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I fist her hair and yank her head back, baring that pretty neck I’ve marked too many times to count. My voice drops to a growl against her skin. “Baby, your nipples are hard, and you’re so wet it’s practically pouring down your legs. Don’t lie to me—you fucking want this.”

I sink my teeth into her throat, just enough to make her flinch, then drag my tongue over the sting like a promise. Her breath hitches.

“Fuck. You,” she snaps, but it lands more like a moan—more like ‘fuck me’.

I smile.

Then I bring my palm down hard—much harder than she expects—and her cry nearly undoes me.

“You better fucking count,” I warn, low and lethal, “or I start over.”

She doesn't say a word. Just breathes heavy, eyes blazing.

My grin sharpens.

“Okay, little viper. Starting over it is.”

She braces for it—I can see it in the way her shoulders tighten, the way her breath stills like she’s trying to steel herself against me. Against this.

Outside, it’s dead quiet. The kind of country dark that swallows sound whole. Just the tick of the engine cooling, the hum of cicadas thick in the trees, and the distant crack of something moving through the brush. Could be a deer. Could be someone with high beams about to blind us both. Could be nothing.

Doesn’t stop me.

I bring my hand down—twice. Sharp. Deliberate. Right on the same spot. The wet smack of it cuts through the stillness like gunfire. Her body jolts, a ragged inhale slicing through her clenched teeth.

She doesn’t cry out, but I see the tears welling. She bites down hard on her lip, holding in the sound I want to pull from her.

Something honest. Something wrecked.

Around us the world keeps turning. Night thick and endless. Dirt road empty—for now, and we both know anybody could come up behind us.

Anybody could see, but she doesn’t look away—just watches me—like I’m the sin she’s been starving for.

God help me, I love it. Hate it. Need it.

I want her to break—but not because I enjoy the power. Not because I want to win. I want her to trust me enough to fall apart. To give in. To know she’s safe in unraveling with me.

But she’s still fighting me, still locked behind those burning eyes and bitten lips. Still telling me without a word: You want my submission? Get fucked.

My palm comes down again, hard and fast, the sound sharp against her skin. She flinches, but she doesn’t pull away—and I don’t stop.

“Don’t you ever put yourself in a situation like that again,” I growl, my voice rough, shaking with adrenaline and something darker—fear. “What the fuck were you thinking?”

I keep going, not just to punish—but to anchor myself. To make her feel what I can’t say without unraveling.

Because the moment I thought she might be in danger, my mind short circuited. Rage, panic, helplessness—I couldn’t breathe through it. So now I breathe through this. Through the heat of her skin, the sound of her breath, the way her body responds to every strike.

I can hear my own breathing, ragged and uneven, and I know—I know—this isn’t just discipline. It’s control. It’s me reminding her that her life fucking matters. That she’s mine and I won’t lose her because she forgot how much that means.

Her thighs are slick, her body trembling. She's as wrecked by this as I am, but she’s letting me take it—letting me carry the weight of what could’ve been.

Because she knows this isn’t about power.

It’s about fear.

It’s about love that doesn’t always come gently.

“Promise me, Louisiana! Promise me you won’t fucking do that to me again!” I growl as I palm her hot ass cheek giving it a squeeze.