Page 20

The power dynamic couldn't be more explicit.

His fingers trace the outline of the Ravelli crest on my inner thigh, the feel of his touch setting my body on fire. I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from making any sound.

"The healing process has begun nicely," he observes, his thumb brushing dangerously close to my core. "The mark suits you."

I turn my face away, unwilling to let him see how his touch affects me, how each brush of his fingers sends electric currents racing through my nerves. "Are you satisfied now?"

"Not remotely." His finger traces higher, brushing closer to my center with deliberate pressure, finding the dampness I can't control. "Tell me, princess. Has anyone been here before?"

I clench my jaw, trying to ignore how his touch sends sparks of pleasure through me. My body betrays me again and again, growing wetter beneath his exploring fingers.

"That's none of your business."

His other hand grips my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze. "Everything about you is my business. Now answer the question."

"No," I snap, yanking my face from his grip, hating the satisfaction I see blooming in his expression. "No one has been there before. Happy?"

His eyes darken with predatory satisfaction.

"A virgin." His finger continues its torturous exploration, slowly moving against my clit, rubbing gently in a way that almost drags a moan from my throat. I press my lips together, fighting against the pleasure building inside me. "Your father didn't mention that particular detail in the negotiations."

"Stop talking about my father while you're touching me," I hiss, my hips betraying me by arching into his touch, seeking more pressure where I need it most.

"Such fire," he chuckles darkly. "Even now, spread naked on my bed, you still fight. But your body..."

His finger slides inside me with exquisite slowness, making me whimper despite my determination to remain silent. The intrusion feels foreign yet somehow right, my inner walls clenching around him involuntarily.

"…your body knows who it belongs to."

He adds a second finger, stretching me, his thumb finding the sensitive bundle of nerves above. A sudden sharp pleasure spirals through me.

I hate him.

But right now, I hate myself more for responding to him, for the wetness that eases his movements, for the way my breath hitches with each skilled stroke.

"Go to hell," I hiss, even as my body betrays me by responding to his touch, my back arching slightly off the bed.

"Well now, that wasn't very polite."

In one swift motion, he flips me onto my stomach, his hand pressing into the small of my back to hold me in place. The sudden emptiness where his fingers had been leaves me achingly aware of my arousal, my body craving the pleasure it had just been denied.

"I think we need to work on your manners."

Before I can process what's happening, his palm cracks down on my bare ass, the sound sharp in the quiet room. Pain blooms across my skin, shocking and intense.

"OH! What are you doing?" I demand, struggling against his hold.

"Teaching you consequences," he replies, his left hand pinning my arms above my head while his right delivers another stinging slap. "Every time you defy me, every time you forget your place, there will be consequences."

Another strike, harder than before. "Count, Francesca."

"Go to hell," I spit back, refusing to give him the satisfaction.

His hand tangles in my hair, pulling my head back. "Count, or we start over and continue until you learn."

"Three," I hiss through clenched teeth, hating myself for submitting. Hating even more the way each strike sends heat coursing through my body, mingling pain with a dark pleasure I never knew existed within me.

"Good girl." His hand resumes its punishment. "Four. Count it."