Page 94 of Damsel in Disguise

The shift is instant.

“What was that?” he’s deceptively calm as he pushes off the counter.

I swallow, squeezing my eyes shut and tightening my grip around the pen.

Feeling my heart beating erratically fast in my chest, I shake my head anyway, pushing stubbornness through the embarrassment.

“I said no,” I repeat, a little louder this time, even if my voice still wavers at the edges.

A beat of silence, followed by a few hurried footsteps.

The next second, a crack rings out sharply in the air.

My head snaps to the side, a sting blooming across my cheek before I can even process it.

It’s not hard enough to hurt, but it burns anyway—enough to shut me up and remind me exactly where I stand before him.

“You just lost your reward for being such a bad kitty.”

Before I can recover, his fingers roughly close around my chin, forcing my face back toward him.

“Don’t mistake hesitation for defiance,” he says quietly and lowers himself to his knees too.

I shift slightly on my knees, clamping them closer.

The restraint bites into my wrists as I adjust my grip on the pen. The metal is cool against my palm, grounding in a way that does nothing to steady the heat pooling low in my stomach.

Alistair nudges my knees apart. The moment his knee brushes mine, something in me falters.

A slow, unsteady breath slips past my lips as my body betrays me and follows through on what he demanded.

I stop resisting.

My muscles loosen, tension melting in a way that feels humiliatingly natural—knees part wider under his silent command.

His grip on my chin doesn’t loosen but trails down to my throat. If anything, it anchors me there while his other hand wraps around my bound wrists, guiding them under my skirt.

My breath catches. I squeeze my eyes shut.

The reaction is instant. The sharp sting across my cheek snaps my head to the side again, a second slap landing before I can even process the first.

“Eyes on me, little kitty,” his voice is low, edged, leaving no room for disobedience.

His fingers clamp around my throat again, tighter this time, forcing my face back toward him. The pressure is enough that I can’t take a lungful of air.

A soft, broken sound slips free as my eyes open again, drawn back to him despite myself. His gaze pins me in place.

Blue—except it isn’t anymore. The color has darkened, swallowed almost entirely by something deeper, something heavier, until only a thin ring remains.

His hand moves again—knuckles brush against my most sensitive spot as he pushes my panties aside, never breaking eye contact.

I feel the shift rather than see it. The subtle brush of movement, the way his attention sharpens, the way mine fractures.

A whimper escapes me, which doesn’t pull a smile on his lips. Only that faint, knowing curve—something sharper than amusement and close to control.

The cool edge of the pen presses against me next. It’s unexpected and jarring against my overheated skin, drawing a soft, involuntary gasp from my lips. The contrast alone is enough to make my breath hitch, my body tenses before it yields again.

He doesn’t rush. That’s the worst part.