"Because you're behaving like one."
"Because you took my fucking name and put me in a collar and—"
"Language." His voice dropped, warning clear. "We'vediscussed this."
"Oh, I'm sorry." The sarcasm dripped like honey. "Is Bunny using bad words? Is Bunny being naughty? What are you going to do, spank me?"
Something shifted in his eyes. "If necessary."
"You already have. Multiple times. Clearly it's not working."
"Clearly." He released my wrists, stepping back. "Kneel."
"Make me."
"I'm giving you a choice, Bunny. Submit now, take a simple punishment for your language and attitude. Or continue this path and discover what happens when you truly test my patience."
"Big talk from someone who gets hard watching me count orgasms."
The words hung in the air like a grenade with the pin pulled. His face went very still, that perfect control cracking just enough to show something dangerous underneath.
"What did you say?"
I should have backed down. Should have recognized the warning signs. Instead, I doubled down.
"You heard me. You get off on this. On me. Pretend it's all clinical and professional, but I've felt—"
"Choose." The word cut through my rambling like a blade. "Submit. Or earn what comes next."
I looked at him—really looked. Saw the tension in his shoulders, the clench of his jaw, the way his hands had curled into loose fists. I'd found a button. After weeks of him pushing mine, I'd finally found one of his.
So naturally, I spit at him.
This time I didn't miss. It landed on his cheek, just like that first day. But his reaction was completely different.
"You little—" He cut himself off, wiping his face with sharp, jerky movements. When he looked at me again, that perfect control was gone. In its place was something raw, hungry, barely leashed.
He moved faster than I'd ever seen him move, spinning me around and bending me over the bed in one fluid motion. My face pressed into pink sheets as he yanked my dress up, exposing the thin cotton panties that were all the protection I had.
"You want to act like a brat?" His voice had gone rough, that cultured accent fraying at the edges. "Want to push and push until something breaks? Congratulations, Bunny. You found my limit."
The first strike of his belt came without warning. No counting, no ritualistic positioning. Just leather meeting skin with enough force to drive the air from my lungs.
"Three weeks," he growled, punctuating each word with another strike. "Three weeks of careful protocols. Measured responses. Professional distance."
The belt fell again and again, no pattern or rhythm. This wasn't the clinical punishment I'd grown used to. This was something else. Something personal.
"Do you know what you do to me?" Another strike, this one making me cry out. "Sitting there with your malicious compliance and your little rebellions? Fighting so beautifully even as you break?"
"I'm sorry!" The words tore from my throat as the belt found unmarked skin.
"No, you're not." He wasn't wrong. "You're sorry you pushed too far. Sorry you're getting consequences. But sorry for spitting? For constantly defying simple requests? For being the most frustrating, fascinating subject I've ever encountered?"
The belt stopped. I lay there gasping, ass on fire, tears streaming down my face. But before I could process the reprieve, I felt him spreading my cheeks, exposing me completely.
"Let's see how bratty you are with a tail."
Cold lube against sensitive skin made me jerk. Then pressure, steady and unrelenting, as he worked something inside me. The plug was bigger than anything I'd taken before, stretching me until I whimpered into the sheets.
