“Youshould be grateful you’re alive,” he told her.
“Fuckyou.” He smiled slowly, evilly.
“You’vedone that, remember?” Her struggles increased. Increased soviciously she was soon panting and sweating right alongside his men.
“Flipher over,” he ordered them. No mercy. Atlas didn’t havethe patience to wait until she tired. “I’ll just keeptattooing until my name is clear enough to satisfy me.”
Witha frustrated, infuriated screech, she finally stilled. She knew hespoke true. He always spoke true. Threats were not something hewasted his breath uttering. Only promises.
“That’sa good girl.” Atlas strode forward and ripped the cloth fromher back. The skin was tanned, smooth. Flawless. Once, he’dcaressed this back. Once, he’d kissed and licked it. And yes,being with her had been more satisfying than being with any of theothers, but he would not be ruled by his dick and release her beforebranding her, all in the hopes that he could get her into bed again.He would do this.
“That’snot what I did to you,” Nike rasped. “I didn’t markyour back.”
“Youwould rather I brand your lovely breasts?”
Atthat, she held her tongue. Good. He didn’t want to markher chest. Her breasts were a work of art, surely the world’sfinest creation.
“Noneed to thank me,” he muttered. He held out his hand andsomeone slapped the needed supplies in his palm.
“Atleast you won’t have to look at my name every day of yourtoo-long life.” As he had to do.
“Don’tdo this,” she suddenly cried. “Please. Don’t. ”She turned her head and there were tears in her brown eyes.