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“Do not try and sweet talk me out of being angry,” he grated from between gritted teeth. “Or administering your punishment,” he added in warning. “Your behavior tonight was reckless in the extreme.”
“And for that I apologize,” she accepted. “But spanking a woman’s arse—or a man’s, I guess,” she added with a frown, “is the behavior of a barbaric Neanderthal.” Even if her pulse rate quickened merely thinking of the way Darius’s hand had felt when it landed on her bottom earlier, and the warmth it had created that spread outward before centering at her core.
“I can live with that.”
But could she?
Mia had her answer to that question soon enough. Because as soon as they entered Darius’s apartment, his fingers curled about one of her wrists and he pulled her along with him toward one of the large sofas in the sitting room. Within seconds, he had her facedown over his thighs and had landed the first smack on her bare bottom.
She turned to glare at him. “That hurt, damn it!”
“It was meant to.” He nodded. “This way, you’ll remember what to expect if you do anything that reckless again.”
“You don’t think I’m going to remember the humiliation of being tossed over your knees and spanked without you making it really hurt? Ow, that one really hurt, Darius!” she accused as he spanked her hard again. “Why aren’t you leaping to my defense?” she accused Honey, the dog sitting several feet away observing their behavior.
“Because she knows you deserve to be spanked,” Darius dismissed. “And it hurts because I’m too angry with you right now to be gentle.” He flexed the fingers of the hand resting against her bottom cheeks.
“Ouch!” Mia complained. “Darius, you—”
“Now would be a good time for you to learn when to remain silent,” he advised gruffly before landing two more smacks in quick succession.
“I’ve never been very good at that.”
“I suggest you learn.” Another smack landed, heavier than the previous ones. “Because I won’t be responsible for my actions if I have to go through another twenty minutes of emotional torture like I did this evening as I drove to your house after being informed you’d left the safety of my apartment.”
Mia stilled as she turned to look at him. “Emotional torture…?”
“You probably scared ten years off my life!” Darius once again rested his hand heavily on her hot and throbbing bottom cheeks. “I’ve seen the police photographs of what Andrew Bart did to his father. Not that the police were ever able to prove he did it, but the thought of him ever getting his hands on you, of you suffering through any of the viciousness he’s capable of…” He shuddered. “That’s emotional torture!”
“Of a concerned-for-another-human-being kind? Or something more personal?” She held her breath as she waited for his answer.
He glared his frustration for several long seconds before speaking gruffly. “I’m no good with emotions, Mia.”
“Being good or bad at them doesn’t mean they don’t exist.”
He grimaced. “Okay, then it was personal. I care what happens to you,” he admitted grudgingly.
Mia felt a lightness building in her chest. “You do?”
“Yes.”
“How much?”
“A lot.”
She moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue. “In a big-brother sort of way or—or something more than that?”
“What does it matter?”
“It matters to me!”
“Why?”
“Why do you think?” Her chin rose, and her gaze met his in open challenge.
* * *
Darius studied her searchingly for several long seconds. Only to feel a deep sense of anger with himself when he saw the hopeful expression glistening in Mia’s mesmerizing eyes as she waited for his answer.
