Her cunt gave a protesting clench as he slipped free, everything in her throbbing.
He set her gently on her feet. “But it’s a nice night. No rush to head in.”
They wandered a little longer, the night air cooling the heat still in her skin. She kept close to his side, comfortable in the silence, but her thoughts turned inward, to his words, to what it meant to be part of a pack, part of a household built on oaths and promises. On rituals.
“Where’d you grow up?” she asked, voice low.
Boone glanced at her but didn’t answer right away. She thought maybe he wouldn’t. But then he said, “Vienna, Alabama. Nowhere special. Nine kids. Dad ran heavy equipment. Mom cleaned houses.”
“Nine?”
“Third oldest. We all worked. Grew potatoes and onions in the backyard, hunted to fill the freezer.”
While he was answering questions, she’d press her luck and keep asking. “You’re so good with math, did you go to a good school?”
“Not hardly. Poor county, backasswards everything. Always knew I wanted to do what my old man did, operate the big shit. He had to go to the cities for work sometimes. Long commute. Drove a bike to save gas. I learned what I needed to, math and reading. Used the math to figure out how many questions I’d need to get right on the history bullshit to pass. My mom wanted me to graduate, so I did.”
“You were in a pack? With your family?”
“My dad created his own pack with nine kids and a human wife. I never ran with other wolves until I came here. Are we gonna walk and enjoy the night, or are you going to keep asking questions?”
“Thanks for answering more than I figured you would. I’m shutting up now. Itisa nice night.”
They walked in silence a little longer, until the lights from the house came back into view. By the time they stepped inside, the place was quiet, the scent of dinner lingering faintly in the air. Boone didn’t take her toward his room — he guided her to her bedroom, pausing for the dress to come off and go onto the table.
Silas was already in bed, looking at his phone, an evil-looking fat cane at the foot of the bed.
And when he looked up, an expression that promised nothing gentle.
“Knees and chest on the bed,” Boone ordered as he lifted the cane. “Ass facing the door.”
And they were back to this. Orders and obedience.
Her insides lit on fire with the promise and fear of the cane, and she assumed the position.
The thing about a cane is there are two intense, completely separate pains every time the damned thing lands.
The first crack landed low, just above the curve of her ass. The searing pain was instant, the impact deep and penetrating enough to rip a gasp from her throat. Two heartbeats later, the second wave hit, settling into the muscle like fire sinking into bone.
The second strike came higher, kissing the tops of both cheeks, still not hitting the morning’s diamonds, but close, and she clenched her fists in the bedding. The afterburn made her hips twitch, but she forced herself still.
“No fists, fucktoy,” Boone said, his voice flat.
Annoyance flared hot in her chest as she forced her fingers to uncurl, palms flat against the sheets. Clenching into fists helped her fight the pain, but what she wanted didn’t matter, only what they demanded. The realization hit hard — her body wasn’t hers to manage anymore, and she’d have to mold even her automaticreactions to their preferences. Beingtheirs to shapesuddenly took on new meaning.
And then the third strike landed and chased away all thoughts when it crossed the first and the overlapping heat turned the throbbing pain into an all-encompassing pulsing burn. She focused on keeping her hands flat on the sheets and bit her lip because she’d already screamed her throat raw tonight.
The fourth came fast on its heels, the hiss of the cane cutting the air before the bite slammed into her right cheek alone, directly over the diamonds. A surgical cruelty that left her breathless. The deep throb followed, spreading warm and mean.
The fifth cracked across the tender flesh just below her sit-bones, low enough to make her gasp. The echoing ache made her thighs quiver, the aftershock almost worse than the strike itself.
The sixth and final was the hardest yet, laid diagonally across the others, pulling every earlier welt into the new bloom of pain. She buried her face in the bedding, not in defiance but in the fight to stay exactly as she’d been told while the fire licked through every nerve.
Silas stretched out beside her, and Boone lifted her and mounted her over him, knees straddling his hips. Her raw, swollen pussy was forced down onto his cock, inch by brutal inch, until the stretch ripped a broken sound from her throat. There was no give left in her, no slick ease. Just sore, stretched flesh struggling to take more. The position pitched her forward, pulling every welt tight across her back and thighs, the lingering heat flaring fresh as her body fought to adjust.
And then Boone’s hands spread her cheeks.
She barely had time to adjust before Boone’s huge hands bracketed her hips. His blunt head pressed against her asshole — the same one Silas had worked the night before, and that morning, still raw from wearing the plug most of the day.
