Page 52 of If I Were Yours

There’s no reprieve. The pain keeps crashing into my system, building and building. I thrust myself into another hopeless fit of struggles, but my limbs remain trapped, my ass forced to take the blows.

At some point, I’m panting so hard from the effort that I give up the struggle, going slack in the vise of his grip.

“Have you learned your lesson?” Grigory asks. There’s no leniency or compassion in his voice; it’s pure stern efficiency. And it infuriates me.

“I haven’t done anything wrong. You can’t just force—”

Smack! Smack! Smack!

My words die as a scream breaks from my lungs.

“I told you no more classes,” Grigory castigates. “Markus even told you today. Yet, you went ahead and did it anyway.” He fires off four more blows that make me strain against his hold. “You deliberately disobeyed a direct order.”

He delivers another stream of blows, but it’s not the burning lick of pain that ultimately breaks me. It’s his words. I was so absorbed by my indignation that I barely realized what I was doing.I disobeyed Grigory. The man I crave to please with my entire soul.

The enormity of my actions slams into me. Suddenly, the pain isn’t what burns the most.

It’s the guilt.

I purposefully disobeyed Grigory.It doesn’t matter that I was furious and had every right to be. It doesn’t matter that he went behind my back and made a major life decision for me. Right or wrong, I need to obey him. I’m under his control, and that’s exactly where I want to be—with all the good and bad that come with it.

Suddenly, I’m crying and apologizing profusely. It all seems so stupid now—wasting my time in the lecture, disobeying both him and Markus, and protesting about this plan in the first place. The conservatory has always been my dream. Grigory wants me to pursue it—he believes I can do it. I should be ecstatic.

“I’m sorry,” I say between sniffles and staggered breaths. “I’m so sorry.” I want to sayI didn’t mean to,but it would be a lie. I did mean to, and I feel so, so stupid for it now.

Five more fiery strikes and Grigory stops.

I’m not sure if the punishment is over, and I’m not sure it matters. I brought this upon myself, and part of me is grateful for him making me see it.

Grigory lifts me into his lap, and his energy shifts from punishing to protective in a matter of seconds. I curl up against him, crying without restraint. The spanking has obliterated everything—my righteous anger, my need for defiance, and my inhibitions. It’s like rain on a hot summer day, clearing the air and making me see things for what they really are.

I’m not my own. I belong to Markus—and Grigory, I guess. At least in the sense that Markus allows him to hold this power over me. If they say I don’t get to make decisions on my own, I don’t get to, no matter how much I protest.

I need this kind of unwavering dominance in my life. I need it to keep me steady. Grigory’s discipline may be hard and painful, but it’s a reminder of where I belong—a reminder of the steadfast authority that I can’t even shake with my angry huffs and puffs.

“Thank you,” I murmur into his shoulder—for not letting me get away with my disobedience.

“You’re welcome.”He runs his hand over the back of my head and down my spine, soothing away the hurt with the same hand that caused it.

“Not for stopping,” I blurt. For some reason, it’s important that he knows exactly why I’m thanking him.

“I know,” he croons in that deep, accented rumble of his. He takes my chin and holds me out so he can study me. “You’re submissive to the bone,devochka.But even the best subs can’t carry their submission on their own. You need a firm hand to show you where you belong once in a while.”

I blink my wet eyes back and forth between his very dark ones.

“It’s okay to be angry. I don’t want you to bottle up your emotions.” He swipes the pad of his thumb across my tearstained cheek. “I’ll be happy to put you back in place whenever needed.”

His eyes glow with a potent mix of sadistic lust and caring protectiveness. He might be the storm, but he’s also the calm that will carry me through.

“Do you really think I have a shot at getting into the conservatory?” I ask.

“Of course.” His lips form a warm smile. “And if you don’t succeed this time, we’ll try again next year.”

We’ll try.The idea of Grigory still being in my life a year from now does strange things to me—strange, wonderful things.

— CHAPTER 18 —

CLARA

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