You Are Mine Little Sister (by Syra Tucker) novel Chapter 118

Thoughts were tangled in my head. Then, came the whip, ripping a scream out of me.

"Fuck!"

Another whip, this time I figured it was the word I said. 'collared things don't speak.'

I clamped my teeth into my lower lip, swallowing the plea that tried to climb out. A tear broke and slid. Across from me, the monster looked perfectly relaxed like we were having a normal conversation.

He asked again, calm as a clock, "what do you do when things are messy?"

You clean—the answer trembled on the edges of my sanity.

He must have seen it land, because his mouth curled into that small, menacing smile.

My eyes drifted to his stained toe and stalled there. I knew exactly how to fix it, but the shame of bending this low for him curdled in my mouth, right until my own voice inside me broke the tie: 'You came back, Rali. He didn't drag you.'

I sniffled, dipped my head, and extended my tongue. Heat scalded my chest as I circled his toe and gave it a slow lick.

My brows furrowed when something sparked low, going straight to my cunt. Something that started off as humiliation braided itself with want, and the want won ground.

When the toe was clean, he shoved me before I could pull away.

I kept my eyes on the floor and swallowed the taste of me and him, pretending I couldn't feel the hole his stare burned through my face.

"You clean quite well," a dead little chuckle haunted his voice.

He stood up and my stomach dipped when he started walking.

Wait—the leash.

I gasped as the lead tightened and my body lurched forward. He didn't even glance back. With the leather wound in his fist, I had exactly one option: to crawl.

Shit.

'Wait' pressed against my teeth, but my back still hurt from the last whip. I shut my mouth and moved on hands and knees, following him like a lost puppy.

He didn't stop until he reached the three-seater couch and took a seat. I was still catching my breath when he looped the leash around his fist—once, twice, again—until the slack vanished and I was dragged close, our faces a breath apart.

His eyes skimmed my face with clinical interest: cheekbone, mouth, eyes; an evaluating 'hmm' catching in his throat.

"You look better when you can't speak," he taunted, and shame flushed fast and mean through my chest.

His other hand slid into my hair, combing once and almost gently, then yanked just when I leaned into it. My head snapped to the side, a soft helpless sound fighting out of my throat.

"I was very pissed when you left, you know," his tone settled. "Do you know the list of options that sprinted through my mind? The things I wanted to do to you?"

His eyes tracked from my cheek to meet mine. "I thought of finding you, dragging you back, then taking you to my warehouse where I'd keep you chained for a year."

His forefinger traced my jaw like he was underlining text. "I contemplated blowing up Joe and Tasmin's pretty little house so you'd run out of places to pretend you're safe."

My brows knit.

"I also thought of branding my name on your forehead so no matter where you run, the world would always know you're mine."

I shifted on my knees, a new vein of fear opening under my skin. Okay, he wouldn't. Right?

As if my thoughts were loud, his mouth notched into a half-smile.

"But then I came to New Portland and decided to let you be. Want to know why?" He slid two fingers under my collar and tugged me close by the throat.

"Because I knew you were a bitch, and bitches always crawl back on their knees."

The words struck me like a slap. For one second, defiance flared to life inside me. He must've seen it, because he tightened his hold on the leash enough to cut my breath to a thin thread.

I forgot about my little rage and focused on releasing the choke around my throat. Fuck, he was killing me.

"You're going to ride me, Green," he breathed against my nose. "Like a bitch."

A hot blaze licked the rims of my vision.

His lips edged up. "What? You're a bitch, aren't you?"

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