When he pulls away, he goes back to what he was doing earlier, while I sag against the counter and sigh dreamily. I didn’t know men kissed like that in real life. Then let me go and act like nothing happened while he slices apples and puts them on a plate.
“What are you doing?” I ask, squinting. It’s after midnight.
I cannot believe he lives on my street. What does that mean? Are we going to see each other randomly at the mailbox? Probably not. I doubt men like Kian Savage check their own mail.
His house is one of the very last in our little gated community, so he’ll drive past my place every time he comes or goes, but I don’t have any reason to go this way unless I’m doing it on purpose.
“I’m making you a snack because you’re tipsy, and food will help absorb some of that before you go to sleep.”
Oh. Right.
Butterflies erupt low in my belly as he holds an apple slice with a glob of peanut butter on it up to my mouth.
I open and take a bite, then watch as he eats the other half, his gaze trained on me, intense and brooding.
He continues to feed me for several minutes. Apples. Cheese cubes. Grapes. Crackers. Almonds. It’s practically a full-on charcuterie board, and I love every bit of it.
“What caused that scar, Ace?” he asks softly.
Holding the bottle of water he offers me, I bring it to my lips and take a drink. “I was in a car accident about a year ago that crushed my hip and femur. I had multiple surgeries to repair them. I’m fine. Sometimes when I overdo it, I ache more than usual, and I favor that side.”
Kian’s expression is a mask of calm and collected, but his eyes tell a different story as he studies my face for several beats. “You ache more thanusual,” he says slowly. “You’re always in pain?”
A lump forms in my throat, so I take another drink to give myself a second. This is not the direction tonight is supposed to go. He was spanking me a few minutes ago. My panties are still drenched.
“Kian, I’m fine.”
The moment I say his name, his jaw clenches. He boxes me in against the counter, my back to it this time, so we’re pressed front to front. He stares down at me, not a hint of color in his eyes as he whispers, “I don’t like it when you pretend you’re fine and you’re not. Whoever taught you to stay silent about your needs should be shot. And I mean that with every fucking fiber of my being, Ace.”
My skin prickles, a shiver working its way down my spine. The house around us is silent, other than the whoosh of my heartbeat pounding in my ears. His intensity should scare the hell out of me. We’ve only met one other time, and now he has me in his house, where he’s giving me rules and demanding whatever he wants. Asking questions about things I’m not sure I’m ready to talk about.
I’ve met men like him before. I know ones just like him. And that’s how I know that I’m safe with Kian. There’s no doubt in my mind that Kian is a dangerous, deadly man, but he’s not the kind to hurt women. Not unless there’s a very good reason.
“Kian, we came here to fuck, remember? Let’s do that.”
His Adam’s apple bobs, and he scowls at me, but when I slide my hands up his chest, my fingers sliding into the neckline of his dress shirt, he lets out an uneven breath.
“When we’re alone like this, it’s Daddy.” He spins me around again. “And you’re right, angel. We came here to fuck, but first, you have a punishment.”
Pressing between my shoulder blades, he pushes my chest down to the counter again and stands at my side so I can see him.
“When we’re together, you’remine. Which means I’m responsible for you. So I want to make it perfectly clear to you right now that being honest with me when I ask you a question is a rule. Do you understand me?”
The last two words send a shiver through me right down to my core, and I instantly nod, not wanting to do anything to make this stop. I don’t know why I want this, but being spanked like a naughty little girl has always been my biggest fantasy. Being bent over and submitting to someone is so embarrassing. So intimate. Not just a swat on the ass during sex. No, this… Discipline.
“When I ask you a question, I want a verbal answer.”
“Yes, Daddy,” I breathe out, then yelp when he spanks my ass again.
He smooths his hand over the spot he just spanked, then runs his hand down the back of my thigh. “Good girl. I’m going to lift your dress, and I don’t want you to be ashamed of your scars. They’re part of you, angel. Got it?”
Keeping his hand on the hem of my dress, he stares at me, waiting for an answer.
I’m not embarrassed by my scars. Not really. It’s more that they are a constant reminder of everything I lost. Ballet was my passion. And now I can hardly practice for an hour without needing to ice myself. Then again, I can’t remember the last timeI actually enjoyed ballet before my accident. It was no longer about the art itself. In my mother’s eyes, it was a business, and I was the pawn.
Studying Kian’s face, I watch for any sign of pity, but he hasn’t shown any since he discovered my mangled leg. With my eyes locked on his, I nod. “Yes.”
His hand is steady when he raises the silk of my dress up and over my ass, then tucks his fingers into the waistband of my matching pink lacy panties and tugs them down.
