Set Me Free

Wrath

Braxton

I flip Girly's omelet, feeling her eyes on my back, makin' my skin prickle. Don't like knowin' I'm unarmed with someone who wants to murder me, but then I flick my eyes over my shoulder. She's sittin' in her chair, the chains around her wrists leadin' to the loop in the middle of the table. She's quiet, starin' at her hands, wearing one of my old motorcycle shirts. Bless me—or fuck me—she's one fine little piece of ass.

Can't go there with her, though, not after learnin' her age, not after feeling that wall of resistance tight within her little cunt. Don't have many morals, but I'll be damned if I ruin such a young thing. Twenty to my thirty seven. She don't need some old man's cock, no matter how bad I wanna give it to her.

I flip the switch off the ancient stove, sliding her omelet onto a plate. Figure it best not to give her utensils, but I can't be that cruel. She's lower than me in status, but she's not an animal. I grab her a fork and pour out some orange juice, settin' the plate before her as I ease down into the chair across from her. I tug on my beard as I watch her.

"Go on," I grunt.

She hesitates, but judging by her small frame, she needs some food. Reaching for the fork, she gently slices through, takin' a tiny ass bite. I lean back as I watch her, narrowing my eyes, studyin' her. Prim and proper and innocent. Wonder what her life was like before this. I wait until she's about halfway done before I lay down my rules.

"Alright, girly, here's what ya need to know," I say. She glances up at me, those round cheeks pink from our shower, her wild, dirty blond locks a halo about that angelic little face. Her lips are just as pink as those cheeks, the top fuller than the bottom, beggin' to be bruised with a rough kiss. Doubt she's ever had a truly rough day in her life, even if she came from the wild.

"You stay chained. I move ya where I want ya. At night, you sleep in your bed on the floor. We shower together, we eat together, you become my shadow. You do whatever I ask without argument, and don't think I don't see that you're gonna be a bitchy little brat to me, and soon."

Her round eyes widen even more, giving me a pure glimpse of the sapphires in her gaze.

"You're here for three months, till the fights start back up again, end of summer. You do as I say, we'll be just peachy. You act out, you'll get my belt across that pretty little ass of yours."

She flushes a deeper shade of pink, narrowing her eyes. I smirk. She's ready to fight, at least mentally. Physically, I know her head probably still hurts somethin' fierce. I clasp my hands as I lean in, my hair brushin' along my bare shoulders.

"I'm not yours," she finally hisses. I feel my smirk deepen.

"I fought for ya, I won ya. Seems to me a pretty fair way to own ya."

"Fuck you," she growls. I chuckle. Fiery little angel.

"Nah, girly. Don't think you'd handle me all that well, and you're just a kid still."

She blinks a few times in surprise. I nod to her forgotten omelet. Won't have her wastin' my shit.

"Eat up. Don't like it, make somethin' yourself next time, but you won't waste a damn thing of mine, got it?"

Her plush lips twist down into a spoiled as shit sneer. She's quick, movin' faster than I thought her capable as she swipes the plate from the table, half her omelet still on it. It crashes to the floor and shatters. I can feel the familiar simmer of rage begin to pool in my gut, my fists clenchin' hard enough to make my knuckles pop and crackle.

She levels me with a smirk to rival even mine.

I am up, faster than she can wipe that shit-eatin'-grin off her face. I yank her chains, pulling her across the table toward me. Didn't have any shorts to give her, so her ass is perfectly positioned and already bared for my wrath. She struggles and growls as I knot her hands down, keepin' her stretched taut, her little feet fighting to gain some purchase on the wood floors.

I stand before her, one hand fisting her hair, the other fumbling with the belt buckle, the leather strap keepin' my jeans on my hips. She wriggles, kickin' and flailin' and cryin' now as I slip the belt through the loops with a soft whooshing sound.

I crouch down, her hair in one hand, my belt heavy in the other. Our eyes meet, hers wavering with a multitude of tears. I give her a disappointed frown.

"Chickens worked hard to make those for ya, girly. Actin' like a fuckin' spoiled shit, and that don't fly with me. Might've with whoever else you were with, but not here."

She glares back with no other response. I snort, and with a shake of my head I stand, roundin' the table to her bared ass, her cheeks pale and soft and milky, ready to be marked, ready to bare the brunt of her punishment. I doubt this'll teach her—doubt anyone ever followed through with promises of pain in her little world—but she needs to learn, and learn real quick.

Folding the soft leather in half, I give it a sharp snap, the crisp noise echoing in my kitchen. She whimpers, her tiny toes reachin' helplessly to the ground. I tug up the end of my black shirt that wears like a tent on her small frame. Taking a moment to appreciate her shape—her beauty, I run my finger down one side, over the lump of her cheek, to the back of her thigh, and then back up, gently tracing from between her thighs to between her cheeks. She chokes on a sob but her skin erupts in goosebumps.

"Gonna throw hard earned food like a brat ever again?" I growl.

"No! No, I promise—"

I pat her pert ass cheek as I smirk, leaning across her back until my lips are at her ear.

"Thought so, girly."

Before she can relax, I reel back and snap the belt across the bottom of her ass cheeks.

A/N: Uh oh...Sofie has poked the bear!!! Thoughts?!