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“I’ve already told you: your obedience. You give me that, and I’ll make this easier.”
Obedience. I hated that fucking word. “And if I don’t, you’ll punish me like you did before.”
“I’ll be creative in my punishments, yes,” he said with a wicked gleam in his eye.
Goose bumps made the hairs on my arms stand on end, and my mind wandered to the restraints attached to the posts of his bed. Would he use those? Was that getting creative?
Salvatore reached out to softly touch my knee. My mind screamed for me to pull away, but instead, I looked from his eyes to his hand. I swallowed as he stroked the inside of my knee, then my thigh, pushing the dress up as he did so.
“I think you enjoyed at least part of your punishment.”
I shook my head, just a small “no,” but kept my eyes on his hand, on his fingers as they drew small circles on too sensitive flesh.
He slid toward me, making me look up, forcing me to meet his gaze.
“And it doesn’t always have to be punishment.”
His fingers left my thigh and touched the top button of my blouse. I watched in silence, unable to speak. He slowly undid the buttons and pulled my top open.
“Look at me.”
I did, my breath hitching when I met those cobalt eyes. With both hands, he slid the blouse from my shoulders, leaving it at my elbows. He then explored my exposed chest, my nipples tightening just from his gaze upon them, barely hidden behind the white lace.
Bringing his face to mine, he inhaled, his mouth close to mine, so close, but not touching. He kissed my cheek softly, making my stomach flutter, his breath on my face making my sex throb.
“I can make this good,” he whispered by my ear. “I want to make this good for you.”
When his fingers traced the border of my bra, I licked my lips, wanting him to kiss me, preparing for him to kiss me. He could make this so good. I knew. I knew how good he could make it.
His fingers slid inside my bra as his mouth neared mine again. This time, I tilted my face upward to meet his and reached a trembling hand to touch the naked muscle of his arm. His kiss was soft, slow, tender almost as his fingers tickled my nipple. But then it changed, building in heat and intensity as one hand cradled the back of my head, and my mouth opened to his tongue, my entire body arching up to meet him, wanting—needing—something more.
“But only good girls are rewarded,” he said, his mouth at my ear again, me breathless, blinking up at him as he pulled back. “Bad girls are punished. Have you been bad, Lucia?”
His eyes seemed to dance, and I knew in that instant he knew.
I straightened, trying to tug my shirt up to cover myself.
Salvatore shook his head and smiled, cocking his head to the side. “Tell me, have you?”
“No,” I said, my voice cracking.
He reached over, and I gasped when he pushed the cups of my bra beneath my breasts.
“Wh…what are you doing?” I moved to cover them.
“No,” he said, taking my wrists and pulling them behind my back.
“Salvatore?”
That smile still plastered on his face, he dragged me forward and laid me facedown over his lap. He kept my wrists at my back while the fingers of his other hand tickled the inside of my thighs as they dragged my skirt up.
“Have you been snooping?” he asked outright once he’d stuffed my skirt beneath my wrists at my waist.
“What? No!”
He smacked my right cheek. I think I was more surprised than pained. “What the…”
“Have you been snooping?” he repeated.
I craned my neck. “What are you doing?”
Smack.
“Ow! Stop!”
“Have you been snooping?”
I shook my head, squeezed my legs together, and wriggled to get free, which was impossible, considering his size and strength.
“No?”
His fingers found the waistband of my panties and tickled the flesh there. “What are you doing? Let me up!”
I knew he heard me, he just was enjoying this. When he began to drag my panties down, I wildly kicked my legs only to have them trapped between Salvatore’s hard thighs. The swoosh of his belt made me stop struggling, and he laughed at what I was sure was my deer in the headlights expression.
“Don’t worry.” He wrapped the belt around my wrists and secured them behind my back. “I’m just planning on using my hand this first time.”
“What?”
But he began, smacking one cheek then the next, each slap screaming at my brain that this was really happening. That I was naked from the waist down being spanked!
“Stop! It fucking hurts!”
A few moments later, he did, rubbing circles over my punished cheeks.
“Let me up,” I said, wiping my wet face on his jeans.
“Were you snooping?” he asked again. This time, there was no teasing in his tone.
