“Did I say you could move?” His eyes darken. “Stay right there.”
He releases me, lifts the coiled belt, and pulls out the chair so he can sit in it, legs spread, belt folded in his thick hand. He doesn't speak, just lets me stare at it, lets the anticipation wind tighter in my belly.
“Now, over.”
This is it. He's been dying to give me a proper punishment, and now here I am.
I drape myself across his lap, feeling the hard muscle of his thighs beneath me, the thick length of his arousal pressing against my hip. His hand smooths over my arse, almost gentle, before he hooks his fingers in the waistband of my thong and drags it down to my thighs.
“There we go,” he says, his voice rough with approval. “Fucking gorgeous.”
His belt connects with my bare skin—sharp, stinging. I gasp.
“Count them. And thank me for each one.”
“One. Thank you.”
Another spank, harder this time. “Louder, love.”
“Two! Thank you!”
He doesn't rush. Between each strike, his hand roams—possessive, teasing, never giving me what I'm truly desperate for. His fingers trail between my thighs, barely grazing where I need him most, before pulling away.
“Jesus, you'redrenched,” he growls. “You like being punished, don't you, lass?”
“Yes,” I whimper.
“Yes, what?”
“Yes, sir. Yes, I like it.”
His belt comes down again, and I cry out the count. By ten, I'm shaking, grinding against his thigh, shameless and needy.
He fists my hair again, pulling my head back so I have to arch. “Greedy little thing. You think you've earned it?”
“Please—”
“Please, what?”
“Please, I need?—”
He cuts me off with another spank, then his fingers finally,finallyslide where I'm aching. But just as quickly, they're gone.
“Not yet. You'll come when I say you can, and not before. Understand?”
I nod desperately.
“Say it.”
“I understand. I'll come when you say.”
“Good girl.” He pulls me up by my hair, positioning me so I'm straddling his thigh, the rough fabric of his trousers against my bare, sensitive skin. His hand wraps around my throat—not choking, but possessive, controlling. “Now ride my thigh. Show me how fucking desperate you are.”
His other hand guides my hip, setting a torturous rhythm while his grip on my throat keeps me exactly where he wants me. Every time I get close, he stops me, holds me still, and watches me tremble and beg.
“Who do you belong to?” he asks again.
“You. Only you.”
