But I can't say that and I won't.
So I lift my chin, let the steel settle in my spine, and meet his gaze with every ounce of defiance I've got. "I don't know what you want to hear," I say, tone flat. "I spared you. That's all."
He chuckles, wicked and low, hand closing over the curve of my ass in a claiming grip that makes my breath stutter. "Option two, then?" he drawls, eyes lighting up like I just handed him a wrapped present. "Delightful."
He leans in, voice darker now. "One last chance. Tell me the truth."
I stare at him. My pulse is a riot beneath my skin, the heat between us unbearable.
I say it. Quiet, but firm: "No."
Because thispunishmentfeels less of a surrender than telling him what I felt that night. And I'm not ready to lose that last inch of power.
Not just that. A part of me wants to give in, even if it's just for one forbidden night, before morning comes and I run again. Before the weight of the world and my past crashes back in.
Kayden's eyes flash, genuine surprise flickering through them before narrowing with wicked delight. "No? Well, then," he whispers, his voice a sinful promise, lips hovering a breath from mine, "I think it's time you learned your lesson, sunshine."
And then the world tilts.
A rush of wind, a blur of movement, and suddenly I'm draped over his knees, my body stretched out across his bed, the shirt riding up scandalously high. My breath catches as cool air skims exposed skin.
His hand moves slowly, sliding from the curve of my ankle, up the length of my calf, over my thigh. It stops just at the hem of the shirt.
A whimper escapes before I can swallow it. Pathetic. Embarrassing. And yet I ache for more.
He leans down, voice like liquid heat in my ear. "All evening… I've been wondering." A dark pause. "How those tattoos of yours look beneath this shirt…"
And then he lifts it. The hem glides higher, baring me completely.
I should've put my underwear back on.
Should've, could've… didn't.
Kayden hums, and there's a low, satisfied edge in his voice now. "As I guessed…" His touch grazes the curve of my hip, following the lines inked into my skin. "Beautiful."
His hand traces the patterns like he's memorizing them. Every stroke lights up my nerves, sending heat low and deep, until I'm molten.
"But don't think pretty pictures will get you out of your punishment," he says at last, his voice sharpening with that delicious threat again.
And then—
Crack.
The sound slices the air. The sting flares instantly, heat blooming across my skin. I gasp, the sound torn from my lips, raw and startled and something more.
He's actually spanking me.
And I'm letting him.
Crack.
Another. Sharper. The burn spreads, igniting something primal inside me. My core pulses with it, my legs trembling with each strike. My body responds before my mind can catch up, every part of me wide open, strung taut between pain, pleasure, and the sheer shock of it all.
I grip the bedspread. Bite my lip. Try not to moan.
This is madness.
Crack.
