“I know,” I say with regret. “I should’ve told you the truth.”
I should even now.
He nods and tucks me against his chest.
No,I scream in my head.Don’t be so tender. Don’t be so bloody perfect. I need you to hurt me. I need you to punish me.
“I understand,” he says, and I swear for one second I feel as if he actuallytrulyunderstands the difficulty of my situation. “But I agree with you.”
My palm flattens on his chest, and I can hear his heartbeat. A little thrill goes through me at the feel of his erection pressed firmly against me. He’s turned on by this. Dammit, so am I.
“Agree with what?”
“That you ought to be punished.” His large, rough hand pushes me off his lap so I’m standing in front of him. “Strip.”
“Strip?”
Leaning forward so his elbows are on his knees, he nods. His eyes narrow.
“I’ve made you come straight through your clothing. I’ve even punished you over your clothes before. But tonight, I want you bare-arsed.”
I feel my jaw slacken as I stare at him, all sexy-rugged alpha. His black hair falls across his forehead, the blue of his eyes icy and brilliant. His lips are pressed thin, his strong, muscular body tense as I slowly begin to obey. Leaning his elbows on his knees, he gives me a stern look that makes me quake.
I’m so nervous with anticipation, my hands shake as I step out of my joggers and top, the clothes tumbling to the floor. When I reach for my bra clasp, I fumble with it, nervously meeting hiseyes. He watches me, and I see him grow hard straight through his trousers.
I pause when I reach my knickers, my fingers on the lacy edge.
“Off with ‘em,” he growls. “And be quick about it or your punishment worsens.”
I step out of the knickers and they join my bra on the floor, as he slowly rises. He towers over me, stern and foreboding. He reaches for my hand and drags me over to him. Wordlessly, he arranges me over his lap.
My hair falls all around me like a veil, my hands flying out as I try to brace myself. With firm, deliberate movements, he traps my legs with his, winds a hand around my middle, and anchors me in place. One large, rough hand caresses me, as if priming my naked skin. He starts at my lower back, dragging his rugged palm over my arse, and pauses at the tops of my thighs.
“You were a bad girl,” he scolds.
I close my eyes.
I was, though. I really, truly was.
I am.
“Aye,” I whisper.
Again, his hand travels from my thigh and over my arse to my lower back, then back down again. Up and down, over and over, until my skin is hot to the touch, tingling.
“Is there anything else you need to tell me?” he asks, his palm resting on my arse, an erotic vibe shooting straight between my legs.
So much. So fucking much.
I shake my head.
Liar.
I imagine when his palm descends that he’s punishing me for my lies, scourging me for my sins.
His palm falls, heavily.
I flinch and gasp.
