Sloan smacked him across the arse again, his other hand tightening on Conall’s neck. “Keep still, pet, or I’ll drag this out longer than it needs to be.”
Three.
Conall didn’t know if he felt excitement about that idea or not. Could he handle Sloan’s palm slapping his cheeks for hours, making them redder and hotter? Probably not because he would come before Sloan could get the chance to fuck him.
Sloan’s hot breath teased his ear, making him shiver. “Tell me what you want, Conall.”
Conall’s name sounded strange from Sloan’s lips, and he froze. The only times Sloan ever called him by his given name was when he was really pissed off—in a way that wasn’t a game.
Conall turned his face to look at him. “Sir?”
“Is this what you want? Do you want me to spank you, then fuck you in front of all these men?” His seriousness made Conall’s stomach curdle. He hadn’t realized he’d given Sloan the impression hedidn’twant it.
“Yes.” He raised his chin and pressed his lips in a thin line. As angry as he was at Sloan for keeping him away from the meetings, he’d become addicted to his touch. He needed this. “Yeah, this is what I want.”
“Good.” Sloan’s hand walloped at his right cheek again and the force made him cry out. “I’m going to remind you to use your manners, pet.”
Four.
Conall had nothing to grab hold of every time a crack met his arse. His arms were aimless entities, reaching for something that wasn’t there. Frustration bubbled inside him because he liked having something to ground him, and with each spank, he was driven forward against the car with nothing to stop him wiggling away from Sloan’s steel palm.
“I want you counting them,” Sloan snapped.
Conall gritted his teeth when another slap met his right arsecheek.
“What are we up to, pet?”
“Ten,” Conall bit out. Another, this time on his left cheek. “Eleven.”
“Have you learned anything yet?”
No. The word was there, on the tip of his tongue, but he couldn’t say it. Didn’t want to say it.
One blow after the other met his vulnerable flesh. “Twelve. Thirteen. Fourteen.”
The door opened again and heavy footsteps made Sloan pause in his punishment.
“Here it is, boss. Sorry I took so long.” Byrnes rough voice filled the silence of the room.
“What happened?” Sloan asked, shifting away from Conall.
Conall kept his palms pressed against the shiny burgundy hood but twisted his body to look at the guard. Sloan and Byrnes huddled together and Byrnes whispered something to him. He heard the word “present.”
Aggravation kneaded at Conall’s chest. The sudden secrecy ate at him, and he hated feeling out of the loop. How could he go from a trusted pet to an outsider? He shoved himself away from the Mustang and tugged up his pants, embarrassment flooding at his cheeks. By the time Sloan had turned around, Conall stormed past him.
“Pet!”
A guard Conall didn’t know went to grab his arm, but Sloan growled out “no” which stopped the guard in his tracks. He bowed his head and moved away from Conall. The move had made Conall stop, though. He kept his back to Sloan, shoulders stiff when he heard Sloan’s expensive shoes on the cement as he came closer. Too close. Conall could smell his cologne and feel the heat of his body against his back.
Sloan rested his hands on Conall’s forearms and Conall tensed farther. “We need to talk, pet.”
Conall glanced at Ronan, who’d chosen to turn his back on them. Most of the guards had. What was happening now wasn’t something meant for their ears. But Conall didn’t want to talk. He’d let his argument with Terrance get the best of him, letting his own fear over something stupid win.
Sucking in a deep breath, Conall plastered on a smirk and turned in Sloan’s hold. “There’s nothing to talk about. I’m cold. I’d rather you punish me inside.”
Sloan raised his dark eyebrow and his lips curved. “That’s not how it works. You don’t get choices in punishments.”
“But—”
