Page 80 of Graciously His

I lean away, startled. “For what?”

“For consenting to what I’m about to do to you.”

His hands turn rough: he pushes me down onto the bed and gets in beside me, his back against the headboard, long legs stretched out. Then he puts me in my place, pressing my chest into the mattress and settling my pelvis across his lap.

“Bend your knees a bit,” he says. “We don’t want you to be uncomfortable just yet.”

I obey, bending my knees so that more of my weight rests on Nate’s lap. I place my hands beside my head and crane my neck to peer at him, trying to calm my racing heart. He gives me the wolfish regard that always precedes pleasure—and sometimes pain. Maintaining eye contact, he eases my jeans and underwear down my thighs. Vulnerability steals my breath as cool air hits my backside, making me feel the wetness accumulating between my legs.

I’m messed up for wanting this.

“All set, love?” His eyes have softened a little, his hand resting on my right buttock.

I can’t speak, so I nod, then press my face into the mattress.

“Breathe, Grace. You can handle this.”

I obey, trying to draw a steady breath.

The first blow comes, cracking through the room with a sound louder than I expected. The impact arrives a second after the sound, and I grunt from the spark of pain in my right buttock. Another follows, this time on the left. My breath hitches.

“That’s it,” he says, rubbing each cheek in turn, settling the pain deeper. “You’re doing so well already.”

I turn my head so I can see him again. His eyes are on my ass, mouth set in concentration. Another blow comes and I gasp. He glances at me and I do something I’ll never understand, not in a million years. I nod him on. Nate gives me a long, heated look, then he goes to town.

The blows come evenly, first to one cheek, then to the other, and I realise he’s being careful not to smack the same spot in quick succession. I take deep breaths as I fall further and further into the sensations he’s eliciting, my eyes closing. The pain is a wave of heat pulsing over my skin, heightening the pulse between my legs. His erection juts up against me, though I can’t use it for the friction I’m craving. I wriggle, groaning with need.

“Oh, we’re not there yet,” he says in between smacks, “but you’re being so fucking good for me. Do you think you can give me more?”

I’m about to say yes, but my answer is swept away by a terrible blow to my left buttock. I cry out properly for the first time, pain taking a spiked hold of me. I muffle my grunts into the mattress when the next hit comes, even harder. The spanking takes a turn into a place I can only describe as red. I see, feel, and taste the colour as he lands blow after blow, hurting me in a way he never has before. I can feel myself panting, though I’m not sure what noises I’m making at this point. The pain is like a blister that’s been opened to the cool air, oxygen flooding in to heighten the torment.

I let it take me, and I start sobbing.

Chapter 32

Nate

Grace’s whimpers are sweet enough to eat, but I want more. I heighten the intensity, spacing the smacks closer, pushing her hard. Her pinkened bottom slowly goes red as her whines turn into little cries—then bigger ones.

Fucking beautiful.

She’s breathing hard, face hidden in the blankets, shoulders tense, her ass the deep, angry red I wanted to see. I could darken it further. I could do this all day after what she’s put me through.

“Don’t forget your safe phrase,” I tell her.

It’s a reminder for both of us. Because the lowest part of me wants to hear it. Hearing ‘I love you’ fall from her lips would be the crowning glory of this moment, when I’m marking her with my bare hands. Her thighs are clenched tight and trembling, but I can see the slippery wetness in between. I want to run my fingers through it. I want to make her scream with pleasure as well as pain.

Not yet.

I trace her reddened skin with my fingertips, watching her shudder. She shifts, her face hidden beneath her hair. I need to make sure she’s still with me.

I let iron creep into my voice. “Look at me, Grace.”

It takes a moment, but she turns her head, eyes peeping from beneath her hair. She’s a perfect, tear-streaked mess.

“Are you okay, pretty girl?”

“Hurts,” she whispers.