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Authors: Kayla Stonor
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and hit the other cheek.
He hissed.
The next one she aimed at his back, making sure to miss his kidneys. She slightly mishit that one and his yelp startled the birds out of the trees. “How many?”
“Two.”
She aimed for his upper back, but it was hollowed in because the rope stretched him too high pulling his shoulder blades together. She moved to the branch and added slack to the rope until his back was flat and smooth. She didn’t look at him, but she sensed him watching her every move.
The third stroke left a diagonal stripe from his right shoulder blade to just before his mid-spine. She stepped away and managed to create a parallel stripe on his left side. Rossini grunted that time. She lowered her aim and landed a gentler one across the middle of his back so the leather missed his spine. The tip coiled around his waist and he danced at the end of his rope.
“ Cazzo !”
She swiped his behind, sparking a strangled cry.
“How many, not including that one?”
“ Five .”
He was paying attention. She laid into his backside without pause sparing no mercy.
“How many?”
For a moment, he could not find the breath. Then he gasped out, “ Ten .”
She lifted her arm to strike him and couldn’t find the will to continue. This wasn’t her. “It is enough.”
His head lifted as she swapped belt for stun gun then moved towards him. He frowned as she released him from his bindings.
She read the question in his eyes and sighed. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
He bit his lip.
“You can speak now.”
“I can take it, Tahima.”
“It’s not you I want to hurt.”
“Stephen.” He growled the name deep in his throat.
“Yes.”
His hand lifted and she stepped back. “Don’t touch me.”
Anger flared in his eyes. “What the fuck did he do to you?”
She quashed a rising panic. He wasn’t mad at her. “Will you put the cuffs back on?”
Rossini looked confused. “I said I would.”
She looked at his frighteningly hard cock. “Then I will deal with that.”
His six-pack clenched. He hesitated then said, “So let me get this straight. You need the stun gun and cuffs to make you feel safe enough to . . . I still scare you?”
“Yes. I trust you, but you still scare me. I shouldn’t trust you. It’s all wrong. I think I don’t trust myself.”
“I think the cuffs distance you. Remind you that I’m a murder suspect on the run from the police. You need an excuse to take control.”
Resentment flared. “ Don’t try to analyze me !”
“God, Tahima, why are you so ashamed of who you are?”
“Because he made me feel like trash.” The words spilled out before she could stop them. Hot tears sprang in their wake.
Rossini pulled her into his arms before she could react. His insistent cock dug into her hip. The electrodes of the gun pressed against his stomach. She only had to press the trigger.
Instead, she sobbed into his chest. “He said I was trash.”
“You are not trash, I swear to you. You could never be trash.”
His lips touched her forehead, traveled over her wet eyelids. She was unaccustomed to the sensation, the tenderness behind his caress. She moaned in her throat. His fingers sought and found her breast under her T-shirt. His touch was urgent. Demanding.
Taking control.
Anger, fear, heat, emotions too tangled to name, reared up. Her shove sent him stumbling back.
Chagrin filled his face. He raised his hands, palms towards her. “Tahima . . .”
“ I said, don’t touch me . You are not in charge here.”
“I know.”
“Assume the position.”
His head jerked back and his eyes darkened. She sensed his conflict and nearly raised the stun gun, but then he dropped to parted knees, whether from fear or obedience, she did not know. Bowing his head, he rested his knuckles on his knees. His fingers curled open. Relaxed. Giving. He did not look up. Seeing him like that hit her in a place she did not know existed.
Desire for him welled.
She beat it down and
He hissed.
The next one she aimed at his back, making sure to miss his kidneys. She slightly mishit that one and his yelp startled the birds out of the trees. “How many?”
“Two.”
She aimed for his upper back, but it was hollowed in because the rope stretched him too high pulling his shoulder blades together. She moved to the branch and added slack to the rope until his back was flat and smooth. She didn’t look at him, but she sensed him watching her every move.
The third stroke left a diagonal stripe from his right shoulder blade to just before his mid-spine. She stepped away and managed to create a parallel stripe on his left side. Rossini grunted that time. She lowered her aim and landed a gentler one across the middle of his back so the leather missed his spine. The tip coiled around his waist and he danced at the end of his rope.
“ Cazzo !”
She swiped his behind, sparking a strangled cry.
“How many, not including that one?”
“ Five .”
He was paying attention. She laid into his backside without pause sparing no mercy.
“How many?”
For a moment, he could not find the breath. Then he gasped out, “ Ten .”
She lifted her arm to strike him and couldn’t find the will to continue. This wasn’t her. “It is enough.”
His head lifted as she swapped belt for stun gun then moved towards him. He frowned as she released him from his bindings.
She read the question in his eyes and sighed. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
He bit his lip.
“You can speak now.”
“I can take it, Tahima.”
“It’s not you I want to hurt.”
“Stephen.” He growled the name deep in his throat.
“Yes.”
His hand lifted and she stepped back. “Don’t touch me.”
Anger flared in his eyes. “What the fuck did he do to you?”
She quashed a rising panic. He wasn’t mad at her. “Will you put the cuffs back on?”
Rossini looked confused. “I said I would.”
She looked at his frighteningly hard cock. “Then I will deal with that.”
His six-pack clenched. He hesitated then said, “So let me get this straight. You need the stun gun and cuffs to make you feel safe enough to . . . I still scare you?”
“Yes. I trust you, but you still scare me. I shouldn’t trust you. It’s all wrong. I think I don’t trust myself.”
“I think the cuffs distance you. Remind you that I’m a murder suspect on the run from the police. You need an excuse to take control.”
Resentment flared. “ Don’t try to analyze me !”
“God, Tahima, why are you so ashamed of who you are?”
“Because he made me feel like trash.” The words spilled out before she could stop them. Hot tears sprang in their wake.
Rossini pulled her into his arms before she could react. His insistent cock dug into her hip. The electrodes of the gun pressed against his stomach. She only had to press the trigger.
Instead, she sobbed into his chest. “He said I was trash.”
“You are not trash, I swear to you. You could never be trash.”
His lips touched her forehead, traveled over her wet eyelids. She was unaccustomed to the sensation, the tenderness behind his caress. She moaned in her throat. His fingers sought and found her breast under her T-shirt. His touch was urgent. Demanding.
Taking control.
Anger, fear, heat, emotions too tangled to name, reared up. Her shove sent him stumbling back.
Chagrin filled his face. He raised his hands, palms towards her. “Tahima . . .”
“ I said, don’t touch me . You are not in charge here.”
“I know.”
“Assume the position.”
His head jerked back and his eyes darkened. She sensed his conflict and nearly raised the stun gun, but then he dropped to parted knees, whether from fear or obedience, she did not know. Bowing his head, he rested his knuckles on his knees. His fingers curled open. Relaxed. Giving. He did not look up. Seeing him like that hit her in a place she did not know existed.
Desire for him welled.
She beat it down and
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