Cupid’s Naughty Elf

3. Piper

3

PIPER

CUPID’S JOLLY SPANKING

S weet baby Jesus, help me.

I don’t answer him. I can’t.

Every part of me clenches as his lips graze my ear and his rough exhale warms my skin. But then again, he’s always had this effect on me. His mere presence makes me weak, and I’m unable to quip or deflect, much less come up with a convincing and harmless fib.

He’s every walking, delicious red flag.

Moreover, Liam’s aware of this, if his low chuckle is anything to go by. The sound is deep and throaty and so sexy —the vibrations cause a kittenish mewl to slip past my lips before I can bite it back. It’s accompanied by a full-body shiver; goosebumps rise across my exposed skin, and my nipples ache behind their velvet confines while my cousin simply stands there, smiling.

Miri is enjoying my shameful moment, and I almost flip her off, but then his chest rumbles against my back. Each vibration is a lash across my sensitive nerve endings; I want to demand more—to be kidnapped or bent over the nearest surface—but instead, Liam’s grip slackens.

The fingers of his right hand trail to my wrist, caressing the underside for a second or two before I’m turned around by one sharp tug. Immediately, my eyes land on the curve of his lips, a cocky smirk on full display while a hot flush runs from the apple of my cheeks to the tops of my perky tits.

They’re barely contained by the velvet corset of my costume. I gasp as his eyes trail down the deep green top with a few gold embellishments that run from the center of my chest down to my bottoms. A single line of buttons, and the last one rests just above the clear imprint of my pussy.

An inch from my clit, and I did that on purpose. Added each one by hand last night, and the heat of his stare—the ticking of his sharp jaw—is worth every prick from the sewing needle.

I’ve left little to the imagination with these minuscule bottoms. They mold to my every curve, stretching tight over my slick lips and throbbing bundle of nerves and…

I revel at the sight of his left hand clenching. His nostrils flare as he takes my drink and hands it to God knows who while those green eyes burn with something dark.

I’m a slut for you, Mr. Rutherford.

From the corner of my eye, I catch an amused Miri sashaying away and toward the bar not far from us. I’m not worried about her, not when Jonah grunts her name in his ever-present annoyed tone a second later.

Not that I’m able to, nor do I want to follow when a grunt full of male appreciation meets my ears. Liam’s eyes are trailing from the juncture of my thighs, taking his sweet time with the perusal before meeting my stare, his jaw clenched. “You haven’t answered my question, Piper. What are you jealous of? What are you hiding from me?”

He takes one step closer. He’s towering over me, and I can’t help my automatic reaction.

Flustered. Unsettled. Wet.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Liam.” As I look away, the blatant lie leaves me in a whisper. It’s another nail pinning to his proverbial cross, and he tsks, such a sharp and disapproving note while two of his fingers lift my chin, forcing my eyes right back to his. My hazel to his green. They hold me captive, and the longer we’re in this lust-filled standoff, the harder it is to not flutter my lashes at him. To not lick my blood-red lips or push my chest out so he can take in my beaded tips throbbing for some attention. “You misheard heard me, Mr. Rutherford. I never said the word jealous .”

“Are you sure that’s the route you’re taking? Denial?” A threat. A dare. Liam tilts his head to the side and simply raises a dark brow. He wants me to defy him. It’s there in the tiny twitch of his finger on my chin, from pulling my face up and now cupping it, and the tight grip isn’t painful.

No. What it elicits in me is a yearning to bear his mark.

I want his teeth. His fingerprints.

But then again, this is a game Liam Rutherford has perfected over the years. Quiet pull in and then a sharp push away, keeping me on constant edge. Moreover, the change in me is instant. There’s a flash of defiance in my expression before it cools into indifference.

A little bit of sass, too.

“How dare you call me a liar?” The mock indignation doesn’t fool him one bit. It’s like a mouse teasing a lion. “I’ll have you know that...”

Every word dies on my lips as a calloused fingertip slides across the corner of my mouth, and my lips part, tongue peeking out, but before I can lick him, Liam steps away. His hands drop from my body, and his expression is at once stern. “Behave, Piper.”

“Or what?”

“Or this won’t end well for you.”

“I’m not afraid, Mr. Rutherford,” I muse before using that precise moment to examine every inch of the room. Am I doing this to annoy him? Absolutely, but the low growl that slips past his kissable lips is worth it as I peruse with purpose. From the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking what I know are white sandy beaches; a private stretch of shore illuminated by torches with a firepit set up for those wanting to enjoy the outdoor seating area.

Then, there’s the interior…

A posh winter wonderland with its shades of reds and greens with touches of gold.

The ballroom exudes elegance; its classic Christmas traditions meet modern sophistication with crimson and evergreen drapes cascading from the tall windows. The rich colors are highlighted by the soft glow of gilded crystal chandeliers overhead while the marble floors have been polished to a high gloss, reflecting the shimmering light as golden accents adorn the space.

There are candleholders, beautiful wreaths of fresh pine and red berries, and luxurious floral arrangements of deep red roses and holly. Amid the traditional, there are contemporary furniture pieces in shades of green and gold that provide a pleasing aesthetic contrast to the room’s grandeur.

Even the art-deco-inspired tables fit just right.

And at the center of the back wall, there’s one of the tallest Christmas trees I’ve ever seen. It’s filled with twinkling lights with metallic and jewel-toned ornaments: each trinket is beautiful, and once again marries the traditional with where we live.

While we have beautiful beaches, there’s no snow, but the tiny touches of the salt life lifestyle we enjoy make it special.

I need that flip-flop ornament for my tree next year ? —

“Are you done?” Timbre deep. Frustrated.

