Page 70 of The Shadow Sanctum

His hips still, the sudden pause almost worse than the motion.

A slow, wolfish smile curves his lips in the mirror. “That’s what you want, pretty girl? You want Daddy to make it sting?”

My breath hitches, but I hold his gaze and refuse to look away even as the word makes me want to cower. Does it make sense for something to disgust and ignite at the same time?

“Yes.”

He shifts his grip in my hair, pulling my head back just a little more, making my spine a taut line. His free hand drags over the curve of my ass, slow and deliberate. The anticipation burns hotter than the strike itself.

The slap comes hard, sharp enough to make me jolt forward on my hands. My gasp is too loud for the thin walls, but before the sound has faded, he does it again. Heat floods across my skin.

“Color?” he murmurs, low and rough. At first, I don’t understand what he means, but after a few seconds, it occurs.

“Green.” The word shakes out of me.

A dark hum of approval is paired with a gentle brush of his thumb along the sting. It’s a fleeting caress that turns into another smack, this one ringing throughout the tiny room.

My eyes clench shut.

“Have you been a bad girl, Luna?”

I hardly hesitate. “Yes, Daddy. I’m so sorry.”

“Are you?” he asks before striking me, not quite as intense as before.

I nod against the comforter. “I need punished.”

Sawyer’s palm squeezes before rubbing a welt, pushing the ache deeper inside me.

“Then push that pretty ass into my hand and look up.”

I forget the mirror.

When my eyes lift to my reflection, I’m struck with a split second of shock as a glint of light hits my eyes and turns them into red lasers that disappear with a lowering of my head. I’m a mess of white hair and ruby skin that doesn’t look like it could be my own.

Sawyer thinks this is beautiful.

“You ready?” he asks, his tone more a warning than a question.

I open my mouth to answer but am paralyzed by a strike that lands with a sharp smack across my rear.

The next blow makes my knees wobble, but Sawyer’s grip on my hair keeps me steady. The mix of pain and the fullness of him still inside me has my head spinning. Dizzy on air thickened with heat and the scent of sweat and skin.

He gives me three more, each one timed with a deliberate thrust. The rhythm is devastating—slap, thrust, slap, thrust—until my breath comes in ragged bursts and my hands curl into fists.

When his palm finally rests against my skin, it’s hot to the touch. He kneads gently, almost soothing, though the pressure makes the sting throb hotter.

“You’re my good girl.” Something hungry edges into his voice. When you fuck somebody in a way that is their nastiest fantasy, that, for me, does it. “Taking me like a little slut.”

His stare meets mine in the mirror, locked and unblinking, like he’s daring me to look away.

I don’t.

His hips pull back and drive forward again, hard enough to make the legs of the bed grind against the tile. The afterglow of the spanks makes every movement sharper, every thrust feel bigger, deeper.

My moan cracks into something higher, more desperate. His free hand slides from my hair to my shoulder and braces me for the force behind each ruthless drive of his hips.

“Beg for it,” he orders.