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Too much.

Too hard.

Too good.

I bit my lip, desperate to swallow the pathetic, needy noise building in my throat, but it was no use. I couldn’t stop the way my body reacted, couldn’t stop the trembling in my limbs, the way my breath caught with each punishing slap of his palm.

Silas felt it; I knew he did.

He adjusted his hold on me, his fingers pressing deep into my overheated skin, holding me steady as I writhed.

He was relentless now, each strike harder than the last, the impact sending waves of heat through my core, winding me tighter, breaking me down bit by bit.

Tears pricked at the edges of my vision, pain and frustration and shame mixing with the overwhelming, unbearable pleasure sparking through me.

I couldn’t take any more. I wanted to say it, wanted to beg him to stop, but I couldn’t, because if I did, it would mean admitting that he had won.

That I was his after all.

Silas leaned down, his breath hot against my ear. His voice was deep, rich, vibrating through my bones.

“You’re mine. You’ll always be mine, Lia,” he murmured, his tone softer now, but no less commanding. His hand pressed against my lower back, holding me there, his body radiating heat, dominance, ownership. “Say it.”

I squeezed my eyes shut, shaking my head, the last shreds of my defiance slipping away. He growled, his patience snapping.

Another spank. Then another and another and another.

My body jerked, a choked sob catching in my throat.

I was shaking now, my resolve crumbling, my body betraying me in the worst possible way. Then he stopped and his fingers trailed lightly over my undoubtedly bright red, throbbing flesh, a stark contrast to the brutal punishment he had just given me.

“Say it,” he repeated, and I bit my lip.

I swallowed hard, my vision blurring, my breath coming in serrated gasps. I was just on the edge of tears and if this went on for much longer, I wasn’t just going to cry; he was going to make me bawl.

This was it, the moment he had been waiting for and the moment I had been dreading. I wanted to fight him. I should have fought him. But I couldn’t. Not anymore.

I didn’t want to cry.

I took a shuddering breath, my entire body trembling beneath him. And then, finally, I managed to say what he wanted to hear.

“I’m yours.”

The words left me on a whisper, fragile and broken, barely audible.

But he heard them. Because in the next breath, his hands were on me—gentler now, soothing, his thumb tracing slow, possessive circles over my burning skin.

“Good girl,” he praised, his voice thick with satisfaction.

The second the words left my mouth, I regretted them. Not because they weren’t true, but because they had been too easy to say.

One spanking. One perfectly delivered punishment, and I had folded like a house of cards in the wind. One good spanking, a few growly demands, and suddenly, I was whispering that I belonged to him like some eager, obedient little thing.

I scowled against the blankets, my ass still burning, my body still thrumming with the remnants of his touch. Pathetic. I should have fought longer. I should have held out, but no, I caved. More than that I loathed how satisfied he sounded at my forced surrender.

I peeked up at him, my cheek still pressed against the mattress, and—yep, there it was—that slow, smug smirk. That goddamned pleased, Alpha-male look that said ‘I told you so’ without him needing to speak.

I clenched my jaw, my face heating for an entirely new reason.