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When the first swat landed, she yelped, even though it didn’t really hurt. Not at all. He’d more…tapped her, and on the fleshiest part of her butt.
“You’re okay, Coco. You’re being such a good girl.”
Papa gave her twelve spanks just like he’d said he would, easing her through them with sweet words of encouragement. While they got more firm, she would’ve been hard-pressed to say they actuallyhurt. That didn’t stop her from bawling her eyes out by the time he’d finished.
* * *
Ryker
He hadn’t meant to overhear this whole…production. No, he really preferred to pretend Cosima wasn’t here at all. It was difficult when that’s all Hudson and Ian could talk about.Cosy needed thisandCoco would be delighted by that. He expected this shit from Hudson but Ian was usually more sensible about strays. Apparently a truly broken woman was something neither of those fucking idiots could resist. Ryker did not care to think about what that might say about himself since those selfsame morons had been his faithful and devoted partners for two decades.
All he had wanted was a goddamn sandwich because he was peckish, and instead he was treated to/tortured by—same difference—the sounds of Ian coaxing the little stray into eating, and when coaxing wouldn’t do, force-feeding her.
Followed by Hudson’s patient lecture and then the weakest sauce spanking he’d ever heard. He could barely hear Ian’s palm connecting with her backside and the girl wailed like a banshee and sobbed like everyone she’d ever loved had been murdered. What the fuck?
He’d rolled his eyes because drama queens were definitely not his thing. Bottoms who carried on and made a scene at the drop of a hat? No thanks. He preferred his partners—almost without exception—stoic and silent. If they made noise it was because they had to—because the pain he’d inflicted upon them was too much to go without being remarked upon, without their own bodies demanding a reaction. Not even lips bitten bloody with restraint could keep in a plaintive little cry.
This was ridiculous.
When the other occupants of the loft had at last made their way toward the back part of the second floor where the bedrooms were, he rounded the wall the stairs were tucked behind and went to the refrigerator to get out the makings for his dinner. Corned beef, swiss, sauerkraut, rye, Russian dressing, and butter.
He was heating up the pan to grill his masterpiece in when Ian tumbled into the kitchen. That man never did anything quietly that could be done loudly.
His friend threw open the fridge, measured out some of the formula that had been taking up a great deal of space for the past several weeks, and set a small pot on the stove to warm it. Then he leaned back on the counter and folded his lean arms across his midsection. He looked…focused. Satisfied. Well, that was nice for him. Asshole.
As much as he didn’t want to open the floodgates—he really had only wanted a sandwich, for fuck’s sake—Ryker attempted to be a human instead of the gremlin Huds and Ian sometimes accused him of being.
“Is she okay? That was quite the ruckus. If I didn’t know any better, I would’ve thought you were flaying her alive.”
Ryker poked at the sandwich, willing the rye to brown faster so he didn’t have to hear too much about Cosima and how incredible she was and how surely he’d love her if he gave her a chance.
He wasn’t interested. Not in love, not in mongrels who showed up on doorsteps, not in people who turned on the waterworks when you so much as looked at them. So this girl who ticked all three of those boxes? No thank you.
“Heard that, huh?” Ian asked, one of his annoyingly flexible brows arching as he stirred the milky formula.
“Pretty sure the entire Clover City metro area did,” he muttered, knowing full well the whole building had excellent soundproofing because he’d specced it himself.
“She’s fine now. Hudson’s got her bundled up in some blankets, and he’s talking to her. She wasn’t—” Ian shook his head, grabbed a couple bottles from the cabinet.
“She wasn’t what?” he asked despite himself.
Ian set his side against the counter and put a hand on his jean-clad hip while he leveled Ryker with a glare.
“I heard that tone in your voice. That shitty, dismissive thing. You need to knock it off. Coco’s been through more physical pain than I think even you can imagine, and her losing her shit over a couple of love taps wasn’t because it hurt her body. I know you’re unfamiliar with these things called ‘feelings…’” Ian sounded the word out like Ryker didn’t understand the vocabulary instead of that he simply didn’t give a rat’s ass, and he glowered in response. “But some of us have emotions and she hasn’t really been allowed to have any for the past eight years. She was really upset about having disappointed us. She was worried we wouldn’t want her anymore because she’d been bad. And I think most of all, she’s not used to being disciplined. She’s just used to being tortured and abused and humiliated so it fucked with her head.”
That sounded like a lot of work for a half-assed spanking. Nah, it hadn’t even been quarter-assed. More like a fraction of a percentage assed. He’d stick to beating women without a 747’s worth of baggage, thankyouverymuch. Or at least if they had baggage, they sure as fuck didn’t expect him to carry it.
“Have fun with that,” he said as he scooped the barely toasted sandwich onto his plate, flicked off the burner he’d been using, and walked away.
