I squeeze my eyes shut.
“Begin,” the King commands.
The first strike lands with a sharp, resounding crack across both cheeks. Fire blooms instant and searing, spreading outward in a white-hot wave. I flinch hard, a choked cry escaping before I bite it back. The second crosses the first, this one higher, overlapping just enough to double the sting. My body jerks against Damon’s hold; his grip tightens, and I feel his thumb stroke in small, secret circles on my shoulder–silent comfort in the middle of punishment.
The third lands lower, right where thigh meets ass–agony flaring bright and vicious. Tears prick my eyes and I force myself to look at Hunter. He’s breathing heavily, fingers curled into fists at his sides, like he’s trying to retain control. My gaze shifts and I see the hard line of his erection straining against his jeans.
There’s no reaching him like this.
The fourth and fifth come fast–crisp, deliberate spankings that overlap the earlier marks. Each one lands with a sound that echoes in the room, each one driving the heat deeper until my skin feels like it’s glowing. I bury my face in the duvet, panting, shaking, refusing to scream though every nerve begs for it.
When it’s over, silence rings louder than the strikes.
The King rises to stand above me. His hand meets my chin and tilts it up so I can see him. “There will be no more games and no tantrum from this punishment, understand?”
I swallow, but the position makes it hard. I manage to respond over the lump in my throat. “I understand.”
“Good.” He drops my chin and steps back. “Remove her and take her to your room. Watch her overnight, but I don’t think there will be a problem, do you, Arianette?”
Shaking my head, I sob, “No.”
Relief rushes through me knowing I won’t be going back to the cage. Damon lifts me carefully, cradling me against his chest like I weigh nothing. Hunter opens the door, but the last thing I see is the man who just reminded me, in the cruelest way possible, exactly where the line is drawn.
And how much it hurts to cross it.
21
Hunter
I watchDamon carry her down the hall–her head tucked against his shoulder, arms loose around his neck, legs dangling like she’s finally let go of the fight. The sight of her small frame cradled against his chest twists something in my gut.
Once they round the corner, I turn back, prepared to face the consequences of my actions.
The King is already peeling off the mask. The metal comes away in one smooth motion, revealing the faint lines around his eyes that only show when he’s exhausted or furious. Right now it’s both.
Timothy Maddox looks back at me.
“You defied me,” he says. Voice low and controlled–dangerous.
“I did.” I don’t flinch. “But I don’t regret it. That rod is barbaric.”
“She understands it.”
“Which makes it fucking worse.” The wordscome out with a bite. From the King’s expression, I may have just signed my own death warrant, but I don’t give a shit. “The last time you used that on her it just about broke her and cost a man his life. You and I both know that bastard deserved it, but none of us can risk her becoming unstable again.”
He taps his fingers on the arm of his chair. The gold ring on his index finger catches the lamplight, glinting like a warning.
For a long moment he says nothing. Just watches me with those steady green eyes that see too much. Then he exhales in a way that sounds like resignation.
“Take the rod and the case,” he says, “and get out of my sight.”
When I don’t move fast enough he growls, “Go.Now.”
I collect the case and grab the rod off the bedside table and walk out, adrenaline rushing through my veins. It’s not just defying the King that has me worked up.
My skin feels too tight, like my hammering pulse may break through at any moment. Worse is how hard my cock is throbbing–so hard it hurts with every fucking step.
Christ. The monster is so close under the surface, so close to breaking free.
