Lies That Sinners Tell (The Klutch Duet 1)

Then pain exploded against the skin of my ass, a slapping sound came after. It was white hot. Jay had not eased me in to this, hadn’t worked his way up to this. I’d never been spanked before, he knew this, so I should’ve been eased in to it. Regardless, I loved it. I gripped the counter and moved my body upward ever so slightly, a silent plea for more.

Again, pain preceded the sound of what must’ve been a cane as it seared my bare skin. The same spot, the same speed and impact. I couldn’t hold by a low moan ... pleasure mixed with pain.

My knees shook after Jay brought the object down again. My pussy ached, my stomach swirling with need and shame.

“Yes, you like this,” Jay murmured, his palm moving over the stinging skin. It was light, his touch. Almost tender.

His tenderness hurt more than his violence.

Again, the object struck my skin. Again, instead of flinching away from him, I moved my body toward him, offering my ass up to him. A gift. For him to hurt me.

Nothing came.

Instead, something clattered slightly on the counter beside my hands followed by a rustle of clothing, Jay’s hands at my hips, his cock probing at my entrance.

“Yeah, my pet fucking loves it,” Jay growled. Then he surged inside.

My body exploded after just two thrusts, falling apart as if he’d spent hours building me up to this with his lips, with his fingers, not a fucking beating on my ass.

The only thing holding me up were his hands at my hips. His cock inside of me was the only thing holding me together.

Jay was going to pull me apart just so he could walk away, and no, I’d never be whole again.

A part of me knew this, understood it more clearly with every moment I spent in his presence. But I didn’t care. Not right then, as he fucked me in the dark, with my skin stinging from his violence. Didn’t care much later after he’d finished, led me to the bathroom, showered me and put me to bed without letting me speak.

Didn’t care the next morning.

Or the one after that. Jay owned me in a way I couldn’t understand. That didn’t make sense. But I was addicted to him. To his cold cruelty. I ached to be the one person in the world that understood him, that unearthed the humanity inside of him. And if I couldn’t do that, I’d settle for being his.

Until he decided I wasn’t.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

TWO MONTHS LATER

Sex shouldn’t have been that good.

It had to be criminal to have sex that good.

Consistent, great, passionate sex with multiple orgasms was propaganda peddled by the patriarchy. They wanted women to feel like they were inadequate for not enjoying sex when they were ‘supposed’ to. They wanted women to blame themselves that the average man didn’t know where to find the clitoris, was basically useless after an orgasm and had the mindset of ‘well, too bad, it was your fault that you didn’t come fast enough’.

Jay, however, was not an average man.

This was something that had been clear from the start, of course. With his devilish good looks plus the mystery that surrounded him, the danger. But even the most extraordinary seeming men could be terrible in bed. In fact, in my experience, the more attractive, capable and successful they were, the more selfish they were in bed.

And the man who had demanded to fuck me on his terms with a laundry list of rules, should have, by rights been the most selfish of them all.

That was not the case.

Not at all.

I hadn’t known that this kind of satisfaction could be contained within the human body. That human beings could experience such deep levels of gratification. Pleasure. Sex with Jay was a sin, and I was happy to fuck a sinner rather than be left unsatisfied with a saint.

Then there was the stuff that didn’t involve sex. The way he held me so tight in his sleep that it was impossible to move. The fact that this didn’t suffocate or scare me but made me feel the safest I’d felt in my entire life.

The fact he knew I liked to be hurt, yet he didn’t make me feel ashamed of it. He loved that about me. Then there was him bringing me coffee in bed. It happened after the second weekend, eventually becoming routine. He’d slip in bed beside me, sometimes with his laptop. Sometimes with his phone. And on one magical morning, with a book of poetry.

And then there was the fact that he, against all odds, cuddled me after sex. Though it was impossible to use the word ‘cuddling’ when referring to what Jay did. In actuality, it was him clutching me to his skin, his hands exploring every inch of my spent body.