Because he’s the first person to see your sins and wash them clean.
The thought comes unbidden, and I don’t understand it. I only believe in sins in the abstract. I knew there was nothing holy about the world from a young age. You can’t grow up in my father’s house without knowing that. But here I am, with the word sins ringing in my ears and throbbing between my legs.
I don’t press my thighs together because they’re bruised. He belted me there, too, and like some kind of hungry slut, I sank into that pain like a fucking lover’s caress.
But there was never any relief. No. That’s not what I’m here for. I’m here for punishment.
I don’t know why I’m here. I assume it’s because of what I did, but I don’t know who would have wanted me to pay.
Not specifically. Not...with a name. Or a face.
I gather the energy to turn over onto my side, being careful not to roll too far onto my ass, and another tear slips onto my cheek. God, with the crying. Too much punishment can break a person, everyone knows that. But I don’t feel broken by the punishment. I feel broken by that one, glancing touch. His fingers on my back. He was so close. He was so close, I could feel it, and then he ran out of the room like he discovered I was a sorceress.
I need him, still.
Even now.
I push myself up onto my elbow, trying to get more air into my lungs, and the door to my cell flies open.
It startles me. The past two days I’ve tried not to show any kind of surprise when these things happen, but my nerves are stretched tightly and I let out a gasp, scrambling to sit up. That’s a mistake. My ass is sore, oh, God, the pain is so fresh. He left marks.
I want more marks.
I roll onto my hip before I see who’s standing in the middle of the cell.
“Sir?”
“Don’t call me that now.” I don’t recognize his voice, it’s so different from the way he sounds when we’re in that room. It’s different even from the way he sounded last night, when he pinned me to this bed by my throat.
“I need to,” I whisper.
He comes closer, dropping to his knees in front of me. It’s so unlike him that I rear back. Has he decided to kill me? Is he going to ask forgiveness first?
“You don’t know what you need from me.” His hand comes out and he braces himself against the bed. “You don’t know me at all. You have no idea what I’m capable of.”
“I do.” My voice is still shaking, but I wish it was strong. “I know. And I want it.”
“Get up.”
He stands, and my brain struggles to catch up. “What?”
“Get up. You’re coming with me.”
I don’t know how I get up from the bed. He doesn’t help me, and my legs wobble underneath me. Cassian strides for the door and stops, silhouetted in the light from the hallway.
“Where are you taking me?”
I can’t see his face, and he doesn’t answer, only steps into the hall.
I follow him.
It’s deserted here, like I thought it would be, but he turns the opposite direction—away from the room where he punishes me. No, that’s not right. He can punish me in any room. My chest goes tight. Maybe there’s another room, a worse room, where he’s taking me now to....do what? What could he do to me that’s worse than what he’s already done?
And then there’s that voice, a seductive whisper. What could he do that’s better?
There’s another door at the end of the hall, one with a touchpad next to the frame, and Cassian raises a hand and punches in a long code like he’s been doing it all his life. Probably he has. The door slides open, and he steps through the opening.
“Are you coming?” The lines of his face are sharp in the light, even though the hallway where he’s standing is...different.
The carpet where I’m standing is white, with enough plush pile that my bare feet sink into it a bit. But there’s a clear demarcation between where I’m standing and where he’s standing. There’s an intricate pattern under his feet that blends with the color of the trim. My part of the hallway has trim that’s the same blue as the walls. It’s purposeful, meant to divide us. A tremble moves through my hips when I think about crossing that line, and until two days ago, I never would have given it a moment’s consideration.
“Let me rephrase that.” The tenor of his voice changes so that it resembles the sir I’ve known for the past two days. “Come here.”
I’m still ashamed at how fast my body responds to that. A drip of wetness slides down the inside of my thigh, the air evaporating it in a burst of cool.
One step over the line and I’m by his side.
Naked.
I am always naked in my cell. I am always naked in the punishment room. But here? Where is here? I’m aware of it with a cascade of prickles all over my exposed skin. For all I know, any of the doorways in this hallway could open, and anyone could come out, and then—
Then what?
I’m here to be punished. That’s what I know about...all of this. I know I was hauled off the streets and brought here. I fought. I know that. It was me that fought them. My stomach lurches. I thought being returned to my family was the worst possible outcome, but it’s not, is it? The worst possible outcome is to be...
I can hardly dare to think the word.
Sold.
Cassian’s eyes are on me—I can feel them—for another burning moment and then he turns and moves down the hallway. I hurry to keep up with him. Every step reminds me of what he’s done with a kind of stretching pain across my ass, but my mind whirls with the new possibilities. Am I the dumbest person on the face of the planet? How could this not have occurred to me before?
He makes one right turn down a narrow hallway where the light is dimmer and I follow him closely, my breath loud in my ears. He raises his hand to another keypad, this time entering a shorter code. This door opens soundlessly and he slips through.
It’s...a secret passage.
That’s what it has to be.
