Page 104 of Unrequited

“Now. Over.”

My legs feel like liquid, but I obey. Trembling, I move forward and slide across his thighs. His lap is sturdy, warm, and immovable. My hair falls forward, curtain-like, hiding my face from the world. My hands scrabble for balance, but I can’t find anything solid except for him.

He places one firm, heavy hand on the small of my back.

He lifts the belt.

And brings it down.

The leather strikes the crease between my thighs and the curve of my ass. The sound is loud, the sting sharp. I cry out, my breath caught in my throat.

“Ow.”

It doesn’t exactly hurt, not in the way pain is supposed to. It startles me more than anything. It steals my breath and leaves something else behind. Arousal. Electricity.

“Good,” he murmurs.

Then he brings it down again.

Two.

Three.

He flicks the leather strap across each cheek, a measured, controlled rhythm that feels more like a seduction than a strike. Each one lands with purpose, not violence, not punishment. Not yet. It’s like he’s drawing heat into me, teasing the edge of pain, coaxing my body to respond, to yield.

He’s not even using half his strength; I know that.

He’s playing with me. Testing my limits.

Warming me up for something darker.

Something I can’t yet see, but I can feel it coming, like a storm on the horizon.

“There,” he says, after six deliberate lashes.

He sets the belt down like it’s something sacred, something he treasures, not just a tool, but a ritual. Then his hands, warm and possessive, cup my ass, his palms pressing firm against the sting, soothing and branding me all at once.

“You’re a good girl, Zoya.”

I sigh. There it is.

His voice is almost too soft, deceptively gentle. It slides over my skin like silk, wrapping around me.

“I don’t think you need a severe punishment, do you?”

But oh, something inside me wants it.

Wants the punishment.

Wants to earn it.

Wants to see exactly how far he’ll go.

Wants to feel everything he’s capable of giving.

Still, I shake my head, my voice barely above a breath.

“No, sir.” I swallow. “I really didn’t mean to disobey you. I’m sorry.”