence than a well-motivated woman.
“Sure thing.” I keep my tone neutral, making sure she knows how unconcerned I am with her easy dismissal of breaking the rules. She might not know who I am now, but she’ll damn well wonder. Because there is no way this is the end of us.
“Good.” Is all she says, before she turns around, grabs her bag, and walks out of the room.
Except, wherever she is going, it won’t be far enough to keep me away from her. Because Gianna Bruno is mine, and no other man will ever be allowed near her again.
Chapter Six
Mikhail
“What’sgoingon,Anya?”
When my little sister calls me, I always answer. Even when I’m hung over as fuck after getting piss drunk at the bar last night.
It had seemed a good idea after leaving Club Steel.
“Get down to Flemingdon.”
“What’s going on?” Our Flemingdon Park club is one of the more profitable ventures and my sister keeps a close eye on things there. Though not officially, since that would give our father a coronary.
“Just get down here,” she says, hanging up before I can argue.
It’s never a good idea to let Anya wait when she has something urgent enough to call me for. When she calls, it usually means she needs someone taken care of, and that is the one thing about this life I truly enjoy.
Not bothering with underwear, I pull on a pair of jeans and grab my wallet. I throw a quick glance at the red, crusted G on my chest before I pull on a shirt and leave my place, sporting a semi from the memory of Gianna’s knife slicing through my skin.
It takes me twenty minutes to get to the club, and despite the early time, the pounding beat of the music hits me like a brick wall when I walk in. The air is thick with the scent of alcohol. The dancers gyrate on stage, and the patrons cheer and holler, throwing money onto the stage. Apparently, none of them have noticed that it’s a new day, though I doubt many would care. This isn’t the nine to five kind of crowd and it’s a Saturday, anyway.
I make my way past the stages to the back where my sister is waiting for me. Anya is always one step ahead of everyone else, and it’s no different today. She looks up at me with a severe expression, her arms crossed over her chest. Definitely not her usual open body language.
“What’s the problem?” I ask, trying to keep my voice low over the noise.
“Viktor,” she says, referring to one of the bartenders. “He’s been stealing from the till.”
My blood boils at the thought of someone stealing from our business. Again. This is becoming a recurring problem, and that means drastic measures are in order. My temper has always run a bit high, though over the past few years I’ve managed to keep a better hold on it. Most days anyway.
