Crucifixed (Royal Bastards MC: NYC Book 2) B.B. Blaque (top romance novels .TXT) đ
- Author: B.B. Blaque
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She was sayinâ all kinds of shit, but I was beyond caring. I watched the marks crossinâ over each other and overlappinâ. The entire back of her body was becominâ one swollen mass of red, angry stripes. If Iâd been able to control it, I wouldnât have given her a single stroke of the cane. I knew sheâd leave me, go hide all the evidence of her punishment under that fuckinâ black gown, and have what she felt she needed. It would only make her crazy and sheâd come back.
I threw the cane across the bar, shoved a couple stools outta my way and they fell like dominoes. Done.
âGet your head together, Fi. Iâm done with this shit!â I took the belt off the rail and her hands fell to her sides. âNo more for you. Why the fuck should your penance be a loop of pain for me? How the fuck does that work anyway? Is this my Hell . . . like the endless torment of a seductive nun? Is this the Almighty punishing me for eternity because I snatched the cherry straight outta that box? Fuck, Fi . . . whyâd you ever have to confess to me?â
It coulda been any of the others and I wouldnât have been so fucked up. Sister Antoinette started it, but if Fi hadnât gone and confessed to me, I wouldnât have put a finger on her.
âGio . . . Crucifix . . . youâre calling me Fi . . . not Snaps.
I know youâre hurting too.â
I grabbed the back of her head with the veil still hanginâ from her hair and yanked it back to me. âIâm hurting too? Youâve got some set of balls hidden under that habit! Youâre breakinâ me . . . hurt doesnât even come close!â
âWhat do you want me to do?â she screeched and tried to spin around to me. She couldnât move while I held her. Iâd keep her forever, but I couldnât do it like that. Against my sissy-bar, with a property of Crucifix patch, yeah. Not like that, though.
âBreak for a break, Fi . . . sister.â I was at an ear and pulled her head harder toward my shoulder. Those blue eyes were filled with tears as she looked up to me. âYouâre breakinâ me, bitch . . . break your vows . . . all of âem. Then weâll be even, and I promise I wonât let you regret it.â
I let go and walked behind the bar to get a drink. It was probably past seven, and it seemed like the perfect time. âWhatâs it gonna be? I told ya . . . and yeah, Iâve told you before, but I canât take this shit anymore. I love fuckinâ you . . . I damn sure love punishinâ you, which should still be hot and obvious on your back right about now. Thatâs all cool and shit, but Fi, I love you. Thatâs the only way you can break me. If it wasnât for that part, Iâd keep goinâ with our arrangement, but I canât get that part outta me, no matter how hard I fuckinâ try.â
I pushed a drink over to her and watched as she slid the gown down to cover all the marks Iâd made to scrub her soul clean. Sheâd touch them for weeks, no question in my mind, and a couple months later sheâd pop back up on my doorstep.
âYou know I love you too. Donât you think it pains me to do this? Itâs not your fault and I know it . . . maybe it makes me a bad Catholic, but I donât know how to stop. I pray on it, light candles, and then I ruminate on you to the point of absolute obsession.â She pulled the glass of whiskey over and took a sip before knockinâ it back. âI wonât even confess this stuff to anyone except you . . . Iâve come close to tellinâ one of the sisters, but I just canât. Itâs only you. Itâs always been you. Even when you walked away from me that didnât change.â
Hearinâ her say all that shit flipped my switch. With a quick burst, I threw a glass at the wall and slammed my fist down on the bar.
âWell, thank you for throwinâ all that burden on me! How loving of you! You got a fucked-up way of showinâ how you feel about me, sister.â I grabbed my smokes from the end of the bar, cursinâ all the way. âI donât think you have a fuckinâ clue about pain, Fi! You think you obsess . . . fuck, bitch, if you only knew about obsession and how fucked in the head this makes me. So, sure, gâhead . . . confess it all to me so you can go sleep soundly as a good Catholic for a few months! Me . . . Iâll tell ya what I do . . . I sleep with every fuckinâ skanky whore I can and I find no peace. Non c'Ăš pace! Zero! My dick gets off, but I donât get peace. I get a few moments while Iâm bustinâ a nut and thatâs it! So, cry me a river. Stay or get the fuck out!â
She was cryinâ and even though I usually caved for that shit, I couldnât do it. Iâd never be able to get over all the years with her knockinâ my heart and dick in the dirt
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