AllFreeNovel
Share Us
He didn't help matters by sucking his fingers clean as she wiggled uncomfortably on his thighs, smirking at her all the while. “Good little girls get orgasms if they repent after their punishment, Anarchy.” As though she wasn't literally leaving wet spots on his pants every time she moved, he simply lifted her off him and set her on her feet between his legs.
It was kind of obvious she'd already proven she wasn't a good girl, which sucked because that lowered her chances of having an orgasm. Atticus came across as being cuddly and attentive—which he was, she couldn't deny that—but his teddy bear exterior discreetly concealed the strict, spank-happy Dominant beneath the fluff.
Anarchy huffed. “Fine. You've worn me down.”
An ominous smile curved his lips. “Well now, that's not a gracious defeat, little bit. Care to try again?”
Eyes narrowed, she replied in the most sweetly sarcastic voice she could muster. “Oh, thank you, Sir. I can't tell you how much I'm looking forward to being punished; I bet that big, strong man brain has conjured up some terrific penance for little old me.”
Atticus got to his feet slowly, towering over her in the most intimidating way. His smile widened into a wolfish grin as he chucked her under the chin. “Trust me, Anarchy, this big, strong man brain has come up with the best penance for a smart-mouthed brat. Get dressed and pack your gear. You'll need enough for a few days to start. You have twenty minutes; every minute you're late, I warm your ass up with the cane before your punishment begins.”
“What?” Her mouth dropped open in shock.
He moved around her, gave her a sharp slap on the ass that sent a zing of electricity straight to her neglected pussy, then headed for the door. “Playtime's over, Anarchy. Twenty minutes.”
What the hell just happened? Anarchy blinked as the door clicked shut behind him. The clutch in her belly told her she'd just messed up astronomically, but she wasn't sure how. After several of her precious minutes had slipped away, she finally roused herself from the shocked stuporand put body and brain to work.
She dressed quickly in pale blue underwear, black slacks and shirt, and a warm sweater in a morbid shade of red she loved. It didn't take her long to shove clean underwear and clothes in a carry-all along with her hairbrush, toothbrush, phone charger, and a few other essentials, but she was down to the last few seconds of her allotted time by the time she zipped her belongings into the bag.
Her imagination was running wild with her; she could just see herself playing the helpless damsel in distress, tied down to a spanking bench with Atticus raising the cane to strike her defenseless ass. A fraction of a second before the whippy piece of wood sliced across her flesh, the doors of Avalon in her head burst open to reveal Jasper in all his glory, blue eyes alive with fiery indignation before he strode across the wooden floor and wrenched the cane from Atticus's hand.
Feeling stupid, Archie picked up her bag with a resigned sigh. Wherever Jasper was, he wasn't coming home in a hurry. He didn't have superpowers to tell him when her ass was in grave danger, and he wouldn't come riding to her rescue.
She was on her own, left to face the consequences of her own actions and her bratty mouth—which Atticus hadn't complained about as such—and to hope Jasper would realize who was waiting here for him. Meanwhile, she had to grit her teeth and get her ass blistered by a man she couldn't afford to get attached to.
Her apartment was silent when she stepped into the hallway, bag in hand. Frowning, she wondered if she'd imagined having the two Dominants casually strolling through her space. That notion died when she saw how clean her living room was compared to ten minutes before.
The trash was gone, as were the dirty dishes. Someone—no guesses who—had stacked her pillows at one end of the couch along with her blankets. The couch cushions were clean and the last remnant of her imprint in the fabric was almost gone aside from the indent from what might have been her ass cheek.
The TV was finally quiet after days of constant use.
“By my count, that was twenty-three minutes, thirty-two seconds,” Atticus purred softly from his seat in the armchair she kept near her bookcase. One foot was propped on his knee as he rubbed his bearded chin thoughtfully. “Normally I'd be nice and let the seconds slide, but after that bit of sass you threw my way, we'll just round them up. Four strikes of the cane.” His mouth curved wickedly. “That's gonna sting. Maybe I should call Jasper and let him hear you whine every time it leaves a welt on that pretty ass.”
Her buttocks clenched defensively. “I thought Jasper was supposed to be the club sadist?”
“Jasper is renownedwithin Avalon for being a sadist, that much is true. It's his gift to masochists. I, on the other hand, cover a variety of bases including...well, you'll find out.” He set his foot on the floor and rose, holding his hand out for her bag. “Connie went through and turned everything off, but if you'd like to check for yourself...”
Archie glanced around. Everything was neat and tidy in case there was an emergency while she was away and the landlord needed access. If the Mistress was confident things were safe to be left, she didn't need to waste time double-guessing her. She had no pets depending on her, so it looked like she was clear to leave without worrying.
“No, Sir. Thank you.” It felt strange handing her bag over; she wasn't a woman who knew how to rely on a man for anything. She was Little Miss Independent, her interlude with Jasper aside. “I guess we're heading to Avalon now? Isn't it a little late?”
Atticus grasped her elbow and led her to the door. “We're expected. Connie's already gone ahead to let Braun know we're en route. Got your keys?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“All right, then. Let's go.”
***
Chapter Five
A Fairfax was not supposed to be a coward.
It wasn't in their nature, not bred into them, and certainly not nurtured into them. There were enough of the Fairfax siblings to test that theory—and the monsters masquerading as his parents had, thoroughly. Whatever traits and faults could be tracked, monitored, and turned into data on a spreadsheet, they'd found a way to do it as painfully and with as much humiliation as possible.
Dominic Fairfax, the asshole with over a dozen children sired from his wrinkled balls, swore pain provided truly honest results. His wife, the “scientist”, had done everything in her power to confirm his hypothesis, going so far as to stoop to torturing—physically and mentally—her test subjects.
Jasper stared at the mansion beyond the black iron gates in Clintwood, Virginia, and wanted to burn the fucking place down. A dozen lifetimes' worth of his memories were buried in those rooms behind thick curtains and blackout blinds. He'd taken his first breath here, within a week of some of his half-siblings.More than a dozen, spread out over years.
