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“Put me down!” she demands, playing hard to get.
I slap her ass three more times before saying, “No. You asked for this. Hell… you begged for this.”
I only stop spanking her tight ass when I push open the door of my private room, carrying her over the threshold. Kicking the door shut behind me, I finally lift her off my shoulder, only to set her on her feet, pinning her arms to her side. “Keep fighting, Lyriope, and I guarantee you’ll regret it.” I smirk. “Or not. Maybe you want it harder than planned.”
She huffs but doesn’t try to break away.
“Don’t move,” I instruct, releasing my hold.
Though there is a large window on the wall letting in the lights of the party below, the room is relatively dark. The glow of the lasers come and go, illuminating the interior of the room.
I cross my arms over my chest and rake my eyes up and down her body. “Why are you wearing that dress? It reveals… too much.”
She glances down and then meets my gaze. “Too much? Last I checked, I wasn’t a nun.” When I don’t bother responding, she shrugs. “Sasha picked it out for me. She told me it’s what the runway models are wearing these days.” She dangles the pearls in her fingers. “She got these for me too. I feel like I need an armored truck guard by me to make sure they stay safe.”
“You might as well be in nothing at all,” I say, knowing damn well she’d make my cock hard in whatever she chose to wear for Wonderland, and though my jealous streak is wide, I’m damn proud of my queen because I caught many eyes stealing glances her way.
“I can’t exactly attend Wonderland in nothing but pearls, now, can I? But it sounds like you’d prefer I wear a potato sack in Wonderland.”
I drag my eyes off the way the dress clings to her ass and the way the V-cut molds to her breasts. “Lift your dress and let me look at you.”
“Nick…”
“You heard me. I don’t want you to have anything on. I want you to lift your dress and stand bare before me, turn around, and bend over that table.”
She glances at my hands that are removing my leather belt and then back to me.
“You can’t be serious,” she says.
I don’t answer but keep my expression firm and unrelenting.
“Aren’t birthday spankings supposed to be a few light swats. All fun and games,” she says, her eyes darkening as she licks her lips. Her eyes lock on the belt as I pull it from the loops.
“You’re in my Wonderland. My rules,” I say with a raise of an eyebrow and a devilish grin. “I’ll count down from ten, and, Lyriope, if your ass isn’t bare and bent over before I get to zero, you won’t be sitting tomorrow.”
I make it to five with our gazes locked on each other before she even dares breathe. But at the count of four, she gives a cry, takes the two steps necessary to reach the table, seemingly unable to decide whether to look at it or at me. Finally, she turns to me, her eyes huge.
“Seriously? You are expecting to… really spank me? Come on, this is a joke, right?”
“Do I look like I’m joking?”
“Fine,” she says, crossing her arms against her chest. “But this isn’t what I had in mind when I suggested we have a little fun.”
“Dress up and ass out, over the table. Do it now,” I say and then recommence my count.
She barely makes it, but by the time I hit zero, her dress is bunched at her waist, and she’s thrown herself over the sturdy wooden table.
God, what a vision she makes. The black of her dress and the dimness of the room only seems to contribute to making her ass shine with the dance floor lights shimmering over her, her muscles clenched tightly. Her hair has strands falling down her back. I consider yanking them for good measure to show my dominance, but the belt weighs heavy in my hand and I’m anxious to play… my way.
Stepping up to her, I wrap an arm around her waist, tugging her back from where she’s attempting to become one with the table.
“Spread your feet apart and lift your ass up. Tits to the table, arms in front of you, hands gripping the edge.”
“You don’t need to do this,” she says, her voice trembling. “This is just… I can’t believe you’re doing this. I think you are taking the whole unbirthday theme a bit too far.”
“You’re wrong. This is part of the unbirthday fun.”
She stares at me in disbelief. Finally, with a sigh, she turns her head away, pressing her forehead against her hands, accepting the fact that she and she alone has brought us to this position. She tempted the beast, and I’m simply following my animalistic instinct. You can’t control the beast and Lyriope knows this.
