Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 102375 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 512(@200wpm)___ 410(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102375 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 512(@200wpm)___ 410(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
I remember her flinch. The way her breath caught. The whimper that escaped her throat—soft, broken, beautiful.
I hit her again.
And again.
Her skin bloomed red. Then darker. The welts formed in perfect parallel lines, evidence of my control, my precision, my ownership.
A flicker of something twists quickly in my chest. Something uncomfortable. Something that feels suspiciously like a little boy’s guilt.
But the monster is faster.
She loved it, it whispers. You know she loved it. You saw the way her body responded. The way her breathing changed. The way she arched into the pain instead of away from it. She's yours. She chose you.
I swallow hard, forcing the guilt back down where it belongs—buried deep, sealed tight, irrelevant.
"She didn't safeword," I repeat, and my voice is steadier now. Colder. "That means she consented to everything I did."
Jino's expression doesn't change. "Consent isn't the same as care."
"I cared. I gave her structure. Boundaries. Exactly what she needs."
"Did you?"
The question is so simple it feels like a trap.
I open my mouth to respond, but the words don't come. Because something else is surfacing now. Another memory. A realization I've been avoiding.
I didn't make her come.
The thought hits me like a slap.
I had her cuffed. Spread open. Wet and trembling and desperate. I could have made her scream. Could have given her pleasure so intense it would've erased the pain, melted the welts into something transcendent, something she'd crave.
But I didn't.
I punished her. Marked her. Owned her.
And then I left her there, aching and unfulfilled, while I carried her to the bath and whispered things she wouldn't remember.
Shit.
I also didn't use the wax properly. I dripped it over her wounds.
I didn't give her what she needed.
The guilt stirs again, sharper this time, clawing its way up.
But the monster speaks louder.
All the better.
The voice is smooth. Rational. Almost soothing.
You withheld. That's perfect. The more you deny her, the more desperate she becomes. Pleasure is currency, Giovanni. Affection is leverage. The less you give, the more she'll crave it. Any touch. Even the painful ones. Especially the painful ones.
I exhale slowly, letting the logic settle over me like armor.
The monster is right.
Of course it's right.
Emmaleen is already addicted. Already desperate for my attention, my approval, my hands on her body. If I flood her with pleasure, she'll grow complacent. Comfortable. She'll stop fighting for it.
But if I make her earn it? If I make her wait? If I make every touch—painful or otherwise—a privilege she has to beg for?
She'll never leave.
She'll never want to leave.
I meet Jino's gaze again, steady. Unflinching. "She's fine," I say, and the certainty in my voice is absolute. "Better than fine. She's exactly where she needs to be."
Jino studies me for a long moment. His jaw tightens. The bruise on his cheek shifts as the muscle flexes beneath it. "You really believe that." His voice is quiet.
"Yes."
"Then you're more fucked up than I thought."
The words should sting. They don't.
Because the monster is purring now, satisfied, convinced that I'm finally listening.
"What did you do last night?" I ask, shifting the focus before Jino can dig any deeper. "You said you 'took care of it.' What does that mean?"
Jino's expression doesn't change, but something flickers in his eyes. Calculation. Decision.
"I gave her what you didn't," he says simply.
The possessive rage flares instantly, hot and vicious.
"You fucked her?"
"No."
The word is sharp. Final.
"Then what?"
Jino crosses his arms, the skeletal saints on his skin shifting as the muscles flex. "I gave her orgasms. With my fingers. My mouth. No penetration. No violation of your precious rules."
The monster snarls.
He touched her. Again.
I step forward, closing the distance between us, my hands still in my pockets because if I take them out, I'll swing. "You don't get to—"
"She begged, Giovanni." Jino's voice cuts through mine like a blade. "She was trembling. Desperate. Broken. And you left her like that. So I fixed it."
"You had no right—"
"I had every right. I'm her trainer. Her Master during the day. That's the agreement. And part of training is aftercare. Proper aftercare. Not whatever the fuck you did last night."
"I gave her a bath—"
"While she was in subspace." Jino's voice rises slightly, the calm veneer cracking. "You whispered trauma into her ear while her brain was too fried to process it. You used her vulnerability as a confessional booth. That's not care, Giovanni. That's manipulation."
The guilt tries again. Pushing harder this time.
But the monster is already rewriting the narrative.
He's wrong. She needed to hear it. She needed to know.
He's jealous. He wants her for himself. That's all this is. He's trying to undermine you because he can't stand that she chose you.
"She chose me," I say aloud, and my voice is ice-cold now. "Not you. Me. She accepted my consequences, took my punishments, and didn't safeword. She submitted. She wants this."
"She wants you," Jino admits. "But she doesn't know what that means yet. And you're not teaching her. You're just... breaking her. Over and over. Until there's nothing left to break."