Ruthless Savior - Julia Sykes Page 0,37

my thigh, keeping her torso trapped against the ground with the pressure of my hand around her wrists. The position forced her to arch, pushing her ass up into the vulnerable position I desired.

She twisted, but she only managed to grind her breasts into the dirt and flail her legs uselessly.

“Please!” she gasped, breathless from her flight. “Raúl, I’m sorry. I—”

My hand cracked over the backs of her thighs, one after the other. “Don’t apologize,” I commanded on a guttural snarl. “It won’t save you this time.”

My fingers grabbed the hem of her dress, and I jerked the bright material up over her ass, trapping the gathered fabric beneath her shackled wrists at her lower back. Savage pleasure flooded my system when I revealed the burning red imprints of my hand on her smooth thighs. The marks contrasted beautifully with the lace-trimmed, white panties I’d bought for her.

She wriggled, so I smacked her twice more in sharp rebuke.

“I warned you there would be consequences if you tried to run from me. You’re about to learn exactly what that means.” My voice dropped to a deeper register as the vortex of rage battering my insides slowed. Having her like this—subjugated and utterly helpless—calmed me somewhat. A semblance of rational thought returned, and I settled into grim purpose. “I don’t care if you hate me. Your hatred changes nothing. I will not let you go.” I punctuated the last promise with six harsh swats, making sure she felt each word branded deep in her flesh.

“I don’t hate you. Raúl, please—”

“Don’t lie!” I bellowed, my tenuous calm ripped to shreds by her continued attempts to deceive me. “No more lies. Not one more fucking word.”

A broken sob wracked her body, triggering an answering pang in my chest.

No mercy. I wouldn’t be fooled again. I wouldn’t fall for her pretty lies.

She’d betrayed me, deciding that my death was an acceptable trade for her freedom. I’d been an idiot to forgive that. I’d been stupid to convince myself that she wasn’t a deceptive little snake.

All because she’d made me feel like she cared, like she saw something good in me.

My fury was sharpened by an edge of pain.

No mercy.

“Do not run from me.” My snarled edict was nearly drowned out by the merciless crack of my hand on her ass, followed by her ragged cry.

Every time my hand connected with her soft flesh, her lush body jolted over my lap, stimulating my dick. Her soft curves rubbing against me heightened my most savage instincts. I craved to free my cock, rip away her panties, and drive into her wet heat.

The power behind my blows softened, and my palm lingered against her enflamed skin after each slap, pressing the brand of my touch deeper into her tender flesh. My maddened rage at her escape attempt developed into perverse, possessive hunger. The feel of her squirming and shaking in my iron hold overtook my mind; my entire world centered on the perfect bounce of her curvy ass beneath my hand and the cruel pleasure of her thrashing hips teasing over my throbbing cock.

As my blows slowed, her harsh cries roughened to deeper, gasping moans. Between slaps, my fingers began to explore her burning flesh, caressing the curve of her ass. Her overheated skin pebbled beneath my callouses, and her thrashing regulated to a steady, undulating motion of her hips.

When she pressed into my erection, I grabbed her cunt, anchoring my fingers just above her clit. I ground my palm against her labia, and she arched to press deeper into my hand.

“I knew you’d be like this,” I rasped, barely aware I was speaking the words aloud.

Testing her, I rotated my palm against her pussy. I groaned at the wash of desire that soaked the cotton barrier between us.

My cock strained against my jeans, aching to get inside her.

I gritted my teeth and denied my most primal urges. Marisol had deceived me. She’d tried to run from me.

“You won’t get to come for a long time, corderita,” I promised darkly, continuing to stimulate her cunt. A soft, broken sound shuddered from her chest, and she rocked her hips into my harsh grip. “That’s it. Suffer for me.”

“Raúl…” My name was a low, anguished moan.

I shifted her slightly, so I could work my belt free. My dick throbbed, but I wrestled for control of my worst urges. The torture of self-denial only sharpened my cruel plans for her. If Marisol was experiencing even a fraction of the painful lust