“You don’t get to decide when you’re safe. I do.” His voice is gruff, and I wish it didn’t ping off the memory of my mouth around his cock, creating that gravel for a very different reason. “If you won’t let me protect you, then tell me why I’m doing any of this at all.”
I suck in a slow breath, trying to keep myself from falling apart. He’s not being mean to me. I understand that. But I can’t help the way my body is responding to him.
It gives me whiplash. I know I should be thinking of a way out of this. Out of his grip. Out of this room. Out of this messed up situation I’ve found myself in.
“You need to remember what happens when you disobey me.” His grip on the back of my neck tightens, and I swear my knees wobble. “You’ll be punished.”
We hover like that for a handful of heartbeats before his voice dips even lower.
“Vest off.”
After a short hesitation, my limbs are jerky as I peel out of his vest and hand it to him. Saint tosses it to the dresser.
“Shorts, too.”
I blink at him, and his hand squeezes at the base of my skull—a firm reminder that he’s in charge. The soft pop of the top button is louder than it should be, and the room seems to shrink around us.
Today, I have on the lacy thong I came here in.
I drop the shorts to my ankles and kick them to the side, too afraid of breaking eye contact with him. Will my obedience now prove anything?
Abruptly, he turns me and shoves my shoulders down on the bed, ass in the air. It’s not rough, but it pummels my guts with fear. Saint uses his foot to spread mine apart. His hand at the back of my neck keeps my cheek pressed into the mattress.
“Stay put.” The order is a clear echo of the one I disobeyed earlier.
Then, his hands are at my waist, running down my hips and infusing me with heat. When his palm comes down on my ass, I yelp and jerk upright, hands flying back to cover my cheeks.
Not the appropriate response.
Saint grabs me by the wrists and pulls them over my head. The long swish of fabric and leather is a precursor to him wrapping his belt around my wrists. His hand at my lower back keeps me in place.
Shit. Being bound like this is both terrifying and yet…not.
Another hard smack comes down on my bare flesh. My entire body jerks, but I can’t move to protect myself. The sting leaves my body hot, and I’m squirming under him. I can’t help it.
His palm meets my ass again, and I whimper, trying to hide it in the comforter.
Saint doesn’t keep to a cadence, so each swat is a surprise, building from shocking, enticing, to pain—not the kind that I’ll never recover from, but enough to leave a light bruise.
Tears finally escape, but my body has gone limp. One more swat, and I’m left waiting.
Turning my head, I get a glimpse of his face, the stern line of his mouth and tight jaw. And he’s…shaking. From restraint? From his anger?
When his eyes flash up to my face, I get a whole different answer than I was expecting.
Fear.
He was afraid for me.
“This is so you remember,” he says quietly. “Not so I feel better.”
I hiccup on a sob, the only one I’ll let loose. He’s not hurting me because he wants to. My husband wants to be sure I stay safe. And I’m the one who put myself in danger this time.
It was my fault.
Saint smooths a hand over my heated cheeks. It sparks a little residual pain, but it calms me more than it hurts.
His jeans press into my ass as he leans over me and unties my hands. Gathering me in his arms, he tucks my back against his chest with a soft, “Come here.”
