Page 69

The word lands exactly where she meant it to. My cock throbs so hard I have to clamp my jaw shut to keep from groaning. She knows exactly what she’s doing. The little smirk playing at the corner of her mouth gives her game away.

“You did that on purpose,” I growl.

“Did what?” Her eyes are wide, innocent.

Bullshit.

I step back, putting space between us before I end the training prematurely and take her to bed. “Again. Proper form this time, or we start over.”

She squares up to the bag. Feet planted. Shoulders turned. Fist tight. And she drives through the punch the way I showed her, her whole body behind it, and the bag rocks back on its chain.

The look on her face is pure, unadulterated triumph. She bounces on her toes, turns to me with a grin that could power the entire fucking city, and whoops, “Did you see that? I did it. I actually did it.”

She’s glowing. Chest heaving, cheeks flushed, that smug little smile stretching across her face like she just won the fucking lottery instead of landing a decent punch.

Rather than ruining the moment by correcting her form, I lift her and slam my lips to hers. Kira immediately wraps her legs around my waist and winds her arms around my neck.

“You did so good, baby,” I rasp against her lips.

Her tongue licks against the seam of my lips, looking for access. But that’s not happening because now it’s time to even the score.

“Do you know how many times you hit me?” I ask as I carry her over to the bench.

“What? No, of course not.”

I can’t hide my wicked grin as I tell her, “I remember all of them, wife.”

The color drains from her face, then floods back, two bright spots high on her cheeks. Exactly the reaction I wanted.

“You told me to hit you,” she says, her voice shaking slightly.

“I did.” I don’t deny it. “And I meant it. You needed to get it out. But that doesn’t mean there aren’t consequences for putting your hands on me, wife.”

She makes a sound of protest as I set her down right next to the padded bench.

“Domenico—”

“Shh.”

I don’t say a word as I bend her over the bench so her delectable ass is in the air, those teal yoga pants stretched tight across her flesh.

“What are you doing?” she gasps when I grab the waistband of her pants and drag them down her legs in one smooth pull, taking her panties with them. “Wait.”

“No,” I rasp. “No more waiting. It’s time we get even, baby.”

I drag my palm over the curve of her ass, squeezing until my fingers sink into the soft flesh. Mine. My wife bent over for me, waiting for my hand, and Christ, there’s something deeply fucking wrong with how much I like the sight of it.

“I’m going to spank you, Kira. Twenty times.”

“T-twenty times?” Despite the stutter, her eyes blaze with excitement when she looks at me over her shoulder.

“Yes, twenty times, and you’re going to count every strike,” I tell her, my voice rough. “If you lose count, we start over.”

“You can’t be serious—”

My hand connects with her ass. The sound cracks through the gym, and she jerks forward with a gasp.

Fuck!