Lies of My Monster (Monster Trilogy #2) by Rina Kent

I used every single method under the sun and denied her more orgasms than should be legal. Yet this little fucking shit only shook her head while sobbing and begging for a release.

Then, when I continued depriving her, she started calling me names and cursing me six ways to Sunday while trying to dry hump my fingers.

Now, she’s in the acceptance stage. Her head lolls to the side, sweat coats her skin, and her nipples are as hard as diamond pebbles.

Her expressive eyes are half closed, and her dry lips are parted. Despite giving her water now and again, she’s still on the verge of dehydration.

I grab a bottle on my way to her and lift her head. “Open.”

She’s like a doll in my hands, so weak and light that she could be broken with the snap of a finger, but she still glares and purses her lips shut.

“You feel victimized?” I close her nose, so she has no choice but to breathe through her mouth, then I pour the water in. “None of this would’ve happened if you’d just given me the fucking name.”

She chokes, and water splatters out of her nose, but she does drink most of it.

“Does this fucker mean so much to you that you would go to this length to protect him?”

She purses her lips shut again and looks the other way.

My fingers wrap around her throat, and I have to mentally remind myself that I can’t snap it as I force her attention back to me. “I told you to look at me when I’m talking to you.”

I retrieve the toy’s remote from my pocket and push the setting higher. A whole-body shiver goes through her, and her breathing starts to quicken.

She shakes her head, fresh tears rimming her eyes.

“The more you choose him, the meaner I treat you. The harder you defy me, the colder I become. You should know by now that I always, without a doubt, get what I fucking want.”

She lets out a whimper. “Kirill…”

“What? You have that name for me?”

The fucking woman shakes her head and I struggle to remember why she’s not six feet under right now.

“I thought you wanted us to go back to before Russia, but that won’t be possible if you have another fucking man in your heart, Sasha.”

“It’s not…” Her voice is small and shaky. “It’s not a lover…”

“If he’s not, then give me his fucking name.”

“I can’t…” She shudders, and her hips jerk and lift off the bed.

I wrench the toy out. She sobs and screams, her nails digging into the belt’s leather.

Her legs rub together in a hopeless attempt to trigger the orgasm, but nothing comes.

“Do you want to stay tied to my bed for the foreseeable future? Because I can make that happen.”

“Just kill me…” she murmurs through tears. “If you can’t trust me anymore, get rid of me.”

Those words fill my mind with murderous scenarios, but none of them include her.

Only her lover.

“Where’s the fun in that?” I tighten my hold on her neck. “You think you can escape me, Sasha? You think there will be a day when you’ll be out of my sight and back with him? I’ll always find you, and when I do, I’ll kill him right in front of your eyes.”

“Fuck you…” she whispers, and her lids close.

When she fell asleep the previous times, I woke her up with some form of sexual stimulation. I’m still tempted to do that just because she cursed me for threatening her lover.

But I don’t.

One, she’s past her limits.

Two, I can’t guarantee I won’t leave a permanent mark if she continues refusing to tell me the fucker’s name.

I tried finding it on my own, both through Viktor’s investigation of the Belsky Organization and even digging into her past.

I actually did that after she wanted to come with me to New York, but since she’s using a fake last name, it only comes with a fake background that the army believed. Or more like, she bribed her way into the institution, which isn’t a surprise considering her previous rich-lady status.

And that leaves only one way to find out about her lover’s name. Through her.

It’s a problem when she’s completely refusing to cooperate.

I remove the belt from around her wrists and massage the red marks left by the leather.

A soft moan leaves her lips, and my cock hardens to a painful degree. Fuck.

I should’ve fucked her before I came up with this torture method.

Or better yet, fucked her while I tortured her.

I went celibate for months before she came along. Searching for a drama-free hole was a hassle that I didn’t want to take part in unless absolutely necessary.

But being celibate after being in Sasha’s pussy exactly two hundred twenty-seven times has been pure fucking torture.

What? I didn’t mean to count, but I might have grown obsessed with it and done it unconsciously.

My fingers linger on the slits of red on her pale skin. Is it fucked up that I want to put more marks on her so the world can see who she fucking belongs to? Probably.

That doesn’t mean the thought disappears, though.

Her head lolls to the side and falls on my chest. Fucking fuck.

For a second, I forget that I’m mad at this woman. No, mad is an understatement. I’m livid and so close to losing my fucking mind whenever I think she has someone else.