The Rebirth of Sin (Wicked Trinity Book 2) (4 page)

Taking the knife where it lay by the side of her body, I slid it underneath her underwear at the side of her hip and cut it. I slid the flat of the blade along her skin and cut the other side, letting it slide off her body.

I walked my fingers down the crack of her ass, finding the plump lips of her pussy and opened her. She’s wet, but not wet enough. I looked down at her open slit. The view of the slickness on her rose colored inner lips made my breath hitch. 

Oh, yeah, she’s very scared.

Taking a step back, I wound the whip in the air a few times, building up her fear a little more. She trembled severely enough to make the glass on her head began to rattle. A tiny little whimper escaped her mouth.

“I haven’t started yet, princess.” I laughed. “You’re acting like you’re new to this. First I hit you, then you whimper. But tonight, I’d prefer it if you scream.”

Before she could respond, I flicked my wrist and hit her harder than I usually did when warming up, across the ass.

She jerked up in surprise, but it left me disappointed. She didn’t scream. 

I received a mood-lifter right away. The glass slid off her head like it was on a slow motion camera and fell to the ground. She fought hard to keep it on her head, but it didn’t matter. Her fists clenched as they remained tied to the legs of the table. She wiggled, thinking she could get free and fix her fuck up. With her legs and arms bound, she couldn’t.

Clucking my tongue, I stepped around her until I faced her and lifted her chin over my fingers. No tears. Only a pout and shuttered eyes. After all that I and others had done to her, she remained strong and defiant. She would continue to be shaped into the image of the woman I wanted her to be, but she wasn’t there yet. She had to be strong for others, but completely pliant for me.
I’ll work on it.
She won’t be strong for much longer.

“I’m thinking of a number,” I squatted down to her level. “One through twenty. Guess correctly and you can choose your punishment. Guess incorrectly and…well, you know how this goes, don’t you?”

She closed her eyes for a moment. “Nine,” she blurted out the answer.

The answer was three. My smile spread slowly and screamed, ‘You just fucked up royally.’

She groaned and dropped her head. 

I made my way around the table to the back of her position and glided the knife up her skirt. Lifting up with a short and hard jerk, I split her skirt up to her waist. I worked on her shirt and bra next, leaving her with only her heels and thigh highs.

I ran my hands down her spine, fingering the beautiful marks I made on her back. Unzipping and grabbing my hard dick in my hand, I spread her pussy open with the fat head while clutching the knife in my fist and pressed it against her spine.

I rolled my hips back and forth, opening her a little but never fully diving into her. She was wet and warm, dressing the head of my cock in her juices.

She moaned, pleading for a more, and the second she tried to buck her hips—but couldn’t due to the expert way I strapped her down—I tilted the blade until the serrated edge touched her skin and sliced superficially into the area on the small of her back.

A muffled scream unfurled from her mouth. I did it again a centimeter higher than the last cut as I thrust into her, pumping in and out. She couldn’t hide her scream behind her closed mouth. She let go, tensing up and crying while moaning. Her fear and pain made her clench up, strengthening the hold her tight pussy has on my cock. 

The bottle of bourbon was beside me, rattling against the shudder of the table. As I flexed my hips and gave it to her harder, hitting the soft cushion at the end of her pussy, I opened the bottle with one hand and poured a little onto her spine.

She sucked her teeth and began to sob.

“That’s it, princess, cry for me.” After placing the bottle down, I picked up the knife, and with an unsteady hand, sliced her skin, this time going deeper. I tilted her hips as much as the restraints would allow, keeping her still. The bourbon pooled down her spine and reached her newest cut to make her cry a little harder.

I was on the verge and could feel the strain building up in my testicles. I needed one more scream of pain. I held onto her waist, and with my thumbs, dug into her cuts and pulled the skin to widen the cut and allow the bourbon to sink into her wounds.

She screamed, sending her shout to bounce off the walls. My brain filled with white noise. Rocking my tense body in and out of her so hard the table jarred and her ass jiggled, my tension released, filling her with my cum.

Stopping my strokes, I inhaled deeply and smiled down at the damage on her spine. She was going to feel it every time she walked or tried to sit down. She would remember me the next day and the following day. I would never be able to leave her mind or her thoughts because I would always be remembered as the one who was the source of her pain.

There was so much blood on her spine it created a pool in the crease. Sliding out off her, I touched her shoulder as she shivered. Every time she tensed, she pushed my cum out of her. The white liquid dripped out in streams, like a broken faucet, onto the floor. I fingered her, pushing it back inside her. Leaning forward, I slurped up the blood-tinged bourbon. “Are you okay, princess?” I asked, swallowing down the salty and bitter taste of her blood and my favorite liquor while trying to hide my grin. I reveled in her when she was this way. Broken and needy.

She nodded, but her sobs told me something else.

Pulling up my pants and fastening them, I headed to the bathroom for the kit. I came back to her and fixed up her wounds with antiseptic, and then placed gauze and tape over the open cuts. 

I untied her from the table and waited, standing only a half a stride away from the edge. 

She lay there, less than inclined to get up. I helped her, purposely being rough, and set her down on the edge of the table. In her eyes, I could see everything; she felt every single one of her open wounds. I cut her in a place to make sure that she did. She sucked her teeth and put her arms around me.

