Page 85 of Scarlet Thorns

What have I unleashed?

Before I can form another coherent thought, his hands are at my jeans. The button pops open under his skilled fingers, the zipper sliding down with deliberate slowness that makes me arch beneath him.

“Osip, what are you—?”

My question dies as he hooks his thumbs into the waistband and yanks. The denim slides down my legs in one swift motion, taking my panties with it. Cool air kisses my heated skin, and I’m suddenly, devastatingly aware of how wet I am. How exposed.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, his voice dropping to gravel. “Already so ready for me.”

Heat flames across my cheeks, but I can’t deny it. Can’t pretend I’m not lying here naked and desperately aroused by his dominance. The way he’s looking at me— like he owns me already— should terrify me. Instead, it makes every nerve ending sing with anticipation.

His hands grip my hips, and suddenly I’m being flipped onto my stomach with effortless strength. The movement is so quick it steals my breath, leaving me pressed face-down into his pillows with my ass raised and vulnerable.

Oh God.

The position is humiliating. Exposed. Everything in me should be screaming to escape, to cover myself, to demand explanations. But instead, liquid heat pools between my thighs as I realize what he intends.

“You went where you shouldn’t have gone,” his voice is dark silk above me. “Saw things you shouldn’t have seen.”

“I’m sorry,” I whisper into his pillow, my voice muffled and breathless.

“Sorry isn’t enough.” His palm skims over the curve of my ass, and I shiver at the gentle touch that promises anything but gentleness. “You need to learn there are consequences for disobeying me.”

Consequences.

The word makes me ache with shameful want.

His hand lifts away, and in the suspended moment that follows, every nerve in my body strains with anticipation.

Then his palm connects with my ass in a sharp crack that makes me cry out. The sting is immediate, radiating heat across my skin that somehow transforms into pleasure before I can process it. My fingers clutch at his sheets as the sensation settles deep inside, awakening parts of me I didn’t know existed.

Oh fuck.

“That’s one,” he says, his voice rough with barely controlled hunger. “You’re going to take ten for snooping where you don’t belong.”

“Osip—” His name escapes as half protest, half moan.

The second strike lands on the opposite cheek, harder this time. The sound echoes through the room, followed by my sharp intake of breath. Pain and pleasure blur together until I can’t tell where one ends and the other begins.

“Count them,” he commands. “I want to hear you count each one.”

“Two,” I gasp into his pillow, my voice shaking.

His hand smooths over the heated skin where he struck me, soothing the sting while somehow making me crave the next impact. The contrast between pain and tenderness is devastating— each touch designed to drive me higher.

The third strike comes without warning, making me arch off the bed with a cry that sounds nothing like distress. Fire spreads across my skin, but underneath it, a deeper heat blooms that has nothing to do with the spanking and everything to do with the dark promise in his touch.

“Three!” The word tears from my throat.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, and those two words send a flood of wet down my thighs. I’ve never been anyone’s good girl. Never wanted to be. But the approval in his voice makes me desperate to earn more praise, to take whatever he wants to give me.

The fourth strike lands across both cheeks, and I bite back a scream of pleasure. My skin feels alive, hypersensitive to every breath of air, every brush of fabric. I’m so wet I can feel it on my legs, shameful evidence of how much I’m enjoying this.

“Four,” I choke out, pressing my face deeper into his pillow to muffle the needy sounds escaping my throat.

His hand pauses, fingers tracing the heated skin. “Look at you, taking your punishment so beautifully.”

The praise makes me whimper. I want to be beautiful for him, want to be everything he needs. The realization should scare me— this desperate desire to please a man I barely know, to submit to his will so completely.