Page 3 of The Foreman (Cowboys of Silver Spur Security #6)

As he spoke, his fingertips brushed the inside of her wrist. A glancing touch, soft as silk, maddening in its precision.

Her skin lit up, nerve endings sparking in a trail that shot up her arm, straight to her chest, coiling low in her belly with a throb that was anything but subtle.

It wasn’t the touch itself, but the memory it reawakened—his hands on her, not tentative but claiming, commanding, trusted. Her breath stuttered.

Macy hated how her knees softened. How that tiny graze burned hotter than a slap. She stiffened, caught between her instinct to recoil and the molten throb that rolled through her belly. It wasn’t fear. Not exactly.

She told herself it was only memory, not need, which is what she'd been telling herself for the past three years.

She hated the way her body leaned a fraction toward his heat before she could stop herself. Hated the way the contact ignited a pulse surging through her system, hot and instantaneous, like a dare.

And Trace? That bastard didn't even blink. He knew exactly what he was doing.

His hand dropped, the absence of his touch somehow louder than the contact itself.

But her skin still burned, the ghost of his fingers trailing down her arm, circling her wrist like a phantom shackle.

Her thighs pressed together without thought, the heat low in her belly winding tighter with every breath.

It was maddening how her body remembered him, wanted him, while her mind begged her to build her walls higher, thicker, impenetrable.

Still, he stood there, composed and detached, while she fought not to unravel from a single touch.She laughed. It sounded too high. "God, you really do get off on this power trip."

"Yes, and so do you."

His voice was calm. Steady. Unyielding.And something in her belly clenched tight.

"You always were a hard-headed little thing," he murmured. "But you don’t fool me. Not now. Not then. You want someone to take control. You need it. And you want it from me."

Macy glared. "Go to hell."

"Already been. Still might be preferable to having to deal with you."

That stung and she tried not to flinch. She stood her ground. Chest heaving. Eyes wild.

"Fine," she snapped, trying to find equilibrium. "Let’s get this over with. Spank me, cowboy. I’ll even bend over your damn desk."

His gaze darkened. Slow. Lethal.

"No, darlin'. We start how we mean to go on. You want my protection? Strip. Kneel. And ask me."

She opened her mouth to argue and then closed it. She didn't really have a choice, at least not one she wanted, and they both knew it. The rain hammered harder against the windows. Her heart beat faster than the storm.

Slowly, she opened the robe and let it slip from her shoulders as she knelt on the floor in front of him. "Please, Sir. I need your help, and I am ready to accept your discipline."

Trace took a step back and retrieved a straight back chair, placing it in front of her. He extended his hand and she placed her own in his. She knew this was more than his helping her to rise, it was all part of the ritual, part of her acknowledging his dominance and agreeing to submit.

How long had it been since a Dom's discipline left her feeling this needy and vulnerable? Three years, she told herself, but that wasn’t true.

It had been much longer than that. She hadn’t felt pressured to accept Trace’s discipline.

She knew Reed Malone well enough to know, he never would have turned her out into the night.

He had his reasons, as did Trace, and despite everything, she trusted both of them enough to know she was safe.

Trace helped her over his knee. He didn't pull or force in any way. This too was part of the ritual, part of the non-verbal communication between Dom and sub. She settled over his lap and exhaled slowly, letting her body go limp.

Macy sensed his hand hovering over her bare ass before she felt the sting of the first smack.

She reached down and grasped his leg, craving their connection more than balance.

In that moment, she needed it all: not just the service of a professional disciplinarian, but the genuine intimacy she knew Trace could provide.

Another strike sent shivers down her spine, a tingling heat spreading over her in a rush that stole her breath away.

Two more blows landed, each one blooming fire across her flesh in searing waves that rolled through her like molten flame. Her hips twitched in response, an involuntary surrender, and her fingers dug into his leg as her body trembled with aching need.

She could feel the blood racing beneath the surface, her pulse pounding between her thighs.

This wasn’t just pain, it was a promise, a dark seduction unraveling her breath by breath.

If she held still, if she yielded completely, her body would answer with a pleasure so fierce it would fracture her, and she craved that breaking point like a starving woman.

He didn't hold back. Each blow more forceful than the last; tears streaming down her cheeks as she endured every impact.

She didn't want to cry, but it felt so good to surrender to the cadence of pain and pleasure.

In this space, all thoughts vanished. She simply existed within each sensation: the strikes against her flesh, the burning ache in their wake, and the small surges of peace accompanying each one.

Finally, his punishing hand stilled and he gently placed his palm on her reddened skin; the warmth soothed the lingering burn beneath his touch.

His low voice murmured in appreciation: "You did well Macy.

I'd forgotten how truly beautiful you are like this.

Your skin is the most lovely shade of pink. "

It was the most intimate praise she'd ever received from him. Trace had always been known for keeping a professional distance. This candid admiration shattered her last hesitation. She leaned her body against his, parting her legs just enough to signal her need.

Her arousal was evident as he teasingly traced the crease of her inner thigh, inching closer to the throbbing wetness between her legs.

Time seemed to stand still as she anticipated his touch; she feared that if he explored that tender spot, she would lose control, moaning uninhibitedly while climaxing around his probing fingers.

She knew she would obey without question if he pushed her off his lap and onto the desk, lowered his trousers, and took possession of her quivering body. This moment was everything she’d been secretly wanting for so long.

Then, without any kind of warning,he pulled away and helped her to her feet. Biting her lip to suppress a whimper, Macy ached for more, the potent realization that it still wasn't enough searing through her core.

"I'll have Becky bring you something to wear.

Get dressed and get your other things," he said with a nod to her still drenched clothing and the bag she'd managed to escape with before coming to the Iron Spur.

"I'll be waiting for you down in reception.

We'll take the back exit to the secure lot so we can avoid the CCTV cameras. Don't take too long."

She stared at the door as it closed behind him. Had she chosen right? Had she chosen wrong? It was too early to tell.