My Stepbrother's Dirty Little Secret novel Chapter 130

Chapter 130

Gianna

SLAP!

The sound echoed off the walls of the private suite. My palm was actually on fire. It was throbbing with heat that. traveled all the way up to my elbow. I’d been at it for twenty minutes straight, and my arm was getting a better workout than I ever got at the campus gym.

I paused for a second, wiping a stray hair from my forehead. I looked down at him.

This was it. This was the big, scary private session I was worried about. This was what twenty thousand dollars bought in the world of men who have too much power and not enough brain cells.

He didn’t want to touch me. He didn’t want to talk. He just wanted his backside to be the color of a ripe cherry.

“More,” he whimpered. His voice was muffled because his face was pressed face-down into the expensive silk pillows of the lounge bed, “Please, Mommy… harder. I’ve been so bad.”

It was the most hilarious thing I had ever done in my entire life.

I raised my hand again, my fingers stinging, but I didn’t stop. I couldn’t stop. Every time my palm connected with his skin, I felt a surge of dark, delicious energy.

It was like all the frustration from the day, the dyslexia, the messy archives, Cole, and the way Raphael looked at me-it all flowed out of me and into this guy’s skin.

SLAP!

“Yes!” he gasped, his fingers clutching the silk sheets until they wrinkled, “Thank you… thank you.”

I felt a strange, cold clarity settling in my chest. I realized right then and there: I actually enjoyed this. I didn’t just like the money; I liked the power. I liked the fact that for twenty thousand dollars, I could take all my anger at the patriarchy and literally beat it into someone.

I leaned over him, my shadow falling across his shaking shoulders, “You want more?” I asked.

“Please,” he sobbed, his voice tiny and pathetic. “Anything for Mommy.”

I felt a smirk tugging at the corner of my mouth. I adjusted my stance, my heels digging into the thick carpet, and brought my hand down again.

SLAP!

“Count it again,” I said, a small grin tugging at my mouth.

Bri immediately reached for it like a greedy little gremlin, flipping through the bills with practiced speed. “Oh, will,” she said. “Because if this is real, I might start slapping people for a living too.”

“Get in line,” Jasmine shot back, finally sitting up, her hair a mess, eyes still bright. “We’ll build a whole business model. “Therapeutic violence for rich idiots.””

Morgan let out a shaky laugh, still half in disbelief as she reached for another stack. “I can’t believe this is what they spend money on.”

“They have too much of it,” Mama D said quietly, watching us. “And no one ever tells them no.”

My fingers slowed on the edge of the table. For a second, something colder slipped in. No one tells them no… My jaw tightened slightly. Then I pushed it away.

The sun didn’t even have a chance to rise before my alarm started screaming at 6:00 AM. I’d lay there for exactly sixty seconds, staring at the dark ceiling.