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A chill runs through me. Disciplined? I have no idea what to expect, but the guard is already pushing me to follow Prince Roark, who towers over both of us with his broad, lean body. He leads us through a winding hallway to a heavy door that opens to a dark stairwell. He steps down the stairs, flicking on a light as we go.

“I was just exercising,” I say when we’re half way down the stairs. Exercising? Really?

“Do you often exercise in a dress?” asks Roark. “And in high heels”

I clear my throat. “And what were you doing down here in the middle of the night?”

He shoots me a frosty look over his shoulder before apparently deciding he doesn’t have to answer me. We arrive outside a tall door ornately carved with screaming faces stacked upon each other.

“I’d like to go back to my room,” I say in a strained voice. “Please.”

“Wait outside,” says Roark to the guard, who looks like he knows better than to cross the Prince, even if he doesn’t like the orders he has been given. The guard nods his head, standing with his back to the wall just beside the door.

Roark leads me into a room full of what appears to be torture equipment. The only somewhat normal thing in the room is a huge bed in the center of the large space, but it’s not an ordinary bed. There are no blankets, and the “mattress” is just a leather pad with straps and chains and hooks all along the edges. Whips, paddles, chains, ropes, and countless devices I can’t even begin to guess the meaning of line the walls. Machines that look like exercise equipment for the deranged stand ominously around the edge of the room, too.

“Please,” I say again. “I admit I was trying to escape, but I won’t anymore. I’ll smile and nod and do whatever he asks of me.”

“I’m sure you would, Princess,” says Roark, who has his back to me as he runs his fingers along a row of paddles dangling from the wall. He grabs one made of black leather and gives it an experimental swing through the air. “But I think if my brother found out about your little excursion, you wouldn’t be doing much smiling.”

My stomach turns cold. I take a few steps back, bumping against the wall. I could try the door, but the guard outside would surely stop me, and I saw how easily he caught up to me before. “I’m sorry,” I say. “I’m just scared.”

Prince Roark approaches me with hard eyes. He stops just inches from me and bends his head so his breath is hot on my ear. “Make it sound good, or my brother will be sure to punish you, but he will not go soft.”

“I can’t,” I whisper, shaking my head. “I’m scared.”

His voice is still low, so quiet I’m sure the guard outside can’t hear. “It’s your choice, Princess. Let me paddle you softly, or let my brother find out you went unpunished and risk whatever punishment he dreams up.”

I close my eyes hard, trying to calm my breathing.

“Listen,” he says, kneeling slightly so we’re eye to eye. “Listen to my breaths. Match their pace. Calm yourself and you’ll be fine.”

I focus in on the slow, steady pace of his breaths, and after a short time I’m able to match their speed, feeling the calm that comes with them, and even feeling my heart rate slow. “You think he would really hurt me?” I ask.

“I think he would. Yes,” says Roark.

“Okay then… Maybe you’re right. Maybe we should just do this,” I say. My heart is beating out of control and hot blood is rushing through me. I’m going to let a gorgeous prince paddle me, and even the idea makes my pussy glow with heat. I’m surprised by my body’s reaction, though. I’ve never even come close to anything BDSM. I even went as far as to think it was a weird thing for people to be into, but I guess you can’t always choose what turns you on, and in this case, I think even if Roark asked me to watch football with him I’d get turned on.

He nods. “Turn your back to me.”

I do as he says, feeling the frantic breath start to creep up again but remembering the sound of his calm and emulating it.

“Hands on the wall, Princess,” he orders louder this time with a voice like steel, a voice that holds no question of command--of power.

I press my palms against the cold stone walls, squeezing my eyes shut and thinking about my breathing.

“Now,” he says, quietly again and leaning over me so that my ass is pressed against his hips. I quiver at the touch, at feeling him against me like this, and I distantly wonder if the touch is intentional, or if he notices at all. “Lift your dress. It will sound louder on your bare skin and I won’t have to hit you as hard.”

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