The fifth stroke made her gasp, her fingers tightening on the stool until her knuckles went white.
"Five."
The belt cracked down again, and this time Evie couldn't hold back the sob that tore from her throat. The pain was exquisite, searing, and somehow exactly what she needed. Each stroke carved away a layer of doubt, burning away the poison Victoria had dripped into her ear.
"Six."
Over halfway there. She could do this. Shewantedto do this.
Someone's hand - Asher's, she realized, because she could see the ridiculous reindeer-patterned socks he still insisted on wearing in her peripheral vision - stroked her hair back from her damp face. The gentle touch was a stark contrast to the punishment, and it made her cry harder.
The seventh stroke landed with perfect precision across the center of her bottom. The sound that escaped her was part wail, part moan, because underneath the burn, underneath the sting, arousal still coiled tight in her belly. Her body didn't seem to understand the difference between punishment and pleasure, or maybe it just didn't care.
"Seven." The word came out strangled.
"You're doing so well, baby girl." Gabe's voice was rough, strained. "Just three more."
Three more. Three more strokes to strip away the last of her doubts, to burn them out completely and leave only certainty in their wake.
The eighth stroke caught her unprepared, landing diagonal across the others, and Evie's whole body jerked. The cry that tore from her throat was raw, primal.
"Eight," she sobbed.
Her bottom felt like it was on fire, every nerve ending screaming. The heat radiated through her entire lower body, and yet, god help her, she was achingly, embarrassingly wet. She could feel it, the slickness coating her inner thighs, the way her body clenched and pulsed with need despite the pain. Or maybe because of it.
Asher's fingers continued their gentle stroking through her hair, grounding her. "Almost there, sugarplum. You're being so brave."
The ninth stroke landed, and Evie's vision whited out for a moment. The pain peaked, crested, and somewhere in the midst of it, something inside her broke open. All the fear, all the insecurity, all the poison Victoria had poured into her ear - it shattered like glass.
"Nine!" The word came out as a wail. Her thighs trembled with the effort of staying in position. Sweat beaded at her temples and between her breasts.
She felt Gabe shift behind her, taking his time before delivering the final stroke. The anticipation was almost worse than the pain itself. Her entire body was taut as a bowstring, waiting.
When it came, the tenth stroke blazed across her skin like lightning. Evie's back arched as she screamed out the final number.
"Ten!"
For a moment, there was nothing but the sound of her ragged breathing and the pounding of her heartbeat in her ears. Then Gabe's hands were on her, soothing over her flaming skin with gentle strokes.
"All done, baby girl. It's over. You did so well."
Evie couldn't stop the tears flowing down her cheeks, but they weren't tears of pain. They were tears of release, of absolution. The burden of doubt she'd been carrying had been lifted, burned away by each lash of the belt.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice raw. "I'm so sorry I doubted you."
Strong hands helped her to stand, and she found herself enveloped in Gabe's arms, his lips pressing against her temple. "It's done. Forgiven. Forgotten."
Her legs were trembling too much to support her, so when he lifted her, she went willingly, wrapping her arms around his neck. The movement sent fresh waves of fire across her bottom, making her gasp against his skin.
"Let's take her upstairs," Shepherd said, his voice gruff with emotion.
Evie felt herself being carried through the back hallway that joined their two shops and up the stairs to Shepherd’s apartment.
The smell of leather and coffee, so distinctly Shepherd, enveloped Evie and made her heart clench as Gabe carried her through the doorway. Her backside throbbed with exquisite pain, each pulse a reminder of her punishment and absolution.
He laid her gently on the bed; the cool sheets were a balm against her heated skin, though she hissed when the fabric brushed against her tender flesh.
"Shhh," Asher soothed, his fingers trailing through her hair. "Let us take care of you now, sugarplum."
