Reena

“What do you have in store for me?” Lohen asks, excitement buzzing in every word.

You narrow your eyes at him, keeping your mouth shut. Instead of telling him, why not show him?

SLAP.

A strike hits Lohen’s face, pushing it to the side, bangs hiding his expression. Then you hear him chuckle.

“Oh, god. What did I do to deserve you?” His eyes find yours with an indescribable hunger, worshipping you.

Another slap, then another, and another.

Lohen doesn’t even have time to react, but his body tells on itself. The tent in his pants twitches at every strike to his red, swollen face. His fists remain clenched, nails digging into his palm, not daring to move a single inch.

After a particularly nasty smack to his face, your fingers bunch up in his hair, pulling him up to look at you. And there it is again—that devilish smile. He will always find your sadism exhilarating, to the point of giving you reasons to earn it.

“No one understands me like you do,” Lohen says in a tone that would make you believe it was from a follower worshipping their God, in a way that would never make you believe it was said in a situation where he was getting slapped—if it weren’t for the fact that Lohen was the one who said it.

You let go of your grasp. Lohen’s knees hit the floor and you swear you could see a flash of enjoyment. Of course, he would like it.

Gloved hands reach for yours as Lohen brings your palm to his cheeks, rubbing against it like a dog would to its owner.

“I’m yours… Yours to keep… Yours to own… Yours to break.”