Tomás moves behind me, studying the vision of us, the reflection of me and him in his domain. He lowers to his haunches and unclips the small knife hidden beneath his pant leg. I gasp, unsure of what he plans to do with it. The silver blade glints as it glides through the air and drops to the seam by my ribs. One at a time, he cuts through the thread without effort.
A tremor whispers over me like clouds passing overhead on a sunny day, briefly blocking the sun. For a moment, he pauses, watching me quietly. A heavy palm settles on my opposite hip as he tugs at the stitches like he’s gutting a fresh carcass.
The sound of thread snapping matches the snap of my quick pulse. Once there’s enough of a tear to satisfy him, his teeth clamp down on the handle of his pocketknife and he yanks my dress with so much energy it disintegrates into a puddle of torn fabric at our feet.
I watch his eyes flash in the reflective surface. He releases the knife handle and tosses it to the floor with the same detachment that he’d offer me when our extraordinary arrangement is over.
In a blur, he fists my hair at the nape and shoves the side of my face against the mirror, crowding me from behind. “You like watching people fuck?” His voice is thick, almost tattered with the growl biting at my ear.
My hands fly up to support myself, slamming on cold tempered glass. I don’t respond, shaking from within when he laughs darkly.
“You’ll watch yourself getting fucked by me now.” He controls my head by tilting it, so my lips meet their own reflection. “Lick your reflection. Let me see you enjoy it.” Tentatively, the tip of my tongue peeks out of my mouth. He angles me a fraction more to allow a little space. “Lick,” he murmurs. I flatten my tongue and drag it over the mirror, connecting reality with a vision. “Do you see how pretty your mouth is? How perfect it is for me.”
My skin chills with his words of praise. The recognition of my damaged mouth being something of value to him sets alight a tempest of emotions.
His face dips into mine. Our tongues mingle with flirtatious licks. It’s not a kiss, far from it. Our lips don’t meet and the second I try to go deeper, he breaks away.
His hand snakes under my pelvis and hitches my ass into his groin. At the same time, he steps back, bringing my hips with him. I fold over, face forward, eyes to my naked reflection. With my palms pressed shoulder distance apart, he keeps his fingers woven in the lengths of my hair and secures me before the mirror that will reveal everything.
“Do you want my cock?” he hisses. I suck in sharply when his other hand skates over my buttocks and slips lower. “Were you hoping André would fuck you, too?”
When I try to twist around to answer him, the grip in my hair becomes unshakeable. “No,” I snap with frustration.
“You’re not fooling anyone,little liar.” The echoes of his baritone quiver to my core, welcoming a savage thirst to kiss him like he’s the only drop of water in a ruthless desert.
He doesn't permit me to budge from this position. Instead, he hunches over me and glides his tongue between my shoulder blades. There’s a moment of silence, like we’re underwater and lost in the ocean's quietness.
“I’m going to punish you for wanting another man while I own this body.”
“No!” The word rushes out like a burst dam. “That’s not what I was thinking at all.”
“Liar,” he grits out.
“You know I don't want André.”
“Who do you want?”
“You.”
All contact wanes. “Then be a good girl and don’t move, or I’ll spank you so hard you’ll wish my brother was here to save you.”
My legs start to shake when he unbuckles his belt. I study his stern expression projected before me, with a glimmer of something unknown flickering in his eyes. It's not malice or cruelty, more like excitement tainted with jealousy.
“Wait…” I pant, my knees wobbling when the leather is freed from his waist.
“Fight against me and I’ll deny you pleasure.”
He quickly unzips his trousers and drags them to ankles with his boxer briefs in hot pursuit. Looping the belt, he holds it one hand and saunters closer, his destructive cock nudging my bottom.
The fierce crack lands before I have time to prepare for its arrival. A swift strike cuts across my buttocks with searing pain, sharper than the edge of a flaming sword fresh from a blacksmith's forge fire. I cry out, my forehead butting the mirror when I jolt.
“Whose dick owns your pussy?” Tomás bites out.
Belts and force may harm my skin. Bruises may haunt me for weeks. But the thrill of an inflicted sting with the promise of pleasure to come—it’s depraved and wrong—unbalancing and a major turn on.
“Yours…” I manage to whimper.
My sweaty fingertips slip down the hard surface, squeaking against the glass when another lashing is administered.