I nod, not trusting my voice.
“Good lass.” His hands slide up my sides, then slowly bunch the borrowed dress up over my hips. He pulls my panties down—cool air hits my skin, and I shiver. “Safe word is ‘mercy.’ You use it, everything stops. Clear?”
“Clear.”
His hands smooth over my bare skin, and despite the situation, or maybebecauseof it, desire coils tight in my core as he bends me over his lap.
“Six,” he says, his palm resting on the curve of my backside. “And you're going to count them. If you lose count, we start over.”
“Six? That's excessive!”
“Would you like to make it eight?”
I snap my mouth shut.
“Smart choice.” His hand traces lazy circles. “You know why you're getting this?”
“Because you're a mean control freak!”
The first strike comes without warning, the belt cracking against my skin with a sharp snap that steals my breath. It's not excruciating, but it burns—a bright sting that radiates outward.
“What number was that, lass?”
I grit my teeth. “One.”
“Good girl. And I'm not a control freak. I'm a man trying to keep the woman he loves alive.” Another crack, on the other side. The sound echoes in the quiet room.
“Two!” I gasp. “And that's literally the definition of a control freak!”
His laugh is dark, approving. “There's that mouth.” His hand soothes over the heated skin. “Keep running it, see what happens.” His thick cock presses against my belly.
“What, you'll make it ten? Twenty?” I twist to look at him over my shoulder, defiant even as my body trembles. “Go ahead, then. I can take it.”
His eyes flash. “Careful what you wish for, love.” The third strike lands lower, harder, and I arch against the sensation. Earned that one.
“Three,” I manage, my sass wavering.
His hand slides between my thighs, and he makes a low sound of approval at what he finds there. “You're soaked, lass. All that attitude, and your body's begging for more.”
My cheeks flush. “Shut it.”
“Not sure that’s very smart of you, telling me to shut it when I’m holding a belt in my hand.” He snaps the leather across my arse again.
“Four! And maybe I would if you weren't being so—” The words dissolve into a gasp as his fingers trace patterns on my heated skin.
“So, what? Protective? Determined to keep you breathing?” His voice roughens. “Tell me you'll stay safe. Tell me you'll let us handle Crowning.”
“This is so unfair,” I mutter.
“Bianca.”
“Fine! I'll stay safe.” The words come out petulant, and I immediately regret my tone.
“Try again. With less attitude.”
I take a shaky breath. “I'll stay safe,” I say quietly, and this time I mean it. “I promise.”
“Good girl.” The fifth strike lands, and my body trembles.