Lifting her chin over my fist, I gave her a warm smile. “You’re my angel.”

She bobbed her head, having trouble looking at me.

I put my arms around her, soaking up the way her body trembled in my arms. I pressed against the bandage on her spine to make her whimper. Tears streamed down her cheeks, and I kissed each one until she stopped crying. 

“What do you want from me, princess?” The after was the only time I had ever complied with her wishes. She usually wanted and needed me to hold her and lie to her and tell her that everything was okay between us. That she was perfect for me and someone I didn’t deserve. I believed less than half of everything I ever said to her. Unknown to her, I’d been slowly upping the ante, pushing her to do more things in my name. She never declined, she agreed to everything like the obedient woman I knew she could become. 

“Just hold me,” she said through a sob. 

Cupping her face, I barely kissed her. I was never really one for that type of affection, but I did it for her. “I love you.” And then I lied, “You are giving me everything I need from you.” And then told her the truth, “I need more from the world, and it has nothing to do with you.”

She nodded again. I know she wanted to say more, but was in too much pain to argue.

I lifted her naked body from the table and took her to the bed in the corner of the room. Facing her, I held her in my arms. When she fell asleep, I slipped out of bed. I’d never slept the whole night with her beside me, and I wasn’t going to start a new trend any time soon.

“No one here cares about what’s behind the curtain.”

-THE SECT

Throughout the entirety of my life, I pretended to be who I wasn’t and feel things I didn’t. I was the perfect daughter, the perfect friend, and the perfect girlfriend. All the characters I played were pieces of me, but when merged together to make up a whole person, they failed to display an accurate image. 

Noah’s presence in my life reminded me of what I had long suppressed from my memories. He forced me to quit pretending by breaking me open. I never thought I would have to fake or suffocate my emotions with him; I was sadly mistaken. I pretended not notice he’d increased the extremes of his desires. I pretended I liked the new things he chose to do to me, never pretending more than I did the other night. 

I was given a word to state when his actions were deemed too severe. The word served as a signal to him, indicating when he had gone too far. I’d used it once and he made me feel weak and guilty for making him stop. I never used it again. I bore through it because I wanted to be enough for him. I
had
to be enough for him. His debased gifts were once reminders of my vitality and the positive times in my life. The pain he delivered onto my body coaxed me into new ways of coping. The good parts of my life were actualized when it used to be shrouded by the deplorable deeds of a deranged man. 

Noah’s increased cruelty made me suspect I had done something wrong. I could never have been sure. He was increasingly hard to read lately. Since we returned to D.C., he would disappear to places unknown in the morning and return late in the evening. I had no idea where he went, and he wasn’t exactly forthcoming with the answers. The businesses his parents had were sold, and he wasn’t one who could live with someone else’s schedule or under another’s authority. 

I was never a person who did well alone. It reminded me of the worst. Social interaction became a necessity liken to needing the intake of oxygen to sustain. 

IN A WEEK’S TIME, after my last session of pain with Noah, I healed well enough to meet up with my friends. I’d been apart from them for more than a year. They were throwing a celebration for me, jointly, with a friend’s birthday party to welcome me back.

As my hand touched the knob of Brandy’s brownstone, I stalled. The latent pain on my back—not yet numbed by a dose of pain meds—throbbed in agony, reminding me that I wasn’t ready to face my friends. 

My choice to leave was taken away when the door opened and a friend I’d had since high school stared back at me with watering eyes. Nathan Palomer; in the past, he became my closest and dearest friend. 

After Gregory violated me shortly after my high school graduation, I wanted nothing to do with men for a while. It was unfair to Nathan because our relationship was completely plutonic, and I knew he’d never meant me any harm. Nathan was raised in a house with six other women and no male in sight. A self-described feminist, he often worked tirelessly for women-centered causes. Last I knew, he followed the career path his mother laid out for him and became a divorce attorney. I always thought he’d do something with cosmetics or makeup. He was once a makeup artist for the F.A.C.E. flagship store during his senior year in high school.

Because he knew me best, he noticed when something wasn’t right with me. If I stuck around him, Nathan would’ve unearthed a secret I wanted to stay buried. He would’ve made me face the tragedy when I lacked the strength.

He gave me a broad smile, creating folds in his dark olive skin. His dark curly hair was currently kept closely shaved, disallowing the view of his gorgeous curly texture. During our high school years, it sat at his shoulders.

“Nathan?” My voice cracked, broadening the smile on his face.

He clutched his heart and exhaled. “I prayed for your return every day. I was not myself when I found out you were kidnapped. I thought the worst.”

“So did I.” Wearing a morose smile, I straightened the collar of his black button-up.

Many unspoken things were behind his dark brown eyes. Nothing had changed for him. No matter how much I convinced myself of my metamorphosis, he saw through it all.
I’m still broken
. 

“I told them that questions about you and what you’ve been through were off limits, but…you know what I’m going to say, don’t you?”

“We’ll have that talk someday soon,” I promised him.

“Soon,” he repeated, warning me to keep my word. Taking my hand, he pulled me into the living room.