“Good,” he says silkily. “So consider what you feelyourpunishment should be, Anastasia. And perhaps we can discuss mine another time.”
He sounds mildly disgruntled at the thought. But then, he doesn’t know. He has no idea what happened to me after that day. On that day and every day after. Foryears.
I wait. Behind me, Silas shifts. I hear the rustle of papers. But when I glance over my shoulder, his eyes are pinned on me. Slowly, I push myself out. Spread my legs a little further. Revelin the hitch of his breath, even as my skin begins to heat again, just from the feel of his gaze on me.
“Ten,” I murmur finally, and I feel his attention on me.
“Ten hits,” he says, his voice musing. “I suppose I had better make them count, then.”
When I turn, craning my head, he shifts back in his chair. And he pats his knee.
A short laugh escapes him when my eyes widen. “Come here, Anastasia.”
Hesitantly, I let my hands slide away from the wall. The dampness of my palms has left a print against the paint, and I turn to Silas with an uncertain expression.
He holds out his hand, eyes burning. “I said, come here.”
Slowly, I take a step. Another. And his eyes trace me, full of possession and fire as I walk towards him, my lower half completely bare.
He inhales sharply as I stop in front of him. “Fuck, you’re beautiful.”
The words warm my skin. But—
“You didn’t say that before,” I say quietly. Remembering the pain.
His eyes meet mine, and he lets me see it. The truth. “I didn’t mean it. Not a fucking word.”
He doesn’t ask me again. He waits with his hand held out, waits for me to decide if I should take another step.
I know that if I turn my back now, he will never ask me again. And the distance between us will only get bigger, a void that neither of us will be willing to cross for fear of opening ourselves back up again. Only to be shut down.
My fingers shake as I reach out, wrapping them around his. Silas draws in a breath, and I wonder if I’m imagining the hitch. He draws me to his side. “Lie down. Face up.”
My own breath catches.
And slowly, I turn, and I sit. My hands hold his leg for balance, strong and steady beneath me as I carefully lay myself down across his lap until my head hangs over the side, his legs spreading to hold me up. I can almost feel the rush of blood to my head, the dizziness of my position and Silas’s hand sliding up my leg. I clear my throat, force out the words around the prickling need as he traces circles into my skin. “Shouldn’t I be facing down?”
I feel… open. Exposed, as he stares down at me, his eyes tracing my slit. Taking in the wetness there. And I gasp as his finger traces a single line, barely brushing me.
“No,” he says roughly. “I want you to watch me, Anastasia. And I want you to hold yourself open.”
My eyes dart to his in shock. “What?”
He takes my hand in his, pushes it down to brush over my curls. “You heard me. Spread yourself for me. And count.”
I feel lightheaded as I reach down, spreading my lips to his gaze. It warms in approval. “Good girl. Now count.”
I barely have chance to draw in a fortifying breath before his hand draws back and slaps against my pussy.
Hard.
When I cry out at the sting, his other hand moves into my hair, tilting my face towards him. I stare up at him, gasping. “I said,count.”
“One,” I choke out.
“Again,” he orders.
The slap rings out, and I suck in a breath. “Two.”
