His Rule (The Rite Trilogy 1)

No, he really, really doesn’t.

“I’m not playing these twisted games with you.” I clutch the covers tighter around me. “Just leave me alone.”

His eyes move to the clock and then back to me. “You’re delaying the inevitable. Do as I say, or there will be further consequences when I get home tonight.”

“I don’t care.” I hurl myself across the other side of the bed and drag the duvet with me, keeping cover as I bolt for the bathroom. “Find someone else to torture, you sadist. Go beat one of your willing courtesans at the—”

The words come to an abrupt halt when I feel the blanket being yanked out of my grasp. It all happens so fast, I don’t even have time to steel myself before Judge seizes me and whips me around, baring my naked body to him as his eyes blaze with fire.

“What did you say?”

“You heard me.” I keep my gaze locked on his even though it feels like my heart’s about to explode. “You’re so twisted, you can’t even see it. Coming in to rescue me all high and mighty talking about discipline, when all you really want is to—”

Again, my words are cut off as he snatches me up and plants me face-first into the rug. There isn’t time to try for a counterattack. Judge is showing me his true strength, his formidability, and his ability to dominate me so easily, no matter what I might throw at him. Real fear streaks through me for the first time when he hoists my ass up and pins my hips into position with his muscular thighs, squeezing me like a vise.

“Is this what you’re so afraid of?” He taunts me by dragging the leather crop down my bare back, skating over the scars I wish he hadn’t seen.

“No!” I scream and buck against him, but he just squeezes me tighter with his legs, using his palm to shove my face back onto the floor.

“I think it’s exactly what you’re afraid of.” He hurls the words as if he derives pleasure from the fact, like he gets off on seeing me so vulnerable. “What’s the matter, little monster? Where are your accusations now?”

“Fuck you!”

“Fuck me,” he echoes, his voice mocking. “You wish you could.”

Before I can even attempt to formulate a response to that, the crop lashes against my left ass cheek unexpectedly, making me jolt. It stings and has the immediate effect of stealing my breath, but there isn’t time to recover before he does it again.

“How many do you think you deserve for this morning’s display?” he asks.

I clench my jaw and refuse to utter a word or make so much as a sound. I know that’s what he wants. He wants my compliance. He wants to feel like he’s winning, but I’ll never admit defeat even when I’m down on my knees being humiliated by him.

When I don’t respond, he slaps the leather against my skin harder, and it fucking burns. But again, I don’t make a sound. Judge should know I’ve been through much worse. The scars are evidence of that. He thinks he can break me, but I’ve already been broken. I just refuse to let the world know it.

Slap. The leather hisses against my ass, and he grunts, picking up the rhythm, working both sides as he twists left to right, swinging the crop behind him. From my periphery, I can see his muscles straining as he loses himself to the moment, and if I were watching him in any other circumstance, I would think it’s almost inhumanly beautiful the way he moves. As the thought occurs to me, I realize how deranged it is. But I’ve taken many beatings in my life. None of them were measured or well controlled. None of them were beautiful in any way. They were ugly and terrifying. Inexplicably, this time is different, and I don’t know why. I just know I trust that Judge won’t ever take it too far. He’ll push me. He’ll make me uncomfortable. But I don’t believe he’d ever lay a hand on me just to cause me pain. There’s a lesson in everything he does, and right now, the lesson in compliance will be had whether I like it or not.

“Say it,” he grunts. “Tell me why you’re here.”

“Screw you!” I smirk over my shoulder. “That’s why.”

Whack. His crop hits me dead center between my thighs, and it shocks me so violently that I release an ear-piercing scream. The crop clatters to the floor in the aftermath, and Judge stumbles back, staring down at me as if he’s just been doused in ice-cold water.

I release a silent sob as two realizations occur to me at the same time. The first is that he can see all of me right now, and I’m too weak to drag myself up and find even an ounce of dignity. The second is that perhaps I was wrong about him. Perhaps Judge isn’t someone I can trust not to hurt me. Because even though I was more shocked than pained, I’m humiliated, and that’s just as bad, isn’t it?

I bury my face in the floor, trying to hide the moisture clinging to my eyes. I don’t know what’s wrong with me, but it seems as if a dam has opened, and now I can’t stop it.

A long, heavy silence follows before I feel a gentle hand on my waist. I flinch at the contact, but then he scoops me up into his arms. The heat of his bare chest penetrates my skin, and it has the strangest effect on me. I want to hate myself for being so emotionally bankrupt that I could possibly derive any comfort from this man, but that’s exactly what it feels like. His warmth surrounds me, and I can’t help noticing the masculine scent of his sweat combined with the leather from his boots and perhaps even a hint of his cologne. It’s spicy and warm, and I find it odd that I don’t hate it. I should hate it.

I have to believe this is just a side effect of my fragile state of mind. Anyone else in my situation would do the same. Comfort is scarce in my world, and for once, I find that I need it. Even if it comes from the brute who made me show my vulnerability in the first place.

He carries me to the bed, laying me on my stomach before he pauses to stroke the hair gathered on my face. It feels almost like a silent apology, and I tell myself I should recoil from his touch, but again, I don’t.

“Don’t move,” he orders, voice rough. “I’ll get something to help with the pain.”

“I don’t need anything for the pain,” I whisper. “It doesn’t bother me.”

He ignores my protest and disappears into the bathroom, and for a second, I consider trying to bolt for the door. Maybe I could make it if I wasn’t so exhausted. I tell myself I could, but the truth is, I know he’ll catch me. He’ll always catch me. Judge is a hunter, and somehow, I’ve become his prey.

When he returns with a tube of cream, I try to turn over, but his palm comes to rest on the center of my back.