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“Did you take the wallet?”

Nothing. She clamps her jaw and turns her head away, eyes shut, like she can wait me out.

Fair game.

I bite her nipple. She cries out, sharp and involuntary, and before she can pull it back, I'm stroking her steadily until I feel the first flutter.

Right there. She's close.

Her hips lift. I stop.

“Did you?”

The sound she makes isn't a word but fury. Her hands pull against the rope, her whole body fighting what it wants, and I wait. I’m skilled at playing the long game.

“Yes.” It comes out through her teeth first. Then, “Yes, I took it. I took your wallet. I read everything in it, and I put it back. That's how I know who you are.” She turns her face away. “Are you satisfied?”

She hates herself for it. The flush on her cheeks isn't just arousal but rage, the specific kind that only comes from losing a fight you thought you'd already won. There's only so much the body will take before it sells you out.

“What do you know about the McCarthys? Say one disrespectful word against my family, lass⁠—”

“What do I know about them?” She's not backing down, even now. “My father was planning on marrying me to one.” She glares. “That was plan A. Plan B was Prague. And then the McCarthys decided to take me, for reasons I still don’t understand, because apparently, forcing me to marry one of them isn’t enough.” Her chin lifts. “Your fucking family.”

Christ. So Boston convinced her my family took her?

“That's what you think.”

“That's what I know.”

I look at her.

I look at her long enough that it stops being comfortable, which is intentional and very effective when I’ve got enemies tied to chairs and trembling.

She's missing information.

For now, not telling her the truth about my family is useful.

“So you think my family took you, put you up for auction, and then took my money.” I say it quietly. “Bunch of fuckers, aren't they? When they could’ve just given you to me?” I shake my head.

She doesn't answer, which means she's noticed the gap herself.

“You said if I caved, you’d reward me.”

She’s changing the subject, and we both know it. Bargaining.

Good girl. That will serve her well.

I reach up and tug the rope. One pull. Her hands drop to the bed, and she doesn't move them.

I don't move either.

“Good.” I watch her face. “We're making progress. Should I reward you?”

Then I lift her, scoop her right up, and plant her face down over my lap. I have to do a test.

“You little fucking brat.” I give her three sharp spanks, and she cries out with each one. “Don’t do that again,” I tell her. “Understood?”

“Yes,” she cries out. I spank her again, then flip her over. She’s moaning on my lap, her arse on my cock, and my hand slides back down to her wet heat. I finger her clit over and over, tight circles. Just enough pressure. She's wetter after the spanking I just gave her. Of course she is.