Page 35

He let that hang for a beat, then spanked me again—so hard I jerked forward against the island and had to bite my lip to keep from crying out.

My eyes stung and I blinked hard. No.No. I wasn’t going to cry, but I wasn’t sure how much more I could take.

My whole body felt flushed, raw, stretched taut. My bottom burned, a deep, unrelenting ache that made my legs tremble. I pressed my forehead to the counter and squeezed my eyes shut.

Another smack. Then another.

They came faster now, relentlessly, like he knew I couldn’t take much more and was going to make me take it anyway. My composure was fraying, the threads loosening and I tried to keep it together.

Suddenly, he stopped.

His hand lifted off my back, and for a moment, all I could do was breathe. In, out. Slowly. Tried to pretend my heart wasn’t still pounding, my pulse wasn’t racing, my stomach wasn’t knotted up tight, that my bottom wasn’t burning from a spanking.

I lifted my head and started to stand. He pushed me back down.

Then his palm slid down the curve of my scalded ass, bridging both cheeks. His fingertips grazed the top of my thighs, and I couldn’t help but gasp. His hand moved further. My breath stuttered in my throat, and I realized where that hand was heading.

No. He couldn’t meant to touch me there, could he?

But he didn’t stop.

His palm glided lower, and his fingers slid between my thighs until his fingertips found the wet heat between my legs. I was soaked, and I fucking knew it, and now he knew it too.

I didn’t want him to feel it. I didn’t want him to know. I didn’t want him to find out that I didn’t hate the spanking, that there was a twisted little thrill that came with it. The cruel sting of his palm, the roughness of his hand on my bare skin, and the fact that I could still feel him everywhere he’d touched had me more aroused than I’d ever been.

Even the part of me that was screaming and mortified couldn’t deny that something about this feltgood.

I tried to bring my legs together and he kicked them apart. My shorts were tangled around my ankles now though, and he could only force them open so far.

With a growl, he reached down and lifted my foot, freeing me from my pajama bottoms. Without a word, he guided my feet open and then he just stood behind me.

I was suddenly all too aware of the cool air caressing my naked flesh, the slickness between my thighs, the way my legs were spread wide enough to for him to see everything.

Heat crawled up the back of my neck.

“Beautiful,” he whispered.

I could feel him staring, could feel the weight of his eyes on me and I wanted to hate it. I wanted to loathe every part of this, knowing that he could see my likely cherry red ass and everything between my legs, and ultimately, the arousal dripping down my thighs.

Then he touched me.

I gasped.

It felt like sparks under my skin. Every nerve was hyper-alert, his fingers were so damn warm, and I hated that my first reaction was to rock against his touch.

His chuckle was dark and knowing.

He slid his finger over my pussy lips, finding my clit and circling it, and I shuddered.

“You liked that, didn’t you?”

“No,” I hissed, but it was a weak denial and we both knew it. I knew that he knew it before he even said anything at all.

“That’s alright, Sloane,” he murmured, his voice so damn low, his accent thick. “I’m a man who likes a woman who enjoys her punishment.”

Fuck.

There was a part of me that hated the way he talked to me. Like I was a disobedient child. A bad girl in need of a firm hand, a hard spanking, and an even harder cock. But it did something to me, too, something dark and hungry and humiliating, and I couldn’t deny that a tiny part of me loved it.