Chapter Thirty-Seven:
“Christ Inga. What the f**k did you do to me? It stings like a son of a bitch.” It hurt so bad he didn’t get to enjoy the touch of her fingers as she cradled his wounded p***s in the palm of a hand and dabbed at the bead of blood with a paper napkin.
When she was satisfied she had stemmed the flow, Inga got up and retrieved a length of string from a kitchen drawer. “Now I have you under complete control,” she said, knotting the end of the string in the safety pin. And to prove her point, she gave the string a smart tug.
Rudd seethed. “Don’t...”
Inga picked up the end of the string and led him out through the kitchen door.
“Look who’s come to play.” Inga announced and led Rudd around the end of Cloey’s bed where she could get a good look at him.
Cloey stared in d
