“Will you spank me again in front of the window?”
Bishop’s eyes sparkle, a reckless grin turning up his lips. “With pleasure, beautiful.”
Chapter Sixteen
Ifeel him next to me.
Before my eyes even open, I know he’s there.
I signal that I’m awake with a stretch and a yawn, turning into Bishop’s hard body and nestling myself under his arm. He hums a soft good morning and plants a kiss on my forehead. He’s attentive, I’ll give him that.
“Sleep well, beautiful?”
“Amazing. Especially considering everything hurts.” I tickle my fingertips along his bare stomach under the crisp luxury sheet.
“Say thank you,” he demands. I suppress my laugh at the silly dominant act he plays, but then I go along with it.
“Thank you,” I whisper dutifully. I wonder if he plans on having sex with me like that every night, because if that’s the case, I don’t think my body can handle it.
“I ordered room service breakfast. One of everything. I hope you’re hungry.”
“One of everything?”
I gulp, thinking of my poor credit card. I do the mental math. At over a thousand dollars a night, I guess I could onlyafford to stay a month or two before my bank accounts would start to suffer. I’d have to conjure another tragedy online just to pay for my flight home.
“Breakfast sounds great.”
“Good. You need to eat more anyway. I like a little more to hang on to when I’m making you scream.” He pinches my waist, and I hate him instantly. I squirm, pretend to giggle, and then move out of the bed and head for the bathroom.
When I return a few minutes later, I remain silent.
“Everything okay?” Bishop fingers the spaghetti strap of the slip I’ve just put on.
“Y-yes.” I allow him to hear the quaver in my voice.
“Tell me what’s going on. Did I do something wrong?” He holds my shoulders and forces me to look him in the eyes.
“No, it’s just…my ex was veryheavy-handed.”
“Heavy-handed, what does that mean?”
I shake my head, acting as if I’m struggling to find the right words. “He…hit me. Once in a while.”
“He hit you?” Anger bunches his muscles.
“I… Sometimes he got upset?—”
“How often did he get upset?”
“I dunno.” I shrug, dropping to sit in the nearby chair at the window. “A few times a week.”
“He hit you a few times a week?”
“Sometimes,” I admit quietly.
“I’d fucking kill him if I ever saw him. He shouldn’t lay his hands on you.”
“Well, he left me, so he never will again.”
