Page 126 of His Game His Rules
"Then act like it."
The silence that follows is suffocating.
I stand there, staring at Jino, the wordsact like itechoing in my skull like a gunshot in an empty room.
The memory comes back unbidden.
Her wrists cuffed to the throne. The riding crop in my hand—heavy, leather-wrapped, precise. The first strike landed across her thighs, just above her knees. I remember the sound. That sharpcrackthat split the air and sent a jolt straight to my cock.
I remember her flinch. The way her breath caught. The whimper that escaped her throat—soft, broken, beautiful.
I hit her again.
And again.
Her skin bloomed red. Then darker. The welts formed in perfect parallel lines, evidence of my control, my precision, my ownership.
A flicker of something twists quickly in my chest. Something uncomfortable. Something that feels suspiciously like a little boy’s guilt.
But the monster is faster.
She loved it, it whispers.You know she loved it. You saw the way her body responded. The way her breathing changed. The way she arched into the pain instead of away from it. She's yours. She chose you.
I swallow hard, forcing the guilt back down where it belongs—buried deep, sealed tight, irrelevant.
"She didn't safeword," I repeat, and my voice is steadier now. Colder. "That means she consented to everything I did."
Jino's expression doesn't change. "Consent isn't the same as care."
"I cared. I gave her structure. Boundaries. Exactly what she needs."
"Did you?"
The question is so simple it feels like a trap.
I open my mouth to respond, but the words don't come. Because something else is surfacing now. Another memory. A realization I've been avoiding.
I didn't make her come.
The thought hits me like a slap.
I had her cuffed. Spread open. Wet and trembling and desperate. I could have made her scream. Could have given her pleasure so intense it would've erased the pain, melted the welts into something transcendent, something she'd crave.
But I didn't.
I punished her. Marked her. Owned her.
And then I left her there, aching and unfulfilled, while I carried her to the bath and whispered things she wouldn't remember.
Shit.
I also didn't use the wax properly.I dripped it over her wounds.
I didn't give her what she needed.
The guilt stirs again, sharper this time, clawing its way up.
But the monster speaks louder.
