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“And I’m going to punish you for it now.” I barely register his words before he continues. “Lay across my lap. Face down.”
“Excuse me?” I instinctively reach back to grab hold of one of the carved wooden rungs of the headboard because I think I know what he’s intending.
“You heard me. Lay across my lap.” He takes hold of my wrist and gently uncurls my fingers from the rung even as I try to pry his off me.
“Let go!”
“It will go easier if you don’t fight me,” he says calmly, like this is a remotely normal conversation.
“You’re fucking insane if you think I’m not going to fight you!” In a minute, we’re in a full wrestle. Well, I am. I’m giving it my all. I’m up on my knees and he’s got my wrists while I try to shove him away. He easily overpowers me, but I see what it costs him when he winces. It must be the wound on his side. That would make me pause, and maybe it does for a moment, but I know what he’s intending and I have to fight.
“One more chance, Little Kitty,” he says, shifting my arms to my back and holding onto both wrists with one hand. “Lay yourself across my lap and take your punishment.”
“Go fuck yourself!” I start to tell him, but before I’ve even gotten the words out, I’m face down over his lap, my wrists trapped at my lower back. He uses the elbow of the arm holding my wrists to keep me down as he peels my panties off of me with his free hand.
I kick my legs, and he spanks my ass so hard, I lurch forward, gasping for breath. It takes my brain a moment to process what just happened. I squeeze my legs together as my back goes ramrod straight, and I clench my cheeks and grit my teeth so as not to cry out.
He rubs the spot he just spanked then smacks it again, making me yelp as I make fists with my hands. Once again, he rubs, then leans over me, so his mouth is at my ear.
“Here’s a tip. Try to relax. It’ll hurt less,” he says, spanking again.
I turn my head so I can see him from the corner of my eye. “Fuck you, and fuck your tip!”
A wide grin spreads across his face, and I feel exactly what spanking me is doing to him when he shifts my body slightly and his hard cock presses against my stomach. I renew my fight, kicking, wriggling. But he just laughs it off, restraining me with one hand while he rains down hell on my ass.
“You’re fucking hurting me!” I finally cry out, hating to because I don’t want to give him the satisfaction as tears sting my eyes.
He stops spanking for a minute and I look over my shoulder at him.
“If I don’t punish you, you won’t learn,” he says, no joking in his tone. He spanks each cheek again, and I cry out. “You ever try anything like that again, you ever raise a weapon against me or yourself again, and you’ll realize how easy I’m being on you tonight. Do you understand me?”
“Easy? You’re a sadist!”
He spanks. “Do you understand?”
“Yes, asshole! Stop!”
“Those are not the words of someone who understands,” he says, punctuating his words with more smacks.
I grit my teeth, determined to take the rest of his punishment in silence—determined not to give him the satisfaction of my cries, but it’s fucking impossible.
“Stop. Please. It hurts,” I finally beg.
“That’s the point,” he says, then hauls me up and sits me on his lap. His slacks chafe my raw ass. He keeps my wrists at my back, and I can’t wipe the tears from my face. Santos brushes them away, and that hand that just spanked the crap out of me is so gentle that I wonder again how one man can have so many contradictory parts to himself. “Are we clear, Madelena?” he finally asks again, tone level. But that is Santos. Controlled. Even this spanking was controlled, and I know in my heart of hearts that this was him going easy on me.
“Yes,” I force out through clenched teeth, feeling not only the pain of the spanking but the embarrassment of it. He loosens his grip on my wrists, then releases them altogether. My face burns with humiliation, and I am quick to rub away any remaining tears, hating that he has conquered me. “I hate you.”
“You don’t,” he says, cupping the back of my head gently, careful of the tender spot. He pulls me to him and kisses me, and my heart races with confusion, blood pounding in my ears. My breath hitches when his tongue touches mine, and I don’t understand why I’m allowing this. Why I’m kissing him back.
It’s wrong. I shouldn’t feel this way, especially after what he did, but my body is not my own when he touches me, and I want him. I want this, and I want him.
How the fuck am I turned on?
He undoes his slacks and shifts his grip to my hips to lift me so I’m straddling him. I pull at his sweater, needing to be flesh to flesh with him. I’m clumsy, and he helps me tug it off. I glimpse the bandage on his side but I’m quickly distracted when he grips my hips, fingers kneading flesh, and meets my eyes before he pushes into me.
That thrust has me crying out, the pain intense, the pleasure creeping along its edges almost unbearable.
I close my hands around his shoulders as he takes me, fucking me from below while kissing me and kneading my sore ass.
