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“One—”
“I’m coming!”
Swallowing back her dread, she slowly made her way through the hanging coats.
“I told you not to do anything stupid,” he scolded, his tall, wide frame directly in front of the door, blocking her path.
Before she could respond, he grabbed her arm, yanked it forward, and slapped a handcuff around one of her wrists. As she instinctively jerked backwards and threw her free arm behind her, he paused and shook his head.
“You’ve already tried my patience,” he growled. “Don’t push me any further.”
“Please don’t put cuffs on me,” she pleaded. “You’ve made your point. I won’t try to take off again, I promise.”
“Give me your other wrist. You’ve got three seconds, and believe me, it’s not a good idea to disobey my instructions.”
“Please, Mr. Moretti—”
“One—two—”
“Okay, okay,” she said hastily, offering her opposite arm.
“You’re a smart girl,” he muttered, snatching the phone from her hand and cuffing her hands in front of her, “but you’re not as smart as you think. I gave you an opportunity to win a little trust, and you blew it.”
“Anyone would try to get away,” she exclaimed, daring to meet his eyes. “You can’t fault me for that.”
He stared back at her for a moment, then shaking his head, he gripped her upper arm and hustled her into the living room. “When you don’t do as you’re told, you get punished.”
“But—”
“Be quiet. You’ll be staying here a while and you need to learn the rules. When you don’t do as you’re told, you get your ass spanked.”
Chapter 2
You’ll be staying here a while…
Even as Marco Moretti sat down and yanked Steph over his lap, his words echoed through her head.
“Wait, what do you mean?” she wailed as she squirmed violently.
“Stop trying to wrestle me,” he retorted, landing a volley of hot smacks.
“But what do you mean—staying a while?”
“Exactly that,” he exclaimed, grabbing a fistful of her hair and placing his leg over the backs of hers. “You’re not going anywhere until I find out what you know.”
“I’ll tell you. Ow! Ow!”
“You bet your ass, you will,” he muttered, landing his flattened palm with a volley of quick, hard smacks.
Wishing she’d worn denim jeans instead of the thin cotton parachute pants, she squealed loudly as he tugged on her hair and walloped her backside. Unable to escape, and already out of breath from the struggle, she stopped furiously gyrating, but her howls of protest continued with every stinging smack.
“Keep it up,” he scoffed. “My boys will enjoy listening to you getting your tail tanned.”
“Bastard.”
“You think calling me names will help?” he demanded, whisking his palm across her sit spot.
“Ooh, ow. Why are you doing this?”
