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All too quickly, I stood. My coiled hair fell over the freckles across my face. I pushed the unruly tresses away. “Maybe I didn’t follow the rules during dinner, Vic. But you’re not gonna spank me. I’m not a friggen baby.”
Victor stalked forward a few paces. God carved muscles and a snarl accentuated his smooth, stony facade.
He held out a closed fist. The other hand clutched tightly to the paddle.
“Ahh,” Victor began. “I distinctively recall how fearful you were the first time I reprimanded you. But I believe you’d prefer corporal punishment.” He fisted the handle. “Then this,” he added while gesturing to his fist.
A massive fist.
What . . . was hiding inside his fist?
While I know my body is stuck in a foreign country, tossing and turning in a bed that’s not my own, I can’t wake myself from the past. A memory plays out like the perfect dream.
“You only have two choices, Little One. Pick one.”
I found my voice, at least a shred of it, to murmur, “You’re calling meLittle One. You only do so when playing fair.”
A cocksure grin implied the royal asshole had given fair warning.
The shower. The massage. The friggen British accent. I was an idiot, blinded by the grand gestures.
Gulping down an excuse, I mumbled, “Two firsts? One is a spanking?”
“Yes.”
I measured out, “I’ll get dressed, then we chat about these . . . firsts?”
His gorgeously haunting face slid side to side.
“Alright, so I’m to assume you’ll spank me.” My heartbeat clawed up my throat so swiftly that it was hard to gulp. “Vic, I took a shower. I’m super moisturized.”
“Very.”
“A spanking would hurt.” My murmured tone fragmented. “Let me apologize?”
Again, a taunting headshake.
“Okay.” I fortified my shoulders like the prideful New Yorker I am. I rationalized, “Could be nothing in your other hand, though?”
“Could be.” A broad shoulder hefted ever so slightly.
Mouth pinched tight, I sulked. “Vic, this is psychological torture, but I’ll take what’s in your hand.”
My stomach flopped. My heart, lodged in the column of my throat, found it, and they flipped together like two fish slowly dying at what I saw.
I grumbled, “A chain.”
“So, you won’t complain. Luxury, you’re stronger than you give yourself credit for.”
My sniffling skitters, and I rouse myself awake.
I’m not strong enough, Vic. Not without you.
I glance over the bedroom illuminated by the soft lights of the television. Of all the times to reminisce, this shouldn’t have been one of them.
I set aside thoughts of what I’d later learn was not a regular chain at all, but a sex toy Victor had for us that night. I can’t even recall what I’d done to deserve a punishment. Aside from my big ass mouth.
But now, what I willneverforget is my man embracing Madeline Elliott.