There is no decoration, and the carpet here is thinner, of lower quality. It scrapes against the soles of my feet as I follow him. The lighting here is only two strips along the lower corners of the walls, so I know this isn’t a place meant for public consumption. No one is meant to see this. A thrill of excitement blooms and dies at the pit of my gut. There’s no way to know if this is good or bad. No way to know at all.
How many steps is it down the hall? I forget to keep track, but Cassian pauses again. One more doorway. One more touchpad. I crane my neck to look behind us—that other door is closed now. The one in front of us slides open, and Cassian’s shoulders drop an inch. Then he stops, holding out his arm like he’s ushering me into a party.
“Go in.” This is no less a command, and I follow it, preceding him into the room. The door closes with a swish behind us.
It’s not a room. It’s a suite. We’ve stepped into a kind of den, with an overstuffed sofa facing a roaring fireplace. There are two chairs flanking the sofa, and as we stand there, the lights come up around us.
Smart lights. An expensive touch.
Cassian shifts behind me, and I spin to face him.
The expression he’s wearing is like nothing I’ve ever seen.
“Why am I here?”
The question tumbles out from between my lips before I can stop it. Cassian watches my lips move, his eyes dropping away from mine, and the air between us crackles with an energy I can hardly bear to breathe in. It’s like the walls between us have been dropped away.
“Surely you’re not so naive.”
He has a beautiful voice. It’s rich and low, almost like a song.
I swallow before I answer. “I don’t think of myself as naive. But that doesn’t mean I know why I’m here.”
“Be more specific when you speak. It will save time.”
He doesn’t waste any time, does he?
“I want to know both things. I want to know why I’m in this room, and I
want to know why I’m in your...house. I’m assuming this is your house.”
“And you think now is the time when we should be honest with each other?”
I shrug one shoulder, feeling my nakedness more with the way my breast lifts and falls. “You brought me here, so...yes.”
“The only reason people come to my home through the back entrance is because they’re under contract.” His eyes are so dark, so fixed on my skin.
“What does that mean?”
He steps forward, closing the distance between us in one step. I watch his hand rise to meet my chin, and at the first touch of his fingertips, grazing the line of my jaw and down to my throat, I let out a moan. “Are you sure you want to know?”
19
Cassian
I can’t fucking help myself.
Away from those rooms, the distance between us is a taunt, a tease, and I can’t say another word without getting closer. So I do. God help me, I do. And that sound she makes when I touch her lights up parts of me I never knew existed.
Being affected like this by a woman was never in the cards for me. How could it be? The business is all that has ever mattered. And being in charge of this business means having as few weaknesses as possible. That’s what it means to be an impartial arbiter in the kinds of high-stakes disputes that rich people want to sweep under the rug.
But I am affected.
I can’t help it.
“Answer me.”
I’m like a moth wending its way toward a flame. I go toward her knowing I’m going to get burned, but I have to do it anyway. At least once. This raw sensation, this wide-open feeling—I can’t turn away from it. Not yet. I’ve never felt it before. Never allowed myself to feel it before.
That was a smart fucking decision, because a man could be brought to his knees this way. And I can’t afford to kneel to anyone.
I see the way her body responds when I command her this way. Justice fought like a wildcat, but clearly she’s been waiting for submission all her life.
“Yes,” she whispers.
This moment feels easier than the others. It’s another one in a series of moments where I should make the opposite decision. I know the stakes. I know the business rides on this. But with my hand on her skin, all of it fades into the background.
“A person under contract has been brought to me for punishment. Or, in broader terms, to settle a deal. Or a dispute.”
Her eyelashes flutter as she opens her eyes, but she’s still, like she’s worried the slightest movement will make me release her. “Disputes? For who?”
An alarm bell goes off in the back of my mind, but it’s probably an innocent question. It wouldn’t be beneath some of my clients to send a woman to get under my skin, to get confidential information, but a woman who had been sent for that purpose would never behave like Justice has behaved.
“For the people who can afford to pay me.”
A question flashes through her eyes then. “Who paid you for—for me?”
I run my thumb along the curve of her jaw, and she trembles beneath my touch. She may be trembling, but her nipples are hard little pebbles that I want to run my thumb over.
I resist the urge, but I get more purchase on her jaw with my fingers and tilt her face to mine. Blue eyes, like a summer day in the Mediterranean. An endless blue, like flying. Soaring. “That’s a bit of a mystery.”
She furrows her brow. “You kidnapped me and you don’t know why?”
That makes me laugh, the way she says it, and the sound feels unfamiliar in my mouth. “I didn’t kidnap you.”
“No.” The word is a whisper, almost a sigh. “You have other people to do your dirty work.”
It draws another laugh. “I do all the dirty work in this business. And the acquisition of contracts isn’t usually such an...ordeal.”
She tips her head back another inch, exposing more of her throat to me. She might as well be Polyxena, ready to bleed out in front of Achilles. Only Justice’s sacrifice won’t end any wars. It might begin a few of them. “People just come here? Of their own free will?”
“I wouldn’t bring free will into it. Most of the contracts arrive with some knowledge of what they’re paying the price for.”
