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Chapter 21
Ingram offers to carry me back to our room but I prefer to get up and walk. I have no reason to be embarrassed about breaking down, but these people fought for me — I want them to see I’m fighting too.
I’m not going to be broken by what Anton did to me. I’m not going to let it keep me from enjoying my life or loving Ingram. And, most importantly, I’m not going to let myself get caught up in seeking revenge. We should kill Anton and be done with it. I want all of this to be over, and soon.
When we get inside our room, he unzips my jeans and pulls them to my knees. At first I think he’s not wasting any time, but then he says, “Hands against the wall. Spread them.”
I do as he says, quivering and biting my lip.
“Miss, you’ve been selected for additional screening,” he says, pacing back and forth behind me. “Your vehicle matched the description of one on our active watch list. What is your name?”
“Kate,” I say, grinning.
“You don’t look like a Kate,” says Ingram. “Care to try again?”
What? Not like a…
Oh!
“Melody.”
“Got any identification, Melody?” he asks, patting around my jeans’ empty pockets.
“No,” I say. “Can I see your badge?”
He smacks my ass, causing me to yelp and lurch in place.
“Don’t get smart with me, miss. You’ll regret it.”
My pussy clenches, feeding on the sting. It’s been a long time since I’ve been spanked. I missed it, as strange as that is; I guess it’s connected to Ingram in my mind — as well as the pleasure that comes afterward.
“Now why don’t you tell me what you were doing crossing the border without any identification?”
“I wasn’t doing anything wrong,” I say.
He spanks me again.
“You’re telling me when we search that car we’re not going to find fifty kilos?” he asks, rubbing the burning spot.
“Only if you planted it,” I growl.
Chuckling, Ingram pulls down my panties and swats my rear several times, switching sides with each slap. I moan as the pain spreads through me. Juices flow down my legs. His firm hands remind me of his raw power at every touch. I gasp and heave as my body cries out for more with each stroke.
“This will go a lot easier for you if you tell the truth,” he whispers in my ear, his hand exploring my slick thighs. “I can make this very difficult for you.”
“I’m not afraid,” I say, though my voice breaks saying it.
Ingram grunts a dark laugh. He grabs my wrists in one hand and my hair in the other.
“Oh, I think you are.”
I resist his attempt to drag me to the bed, forcing him to wrangle me down. He lets me fight him until I build up a sweat. For all my wrenching and struggling, his iron grip keeps me under control with hardly any effort. When I tire, he sets me down on the bed, holding me still until I give up.
“Stay,” he growls. “Or you’ll wait a month just to see a judge.”
I mewl, but obey, feeding on how exposed I am — lying on the bed, legs wet with need, naked from the waist down. Ingram opens a bedside cabinet and takes out two pairs of handcuffs, then secures my hands to the posts, spreading them apart. Every click of the cuffs thunders in my ears. After months of wearing them as Anton’s prisoner, it’s a relief to feel them again in a pleasurable way. I’ve craved Ingram’s possessive embrace — his dominance and power.
He strips off his shirt, tossing it aside, standing close enough that I can see from my angle. His chest ripples with hard muscle, drawing my gaze as he slips off his belt. He gathers the leather strap and bunches it up, then smacks my ass with it.
