Reparation of Sin: A Sovereign Sons Novel, Zavarelli, A. [easy books to read in english txt] 📗

force Ivy forward, her knees nearly buckling as she stumbles to put one foot in front of the other.

"What are you doing?" she croaks.

"You want to burn down the memory of my family?" I ask. “It isn’t enough that you’ve already destroyed them?”

“Me?” She tries to turn her head to look at me, and I tighten my grip on her, enforcing her stillness.

"You’re a Moreno, aren’t you?” I sneer. “You’ve just proven it. You may as well have spit on their graves.”

"That wasn't what I was doing," she whispers.

"Lies," I sneer. "That's all that ever pours from your lips. Fucking lies."

When she tries to protest, I squeeze my free hand over her jaw, pinching it shut. "As far as I'm concerned, you don't have a voice anymore."

She shudders against me, tears splashing against my fingers as I march her into the house. When the door slams behind us, I pause in the foyer, squeezing my fingers between the seams of her shirt and tearing them apart. She fights me at every turn as I repeat the process on her leggings, shredding them with my bare hands while she kicks and slaps at me, screaming out a rage she wishes was equal to mine. Her lace underwear and bra are the last to go, and I discard them in a pile onto the floor and force her onto her knees.

"Crawl,” I command, tangling my fist in her hair.

She grunts out in frustration as I move forward, leaving her no choice but to crawl along beside me, all the way up the stairs, bruising her knees as she howls like a wounded animal.

"I'm not doing this anymore!" she yells, coming to a dead stop at the top of the landing. "You can't make me do this."

"No?" I release her hair and cock my head to the side, studying her. "You think I can't make you do whatever I want?"

She tries to scramble to her feet, and I force her down against the marble, mounting her body and pressing her face against the cold floor. She arches up like a cat, only to grunt in pain when I exert all of my weight against her.

"Tell me again what you won't do," I whisper in her ear.

"I hate you!" she sobs.

"So you've told me about a dozen times." I glower at her. "Do you think I care? Do you think it makes one goddamned difference to me what a Moreno thinks? Your insults are pathetic and weak, just like your bloodline.”

For a split second, she tries to look at me, and I refuse to let her. Dragging myself up, I seize her by the ankle and tug her along, her naked body sliding over the marble floor as she claws at it desperately, scrambling for purchase. That fight lasts all of a minute before she's twisting and flipping onto her back, her legs splaying apart in the chaos, baring her pussy as she tries to use her other heel as a brake. When my eyes move between her legs, she flails, trying to squeeze them together as if that act could save her from her indecency.

All of her fighting is for naught, and when we reach my room, she is breathless, too spent from the struggle over something so simplistic she has little energy left for what comes next. Her body bounces against the mattress when I yank her up and toss her onto it. Using the lengths of rope from when I tied her to my bedposts to tattoo her face, I push her face down and tie her hands behind her back and stretch her legs wide, securing the ropes to each ankle and forcing her onto her knees to keep her in that position.

"Santiago," she chokes out. "Just let me go. Just send me away. Please. I can't bear this hatred from you anymore."

"You will bear it." I lean down to look into her face, annoyed by her foolish request. "Because you earned it."

I unbuckle my belt, and she starts to cry in earnest as I slide it from the loops. She pauses her simpering to glance at me over her shoulder again, and I bark at her.

"Turn around."

"No."

"Very well." I offer her a cruel smile. "Have it your way."

I tug the pillowcase from the pillow and force it over her head, obscuring her face from my view. If I can't see her, I can't succumb to her tricks. Not anymore.

I retrieve the belt, gliding the leather edge along the curve of her hip before I fold it in my palms and crack the loop against her ass. She jolts forward, a scream piercing the silence as red blooms across her skin.

I crack the belt against her again, colliding with her thigh this time. Another scream erupts from her throat, and I savor that sound, creating a beautiful, haunting melody as a pattern emerges. The leather snaps against her skin, a trail of heat blazing over her swollen, red skin as I cover her ass, thighs, and calves with the evidence of my rage. Every time she tries to edge farther away, I yank her back, forcing her endurance.

She cries until her tears dry up and her throat is raw, and her ass is so sore she won't be able to sit for a week without being reminded of the consequences of her actions. But it isn't enough. It still isn't enough.

I can't look at her without a fresh wave of fury rolling through me. My breath is ragged as I loop the belt around the pillowcase covering her throat and latch it, leaving one end in my fist as I tug down my zipper with the other.

"You can’t even look at me," she clips out. “That’s why you’re doing this. You can hide my face, but it won’t change anything, Santiago. I can promise you that.”

"Stop. Fucking. Talking.”

I free my throbbing cock, jerking it in my fist as my eyes move over her pussy, and then up to her ass.