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Grayson had wanted me to shower.
I didn’t want to be obedient. I’d showered that morning. I took a sip of the wine still in my hand and glanced back around the room, snarling as I did so. Hesitantly, I pressed my thighs together and tried to ignore the rampant wetness between them. I definitely didn’t think about the fact that I was wetter than he last left me.
I left the bathroom. I wasn’t going to shower just because he told me to.
I wandered back into the bedroom and sat down on the loveseat, taking a moment to admire the way the ocean looked through the glass windows. I stared at it for a while until I heard someone clear his throat. I turned my head and started the tiniest bit when I saw Grayson leaning against the doorframe.
I took a sip of my wine.
“I see you haven’t showered yet, my pretty bride,” he said.
I just glared at him. There was nothing that could temper the annoyance, anger, and rising needy frustration between my thighs right now.
He strolled toward me, his brown eyes darkening with intention as he took each step. I stood my ground, but part of me began to grow nervous. I felt like a rabbit caught in a trap about to be pounced on by a prowling wolf.
“You will need to learn to obey your husband,” he scolded gently, and my stomach pitched forward with nervous arousal. He moved closer to me, and I did the first thing that came to mind when he reached out to touch me.
I threw my wine in his face.
Chapter 4
For several long seconds, I could have sworn that my heart had stopped entirely. I forgot to breathe as I watch the red liquid drip down his face and onto the white fabric of his shirt beneath his suit. The cabernet blossomed across the cloth, undoubtedly staining it beyond repair. His palm rose and pulled out a handkerchief from his pocket. Casually, he stared into my eyes as he wiped off his face and dabbed at his chest. His expression remained calm, showcasing not even a single sliver of anger.
I expected his fury and when that didn’t come, that made me nervous. With a soft sigh, he reached forward and took the wineglass from my fingers. I watched him place it to the side in almost slow motion before things took a much swifter turn.
His body turned toward me, and he grasped my upper arm. He roughly jerked me up and pulled me away from the couch, only to forcefully slam me against the wall. With quick intention, he gathered my wrists and pinned them above my head high enough that I had to balance on my tiptoes to keep from falling.
“Grayson!” I gasped and his eyes bored into mine as he reached down and pulled up my skirt. There was no teasing this time, no slow lifting of the skirt. He just bared my pussy in one smooth motion. He bunched my skirt up around my waist, and I was exceedingly aware of the cool feeling of the wall on the scalded flesh of my bottom.
That was until he cupped my pussy with his palm.
Suddenly, I grew nervous. The last time his palm had touched me that way, he’d spanked me over his desk hard enough to leave the entirety of my backside bright red.
“You will learn to obey me, bride. Disobedience will always come with a price,” he growled as his fingers slipped back and forth across my wet folds.
A husky moan escaped my throat as he swirled a single finger around my clit, over and over again until my thighs began to tremble with need.
“Did you obey me?” he asked carefully, and a sudden shiver of nervousness raced down my spine. He said those four words with such intention that I couldn’t stop a whimper from falling off my lips.
“No,” I whispered hoarsely, ashamed of the way my voice quivered and revealed just how aroused I was by his rough treatment. He stared into my eyes so intently that I wondered if he could see deep down into the depths of my soul and that unsettled me enough to suck in a breath.
“Refer to me properly,” he warned, and I swallowed hard, his electric threats racing just beneath my skin and catapulting straight down into my core.
“No, sir,” I whispered, feeling my face heat a bit at his correction.
With him close like this, I could smell the smokey citrus of his cologne, a mix of ginger and cherries and cigars. It was far more intoxicating than I cared to admit and as I took another deep breath, the heady combination of his scent and his body so close to mine made me feel as if the world was spinning beneath my feet.
I told myself that it was the wine, but I knew that was a lie. I knew deep down that it was him.
His palm squeezed my pussy the tiniest bit and I gasped, catching the way a wicked smile grew on his lips before my pussy was suddenly bare of his touch for a fraction of a second before it returned with a hard slap.
I cried out in shock. The sound of the spank was so loud and wet that I immediately blushed, but the sting that followed was far more intense than I could have ever expected. The single smack was possessive and hard and so intensely shocking that I could do nothing but stare into his eyes after it.
They were so very dark, so very cruel, but there was something else. There was heated arousal too and when the second smack followed, I cried out and his smile only grew even more wicked. I tried to bring my legs together, but he kicked them back open, making sure my pussy was easily accessible for a third hard spank that left me gasping and breathless.
Oh, this hurt so much more than the spanking on my backside.
The pain was so intense, but the throb that followed was so much worse. It was arousal in its most raw form, harsh and biting and needy. I’d never felt anything like it, but there was something about it that made me want more.
