Chapter 13

I'm leaving the floral shop where I picked up a dozen purple peonies, Cat's favorite. I asked her to be ready by five. I'm taking her to our favorite restaurant for her birthday. Afterwards, we'll head to Willow Lake, which was where we made love for the first time under the stars. I have a blanket laid out and wine in a cooler waiting for us. In my pocket is a silver key on a silver chain.

I get behind the wheel of my SUV and start the engine. I'm heading home to pick up my beautiful wife. Tonight I have her all to myself. This weekend I'll share her with her parents, where we'll have dinner at their place with her sister and her crew.

Just as I shift into drive, my phone buzzes with a text. I put the vehicle back in park and check the device.

My gut drops, and I grip my phone so tightly it creaks.

Scarlett: I need you.

My eyes slide to the flowers in the passenger seat, and the box in my pocket feels like lava against my thigh.

When Scarlett texts me, I can't ignore her. But she's never needed me this early in the day. It's usually in the evening, after the sun has set, when her demons plague her. Something must have happened for her to need me right now. My stomach churns at what that something could be.

I ignore the suffocating pain in the center of my chest and the guilt that consumes me for ruining Cat's birthday.

I quickly type a reply.

Me: I'm on my way.

I then send a message to Cat.

Me: Got caught up at Slate. I'll be a couple of hours late getting home. I'm so sorry, baby.

Again, ignoring my guilt, I throw my phone into the center console and speed out of the parking lot. Fifteen minutes later, I'm pulling into the driveway of the old house. It's strange to see it in the light. I haven't paid much attention to the outside of the house in years. Just like the other older homes along the street, the lawn is well-kept.

After setting my wedding band in the console with my phone, I exit my vehicle. I take the steps two at a time and use the key I acquired years ago to open the front door. It comes as no surprise when I find the house quiet. It's rare that I see Scarlett outside of the bedroom. Our time together is always spent in the room upstairs.

Instead of heading straight to Scarlett, I go for my customary drink. I don't know if Scarlett orders my favorite whiskey on purpose or if it is just a coincidence. I throw back three shots before the harsh liquid calms my nerves.

Everything inside me screams for me to leave this dark place. I shouldn't be here. I should be with Cat, celebrating her birthday. Instead, I'm here, adding to my list of sins.

Rinsing my glass, I set it and the bottle back inside the barren cabinet.

Scarlett waits for me on the bed, in her usual position. My cock immediately fills with blood, and my hands move to the buttons on my shirt.

Today, she's wearing a blood-red bra and thong set, the bright color matching her name. Her black and red hair shines from the sunlight filtering in from the window. She wears the same thick leather bands on her wrists and rings on her fingers. She's even more beautiful in the daylight.

She holds completely still in her submission position as I approach the bed. While I've rarely been here during the day, Scarlett acts the same as she does when I'm here at night.

I order her to come closer and she scoots on her knees to the end of the bed. Wrapping my fingers around her delicate throat, I tilt her face upward. Black streaks trail down her cheeks from her eyeliner and mascara, as if she has been crying. Her appearance has me loosening my grip on her neck.

"No!" she shouts, her hand flying to mine and holding it there, reapplying the pressure I had just released.

"Why have you been crying?" I ask, keeping my voice firm.

Her tear-filled eyes lock onto mine. "I need to feel the pain," she whispers brokenly. "I need to be punished."

I come closer to the bed and my knees knock against the edge. "Why? What happened?"

She shakes her head despite my tight grip around her neck. Her throat convulses against my palm. "I can't talk about it. Please don't ask me to."

Gritting my teeth, and against my better judgment, I give her a tight nod. "Tell me what you need."

The question barely leaves my lips when I spot something over her shoulder on the bed. A black-handled whip with long leather strands. I return my eyes to Scarlet and she looks at me with a dark sense of need.

"Are you sure?" I ask, my voice deepening.

Her tongue darts out and rubs against her red lips. "Yes. You have to, Hunter. It's the only way to make them go away."

Scarlett's demons.

Sometimes they visit her as often as once or twice a week, and sometimes only once or twice a month. It seems like they've been present more lately, and that really concerns me.

To keep our sanity, denying her request isn't an option for either of us. She'll end up more of a mess than she already is, and seeing that isn't something I can handle. These "punishments" help her release the pain she harbors inside her.

When I release her throat, her chest rises and falls rapidly. She flips around to her hands and knees in front of me without needing to be told.

After taking off my shirt, I drop it on the floor. Walking to the side of the bed, I grab the whip, the familiar touch of the handle is cool and smooth in my palm. This won't be the first time I've used it on her, and it won't be the last. When Scarlett's thoughts become too dark, the whip is brought out.

Each time I give her these types of punishments, a part of me dies. How much longer before there's nothing left of me?

