Page 17
She stands. That costs her something. I can see it in the way she holds herself, in the effort to do what I say without showing it. She’s not someone who gives in easily.
I pull the chair out from the table and sit.
“Come here.”
Her chin lifts. “No.”
“I won’t say it again.” I point to my lap. “Here.”
A long moment passes. Then she comes because she's smart enough to know that closing the distance between us on her terms is better than having it close on mine.
I reach for her wrist and yank her over my lap.
“Hey!” She struggles, but she doesn’t stand a chance of fighting me off. Prone over my knee like this, her dress rides up over the curve of her arse. I lift my palm and slam it down hard, skin on skin, meeting with a satisfying smack.
She squeals and kicks her feet, the little heels flying off and stabbing into the carpet at odd angles.
“Where is it?”
“I don’t know.”
I spank her again, hard. “Tell me the truth, or this goes a lot worse for you.”
Her voice rises. “Maybe you lost it. Maybe one of your stupid men took it from you.” She squirms, pushing against me. I restrain her easily with one hand before I spank her hard. Red fingerprint shapes bloom across her pale skin.
“Where is it?”
“I don’t know!”
I give her four hard smacks. “Thought you were hungry?”
“I’m starving.” Is she crying? She sounds like she’s crying.
“Then tell the truth.”
Am I threatening starvation? I can’t fucking starve the lass, but I won’t punish her to the point of hurting her more than a good spanking.
“I am! How would I even get your wallet? You were watching the whole time!”
I wasn’t, though, not when I was rinsing my hair and half blinded from getting shampoo in my eyes. She’d have to be quick, aye, but she had time.
I grit my teeth, pin her down with my left hand on the small of her back, and slam my right palm down hard across the sensitive area where her thigh meets her arse. She squeals and squirms. My cock throbs under her belly.
Christ. This wasn’t supposed to go that far.
I lift my hand again when she stills. She stops fighting. Just stills over my lap.
She feels my length beneath her too.
We both know. That’s the problem. We both know, and neither of us says a single word. The silence is doing its own kind of work.
She’s breathing hard through her nose. I can feel the heat of her through the thin fabric of what they dressed her in, and I am not unaffected. I should’ve fucking banged one off in the goddamn shower.
“Are you going to tell me the truth?” I say, my hand poised above her arse. “Or do I need to get my belt?”
When she doesn’t respond, I reach across the table for my belt. As my hand clenches around the leather, my eyes land on a rectangle of black on the carpeted floor.
My wallet.
