“And yet you expect me to take more and more of your sass and disrespect.”
“It was only a skirt.”
Instantly he contradicts me. “It was letting other men see what belongs to me.”
He spanks me until my ass and thighs burn bright red.
“It was going without underwear so that someone other than me might catch a glimpse of your beautiful cunt.”
With his hand, he spanks me there.
Suddenly I’m sobbing, not from pain but from need.
Then he tosses the brush next to my head, pulls me up, and wraps me in his arms. “Lesson learned?”
“Yes.” Yes. Anything to stop that and have this, the feel of his heart thundering beneath my ear. Of being held this tight—a promise that nothing bad will ever happen to me. To us.
Every part of me is on fire and yet more content than I ever remember being, as if things are finally as they’re supposed to be.
In the distance, the doorbell chimes.
Disoriented, I blink.
“That’ll be Vionna with dinner.”
Everything that happened in the last half hour or so had made me forget that the real world existed.
He reaches for my robe.
“But she’s waiting.”
“Another minute won’t hurt her.” He helps me into it and ties the belt tight around my waist. Then he feathers back my slightly damp hair, his thumb brushing my jawbone. “You did so well, little troublemaker.”
Trembling, I melt, needing to use a wall to hold me upright.
I’m vaguely aware of their voices, but I’m not able to rouse myself to say hello or thank her for her efforts.
Every part of me is aching and lethargic. Well, every part that isn’t on fire for an orgasm that he’s yet to allow me to have.
Without getting dressed—and not wanting to push him further than I have—I join him in the living room.
I’m surprised to see he’s set up our dinner on the balcony, with real plates, silverware, and wineglasses that are already filled. In the middle of the table is a half-empty bottle of burgundy that’s older than my high-school diploma.
I stay in my robe while he’s still fully dressed. His tie is only slightly askew.
Acting like a gentleman rather than a beast, he holds my chair.
When I sit, I wince.
“A spanking should be a daily requirement to keep you in line.”
Why do I yearn for exactly that?
We enjoy our pan-roasted chicken and a wild rice medley with dried cherries and pistachios under the last blush of sunset, the sky bleeding orange and gold over the city.
The bayou glitters below and the skyline winks with light.
By the time dessert is gone—dark chocolate mousse with raspberry drizzle—the stars are out, and somehow my legs are across his lap.
