15. Ethan
Cassidy glares at me, a sullen light in her green eyes, but she doesn’t argue. Slowly, wincing, she pulls up her leggings.
Every atom in my body is telling me to get rid of this girl.
What just happened is proof of how dangerous this situation is. I lost all control. Thankfully, she survived.
Ha. Survived? She fucking taunted me.
It’s all for show. She’s hurting. I can see it in the way she moves—slowly, stiffly, like she’s trying to put as little friction on her ass as possible. She inches over to the edge of the bed and climbs off, swiping at her eyes, smudging her mascara.
She’s even prettier when she cries.
I take a hurried step back, grabbing a pair of sweats from the floor and tugging them on under my towel so I can shove a hand in my pocket and keep my cock flat against my belly. Neither of us needs a reminder of how aroused I am—there’s a fucking damp spot on the towel from the precum my cock leaked with every blow I landed to Cassidy’s plump little ass.
I toss the towel on the bed, trying to rid myself of the memory of how translucent her panties became after a few lashes.
She yanks her nightie straight, smooths her hair away from her face, and turns to me with a frown.
“There. Happy?”
That she won’t be able to sit for a few days without being reminded of my belt is the only thing that’s made me happy for weeks.
I huff through my nose and head for the room’s en-suite bathroom. “Delighted,” I grate out.
Opening the vanity, I take out a tube of ointment. Cassidy straightens and watches me warily as I approach.
I don’t trust myself around her for one more second. She fumbles with the tube of ointment when I toss it in her direction, and then clutches it to her chest, eyes wide.
“It’ll soothe the pain.” I stab my thumb toward the door. “Now get the hell out. I’ll deal with you in the morning.”