By the fifth, I was squirming, the warmth spreading into arousal that made me press against the bench seeking friction. The impacts weren't hard enough to truly hurt, but each one built on the last, creating a burning that had nothing to do with pain and everything to do with the way my body was responding to his control.
"Six." My voice came out breathy, need making it hard to focus on counting.
The seventh landed slightly lower, catching the sensitive place where ass met thigh, and I actually moaned. Heat flooded through me, pooling between my legs, making me achingly aware of how empty I felt, how desperately I wanted to be filled.
"Seven."
Eight and nine blurred together, his hand moving with practiced skill, knowing exactly how hard to strike to ride the line between discipline and foreplay. By the time the tenth landed, I was whimpering, need coiling so tight I could barely breathe.
"Ten," I managed, and then his hand was soothing where it had struck, rubbing circles that eased the burn but did nothing for the arousal making me tremble.
"Did that hurt?" His voice was rough with barely contained desire. Through the bond, I felt his own need pressing against his control, demanding he take more, claim more, finish what we'd started.
"No," I admitted breathlessly. "It felt—good. Too good."
"That's funishment," he explained, his hand still moving in soothing patterns across my heated skin. "Discipline that leads to pleasure. But you took it beautifully, little one. So now let me show you what happens when you're good."
He helped me stand, my legs shaky with anticipation. His hands went to the waistband of my leggings, and I lifted my hips without being asked, letting him strip them away along with my underwear. The cool air hit my overheated skin, making me gasp, and when he guided me to the chaise by the window, I was already trembling with need.
"Lie back," he said, and I did, sinking into blankets that were impossibly soft. "Spread your legs, little one. Let me see how much you enjoyed your punishment."
I obeyed, flushed and aroused beyond caring about embarrassment. His eyes went dark when he saw me, storm-gray bleeding into the darker colors of gathering tempests. Through the bond, his approval crashed into me like a wave.
"Beautiful," he murmured, kneeling between my spread legs. "So perfect. So ready for me."
The first touch of his fingers made me arch off the chaise, sensation so intense after days of denial that I nearly came immediately. He gentled his touch, reading my body's responses with the skill of someone who'd had centuries to perfect his technique.
"Easy," he said, free hand pressing gently on my lower stomach, keeping me still. "Let me take care of you. Let Daddy make it better."
His fingers found my entrance, slid inside with embarrassing ease. I was soaked, had been since the moment I'd started bratting in his study, and his groan of appreciation made fresh wetness gather.
"So wet for me," he said, working me with steady strokes that had me gasping. "Taking discipline so well. Being such a good girl."
His thumb found my clit, circled it with exactly the right pressure, and I was gone. The orgasm hit like lightning—sharp, intense, stealing my breath and making me cry out. It went on and on, his fingers working me through it, wringing every bit of pleasure from my body until I was sobbing with the intensity.
When I finally came down, trembling and oversensitive, he withdrew carefully. I watched him through half-lidded eyes as he brought his fingers to his mouth, tasted me with obvious relish.
"Delicious," he said, and the raw hunger in his voice promised things I wasn't ready for yet. "Soon, little one. Soon I'll taste you properly. Soon I'll make you come on my tongue, my fingers, my cock. Soon I'll show you every single thing I've been imagining for the past week."
The promise made me clench around nothing, need already rebuilding despite having just come so hard I saw stars.
He moved to the chaise, settled beside me, pulled me against his chest. His arms wrapped around me, secure and warm,and I could feel his arousal pressing against my hip—hard, demanding, ignored in favor of caring for me.
"Tomorrow we seal the Pact," Caelus said against my hair, echoing my thoughts. "And soon after, I'll finally make you mine completely. No more waiting. No more denial. Just us, completing what we started."
I nodded against his chest, unable to form words around the want that was already rebuilding. Tomorrow couldn't come fast enough.
But for now, this was enough. Being held, being cared for, being exactly where I belonged.
In his arms. Safe. Cherished. His.
Chapter 7
Dawncreptthroughthemonastery windows like it was trying not to wake anyone, all hesitant gold and cautious pink bleeding through the clouds. But I'd been awake for hours, watching the sky shift from black to gray to this tentative light, my body humming with anticipation that made sleep impossible. Today was the day. The Pact ceremony. The formal binding that would make Caelus's authority real in ways that went beyond emotion or desire.
Through the bond, I felt him awake too, preparing in his own chambers. His emotions leaked through—determination mixed with a hunger so fierce it made my breath catch. We'd waited so long. Been so careful. After today, after the ceremony and the transformation that would follow, we could finally—
A knock interrupted my spiraling thoughts. Not Caelus's knock, which I'd learned to recognize by its particular rhythm. This was lighter, accompanied by multiple sets of footsteps and the soft murmur of feminine voices.
