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Do I want to be spanked by Saint?
I know I shouldn’t, but the thought of being spanked by him both terrifies and excites me all at once. He’s like a magnet, pulling me toward him every time he’s in close proximity.
“SEVEN.”
I scramble back, knocking into a plant behind me, the leaves tickling my skin. “Saint, stop.”
Another step.
“SIX.”
“C’mon. You can’t be serious.”
Another step.
“FIVE…" he pauses for a beat, eyeing me from my head to my toes.
His eyes darken in a whisper.
“RUN.”
My blood runs cold, and I fucking bolt like my life depends on it.
My heart is pounding as I sprint up the stairs in record-breaking time, desperate to escape him and the emotions he stirs within me.
Making it to my room with lightning speed I didn’t know I possessed, I slam the door, cursing myself that I still haven’t bought a fucking lock.
Seconds later, the door bursts open with a loud thud, and a grinning Saint is in the doorway, rubbing his hands together as if they’re cold and he needs to warm them up.
“ONE.”
Worrying my bottom lip with my teeth, I relent. “Okay. Okay. I get it. You’re pissed at me for leaving. You’ve made your point, Saint. It’s done now. It’s over.”
A slow grin spreads on his face with each measured step he takes, making my stomach drop.
“I’m pissed at a lot of things, Angel. I’m pissed that you chose that dress. Pissed that you went out to a club. Pissed that you were dancing with another guy,” he continues until he’s towering over me, my body coming to life at his closeness.
Why am I so turned on by his rage? I need my head examined.
“But most of all, I’m pissed you got into a fucking car with a total stranger when I told you not to.”
I fidget with my trembling fingers, nerves getting the better of me. “He’s a driver. That’s his job. He gets paid to…”
Before I get the chance to protest further, Saint grabs me, spins me around, and bends me over his knee.
“You don’t get to talk your way out of this, Angel. You defied me four times tonight. So it’s four you’re going to get back.”
I fight to get out of his hold, but he pins me in place, holding my arms with one hand behind my back. True to his word, he bends me almost in half, ass high in the air, my blonde hair covering my face as he pushes my dress to my waist, letting out a sexy growl when he grips his fingers around my black lace thong, ripping the scrap of fabric off my hips before the palm of his hand smacks my ass so hard I yelp.
“That fucking hurt, you dick.”
“It’s not meant to tickle. Three more.”
I try to focus on the carpet pattern when he strikes me a second time, refusing to give him the satisfaction of hearing me cry out even if my ass cheek is burning as hot as my face.
My eyes slam closed when the last slap reins on my delicate flesh, the sting turning to pleasure.
Arousal gathers between my inner thighs, and I’m worried he’ll see it.
