Olivia crossed her arms, defensive heat climbing up her neck. “So I’m to be a perfect, unfeeling duchess whenever we have company? Never defending myself against insults?”
“There are ways to defend yourself without descending to their level,” Victor pointed out. “You’re more clever than that, Olivia.”
The compliment hidden within the criticism caught her off guard.
“This is your first offense,” Victor continued, “and the rules are new. So, the correction will be mild.”
Olivia’s mouth went dry, a peculiar tingling sensation spreading across her skin. “You mean to punish me now? After I’ve spent an entire evening tolerating that woman’s barbs?”
“Yes,” Victor said simply. He moved to a straight-backed chair, setting it in the center of the room. “Come here.”
Olivia hesitated, torn between defiance and the agreement she had made mere hours ago. Finally, she approached, stopping before him.
“You will lie across my lap,” Victor instructed, seating himself. “I’ll lift your skirts and deliver ten strokes to your backside. You will count each one aloud and thank me afterward.”
Her eyes widened, her breath catching in her throat. “This is absurd. I’m not a child to be spanked for misbehavior.”
“No,” Victor agreed, his voice deepening. “You’re my wife. This is the consequence of breaking our agreement.”
Olivia warred with her pride and her traitorous body. This was the true test. Not dinner with the Athertons, but this moment of choice. Would she honor her submission when it became difficult?
With trembling hands, she arranged herself across Victor’s lap, the position itself a humiliation. Her face burned as she felt him carefully arranging her skirts.
His hands moved beneath her skirts, finding nothing but bare skin.
Olivia tensed as the cool air touched her exposed skin. She had never felt so vulnerable, so completely at another’s mercy.
“Ten strokes,” Victor reminded her.
The first impact came without warning, his palm connecting firmly with the soft flesh of her bottom. It stung more than she expected, a sharp, concentrated pain.
“One,” she gasped.
“You didn’t thank me, Olivia.”
She gritted her teeth. “Thank you, Your Grace.”
The second fell immediately after, slightly higher than the first. “Two. Thank you, Your Grace.”
“Someone wants to be my good girl again, don’t they?”
She nodded, and he delivered another spank.
By the fifth, Olivia was squirming involuntarily, her eyes stinging not from pain alone but also from the overwhelming emotions the position evoked—shame, vulnerability, and more she couldn’t name. A strange warmth was building between her legs, a shameful heat that had nothing to do with the burning of her punished flesh.
“Five. Thank you, Your Grace.” she managed, her voice catching as she widened her legs a bit, hoping that his fingers might graze there.
Victor paused, his free hand resting on the small of her back. “Halfway done, little one. You’re taking your correction well.”
There it was again. That endearment somehow made her feel both small and cherished. Protected even in the midst of punishment. His age, his authority, his quiet confident tone. All of it created a sense of safety and care that seemed paradoxical given her current position.
His fingers strayed lower, brushing the curve where her buttock met her thigh, and Olivia bit her lip to suppress a moan. Her body’s response mortified her. How could she find arousal in punishment?
The sixth stroke landed, and Olivia’s hips instinctively pushed upward, seeking contact with Victor’s hand. He noticed, a soft chuckle escaping him.
“Interesting,” he murmured, his voice dropping to a deeper register. “Your body betrays you, Duchess. I can feel your arousal against my thigh.”
Olivia buried her face against the chair, a whimper escaping her lips. “Six. Thank you, Your Grace,” she whispered.