Her lashes lower then, and a deeper shade of blush spreads over her cheekbones. “Then you must know what I’m paying for.”
The nearness of her is intoxicating. She’s been punished, and all I can smell is the scent of the soap on her skin and something that’s purely her underneath, like...sunshine. It sounds ridiculous even in my head to think it, but it’s true. And then there’s the scent of her arousal, which must be leaking between her legs.
“I don’t care what anyone’s paying for,” I growl, and it gets her attention, because those eyes lock on my face again. “I’m never invested in what goes on between families in this city. I’m here to collect a hefty payment when they want something settled, and that’s all. It’s what my own family is known for. But with you, precious thing—” A full body shiver rocks her at those words. “I can’t even muster a passing interest at what you’ve done or not done. The crimes you’ve committed or not committed...” I bring my other hand up to cradle the back of her head and stroke my fingers down the side of her neck, tracing the line of her shoulder and then moving around to her collarbone. Her curves send my fingers on a pathway straight to her nipple, and I circle one without touching it directly. The peak rises a little more. “I am...curious about you in other ways.” I keep my tone utterly conversational, because it seems to be working wonders on Justice.
“What ways?” Her reply is breathy and light, and I’m not imagining it—she shifts her feet another inch outward, spreading her legs for me even now. So fucking wanton. I love it.
“I want to know why you fought me so hard.”
“I—I didn’t know—I didn’t know why—” The patterns of her speech are broken up by the fact that I’m still tracing around her nipples, one by one, then dipping a finger down toward her navel, but not lower than that. “I didn’t know why this was happening.”
“But you do know. Because you think someone has a personal vendetta against you. Tell me. What was it? Did you break off an engagement? Cross a man you weren’t supposed to? Insult someone during an important business transaction?”
“I—” The word dies out as soon as it crosses her lips, and no more follow. Not that I really care. I do care, in general, but not in this moment.
I lean in close, so my lips nearly brush the shell of her ear. “I want to know what you taste like.”
She lets out a moan that’s the cousin of a sob, and I pull back to watch the relief dawn on her face like a new sunrise. “What else?”
“I want to know how you feel when you tighten around my cock. I want to be buried in you.” Softer, softer, so she has to lean in to listen, so she’s hanging on my every word. “I want to know what it’s like to fuck you with a punished ass, with my hips driving into that raw flesh with every stroke.
I have been holding back. I have been teasing myself as much as I’m teasing her, because there’s nothing I want more than to feel the heat between her legs. But there’s one last shred of me that’s clinging to the standards my father set for our business years ago. And I know that if I touch her there, I will be lost entirely.
Yet the act of resistance is like resisting the urge to breathe. I allow it to go on for one more draw of air into my lungs, and then I trace the path from the hollow of her neck down between her legs. Justice’s hips rock forward, begging, and her hand comes up to cover mine on her neck, pressing it into her skin so that I won’t let go.
My fingertips meet heat, meet wetness, meet flesh that’s pouting with need, and I break.
I sweep Justice into my arms with one movement, not being careful of the abused flesh of her ass. She lets out a little cry of pain that feels like a jolt of pure oxygen as I carry her across the room to the sofa and deposit her on it in a heap.
“Get up.”
The commands come so easily to me, and for once, obeying comes easily to her. Justice scrambles to her knees, gripping the back of the sofa for all she’s worth. “Spread your legs. Wider. Press your ass out, toward me.”
She does, making a sound in the back of her throat that’s half invitation, half warning.
I bring my hand down on the stripes across her ass fast. Hard. Without warning.
Justice lets out a strangled cry, but she spreads her legs another inch wider.
“You’re a slut for the pain, aren’t you?” It’s a rhetorical question, but her head drops forward. It almost looks like a nod. And she does not move her ass an inch. She doesn’t cower, doesn’t flinch.
“Tell me how ashamed you are.”
“I’m so ashamed.” Her voice is filled with tears and it lights a fire up every inch of my spine. “I should—I should be fighting you. I should have kept fighting you every moment, no matter what—no matter what you did. But—” A real sob rips from her throat.
“But you needed that pain.”
I give her another strike across the ass, the pulse pounding in my ears. I should not be doing this. There is no way I should punish her even another stroke.
“I...deserve it,” she chokes out. “I was pretending I didn’t, I was trying to believe I didn’t, but I—I deserve it.”
What could make her deserve this? It’s for my own pleasure that I’m being so harsh, and my hand aches to spank her again. Justice is shaking, close to the edge. And I want to know. I want to know what secret she’s keeping, what awful, dark thing she’s submitting to punishment for. Because we’re beyond the contract, and now we both know it.
She turns her face toward mine, and her lip trembles. Her hands stay firm on the back of the sofa. “I deserve it.” Her whisper is broken. “But sir, please. Please—I can’t take—”
I lay a hand on her hair and she lets her head drop back like I’ve shoved a vibrator between her legs. “No more.”
Her eyes fly open. “There has to be...another way.”
Cards of Love: Justice Page 9