I grip the handle of the whip tightly and go back to the end of the bed. "You know the drill, Scarlett. Put your chest against the bed and turn your head to the left. Count each lash."

When she complies, I take a step to the left, making sure her face is visible. My heart pounds in my chest as I raise the whip. Gritting my teeth, I slam my arm forward hard. Scarlett won't accept anything less. She needs to feel the bite of pain. The more it hurts, the faster her demons recede back to the darkness in her head. The thin tails of the whip land against her lower back.

"One."

I'm not sure what I hate more; the low pain-filled moan with a hint of pleasure that comes from Scarlett as she counts, or the thin marks left on her back.

It only takes a few seconds for the marks on her back to open up and small red dots to appear. It's not the leather strips that break the skin, but rather the small metal pieces attached to the tails. Scarlett had the whip custom made.

The first time she asked me to use it on her, I refused. In response, she said she would find someone else. There was no way in hell I was allowing that to happen, so I gave in. Imagining someone else wielding this weapon against her, someone who wouldn't care about her, had violent thoughts filling my head. I wanted to kill the faceless man.

My jaw twitches when I pull my arm back and swing it forward a second time. As more red dots appear, those from the first strike begin to smear across her back.

"Two," Scarlett croaks.

Tears steadily stream down her cheeks, and I force myself to ignore them. The sooner I get to five, the sooner it'll be over.

Two strikes later, her lower back, ass, and upper thighs are covered with red lines and bloody dots. I'm panting and sweat drips down my face and chest. Scarlett simply lays there, taking each lash with barely any notice, except for the small whimpers leaving her lips when she counts each strike.

I hate that she feels she deserves these beatings. This woman should be cherished and loved with a gentle hand, not degraded on her knees while her lover marks her permanently.

After I deliver the fifth strike, I immediately drop the whip to the floor like a hot iron. I feel disgusted at myself, but I know this isn't over yet.

Knowing and uncaring that it reveals a softness toward her that she won't welcome, I lay a soft kiss against her spine. Blood coats my lips when I raise my head, and I run my tongue over them to lick it away. Scarlett's breath hitches as she slowly rises from her hands to sit before me on her knees. She watches me take off the rest of my clothes with wary eyes.

When she makes a move to lay down, I stop her.

"No," I say, my voice harsh. "Stay there."

Scarlett took her lashes without showing any signs of real pain, but I know she must be hurting. I'll be damned if I take her on her back.

Stalking to the side of the bed, I lay back on the mattress. She licks her lips as she takes in my hard cock jutting upward. As fucked up as it may be because of what I just did to her, I'm still hard as a fucking rock. It's Scarlett. I don't even have to be around her to want her.

"You got what you wanted with that fucking whip. It's my turn. You want my cock? You'll have to take it yourself."

Her eyes light up with anticipation as she crawls across the bed and throws a leg over my hips. I grab the side of her thong and tear the material away. As she lowers herself, her wet pussy glides across my stiff shaft, causing me to jerk. When she wraps her fingers around the base and guides the tip to her ass, I stop her by grabbing her waist.

"You know that isn't how this works, Scarlett." I growl. "You want it in the ass, you give me your pussy first."

She wants to argue. The words are on the tip of her tongue. But seeing the determination on my face, she decides against it. I've never given in on this point, so she knows better than to try anymore.

Notching the head of my cock at her tight entrance, she slowly sinks down. She's so wet that I slide inside her easily. Her bottom lip is tucked between her teeth, a look of discomfort darkening her eyes. No matter how much pleasure she gets from having me inside her pussy, she won't allow herself to enjoy it.

I hiss out a harsh breath. She feels like fucking heaven. I'd stay in her tight pussy forever if I could.

She only allows me to fill her pussy for a few strokes before she lifts herself off me. I want to demand we continue the way we are, but I know she needs what comes next. Only the pain of being fucked anally gives her relief.

"Go slow," I demand.

A look of complete bliss fills Scarlett's face as the head pops past the tight ring of muscles. Her head tilts back, the tips of her long hair tickling my thighs, and her mouth falls open with a low moan. My hands tense on her thighs because the pleasure is almost more than I can bear.

In the next moment, one I should have foreseen coming, she drops down, taking the full length of my cock in one fucking stroke.

"Fuck, Scarlett," I growl, moving my hands to her waist to hold her still. "I told you to go slow."

Her head falls forward, her hair nearly hiding her face from me, and her eyes are filled with pain as they look straight into mine. "I don't want slow," she says, a stubborn tilt to her chin. "Slow doesn't give me what I need. You know fast, hard, and rough is the only way I take it."

Gritting my teeth, I allow her to slide up my cock until the head is left inside, only to drop back down quickly. Her tight muscles grip me and leave me on the verge of exploding. It's only my own will power and determination to have her come first that keeps me from falling over the edge.

I lie there, breathing heavily, fighting back my orgasm, and watch as Scarlett destroys both of us.