Someone doesn’t like being ignored. “Not yet.”

“Piper Christmas Valentine.” It’s a hard, low hiss and I barely manage to hold in a shiver this time. I do, though, while biting down hard on my bottom lip. Don’t smirk. Don’t giggle. Either way, his reaction is worth it. “Don’t make this worse on yourself.”

“Yes. That’s my name.”

“Darling, I’m going to need?—”

“Not yet. Still looking.”

A muttered brat greets my ears a second before he physically turns me. With a hand on either side of my hips, Liam lifts me a few inches off the ground, effectively pulling a sharp gasp from me. My eyes snap to his, and what I find is a beautiful sight.

Liam Rutherford is angry. The vein in his neck throbs as his mouth hovers a few inches from mine, so close I taste his exhale, but then someone whistles.

Multiple someones.

They’re loud, and I don’t need to turn my head to see that the culprits belong to our group of friends, but either way, we’re moving toward a closed-off hallway. I’m left without a choice, craning my neck to get a better look from over my shoulder, but all I see is a long drapery and a sign that reads Private.

That’s it.

“Liam, what?—”

“Not yet, my little liar via omission.” Gruffly, his hands tighten on my hips as we cross the fabric, and I’m met with a dimly lit room. The noise from outside filters in—a bit muted—as the thick fabric separates us.

I’m placed at the center before he steps back, and then it’s silence. He watches me take in the space, the couch to the left of us, and the small table beside it—a soft area rug beneath our feet—but that’s broken the moment I turn and give him my back.

The minuscule bottoms have ridden up, exposing the bottom half of my asscheeks, and the guttural growl that escapes his chest is all the warning I’m given. Before my next intake of breath, he steps up behind me. There’s not an inch of space between us, my back to his front, and I can’t stop the whimper this time.

I feel all of him. Hard. So big.

“Such a pretty little sugar plum.” Liam’s lips are pressed against the back of my head, his exhale ruffling my red hair. “So sweet and always tempting.”

“Liam, I?—”

“Shhhh.” The hand on my right hip dips low, fingertips tapping an unknown tune until he reaches the hem of my shorts. He doesn’t slip his fingers underneath or grip the fabric; he simply holds them there. Not pressing. Not moving. “I need you to listen carefully and answer me truthfully, Piper. Can you do that for me?”

“Yes.” A whisper.

“Good girl.” There’s something so sexy about this handsome, powerful man praising me. It’s pleasurably filthy and demands I comply with his every request, while another part of me wants to defy Mr. Rutherford and be punished. Would he spank me? Would he still deny us? I’ve fantasized about that very scenario for years, hand slipping between my thighs while I write our story in my journal. “Now answer the question, darling. What are you jealous of?”

“You misheard me,” I say stubbornly. Even at this point, I’m simply denying in order to rile him up.

“Don’t, Piper. We never hide things from each other.” His unoccupied hand lifts and encircles my neck, walking me forward until my knees touch the couch. One small push and I’d be bent over. Easy prey. Give in to me, Liam. Give me what I need. “... because liars never make it into the kingdom of heaven.”

“W-what?”

“Answer...” his fingers flex a little before tightening their hold “...me.”

“How you own me.”

He hums at my whispered response but doesn’t step back. Instead, I feel his girth flex against my backside. “Is that all? Are you sure?”

“Yes.” Shaky. Breathless.

“And why would that be a problem?”

“Because I need to own you just the same, if not more.” My truth. It leaves me raw and open, a literal confession of my deepest fantasy. I’ve never asked for more outright—always content to be in his presence or be gifted a cocky grin—but there’s no denying the desire to change our dynamics.

To be claimed in every single way a woman can be tied to a man.

I want it all.

Love. Marriage. Babies.

“Silly little Piper.” Liam croons then, but it doesn’t come off as mocking. More like a chastisement. “You should know better by now.”

“Do I?”

“Yes, you do.”

“Maybe I need it spelled out for me...”

“And ruin my Christmas gift? Never.” For the first time, his smug satisfaction makes me bristle. I’m horny with hackles raised to high heaven, but before I can tell him to either touch me or walk away, he nips my ear. The sting is sharp, and so is the lightning-quick pulse that settles on my clit. “Now, be a pretty sugar plum, and go change. For your sake and mine. We have outsiders in attendance and?—”

“I’m not changing.”

“Last chance.” His tone loses all amusement. Two words, and they’re tinged with a warning, a little hint of darkness, and I love the tiny shivers they elicit. “Be a good girl for me and make the right choice.”

“No, and—what the!” The fingers wrapped around my neck tighten while his legs nudge me forward, and I stumbled. Use my hands to gain stability. They land on the back of the couch, gripping firmly while my knees settle on the cushions. Spread inches apart and with my upper body almost arching, I feel exposed as more of my asscheek greets the air.

Goosebumps rise on my skin, the cooler air kissing my soaked bottom, and I shiver.

Not that I’m given a chance to complain or pull them down, because a second later, the room is filled with the sound of a sharp slap that blooms across my skin like a fiery kiss. It spreads and the tinge of pain causes me to suck in a sharp breath, but it’s the way it settles over my clit that breaks me.

A mini rush of pleasure. Every muscle in my body tightens.

“Fucking hell, darling,” Liam grits out, his large hand cupping the cheek he spanked before delivering an equally harsh slap to the other. He doesn’t pause either, alternating in intensity and area while the buck of my hips causes the inseam of my shorts to skim my soaked flesh.

I’m on a tightrope of pleasure and pain, my flesh hot and sensitive, but I can’t help the way my body begs for more. It’s there in the way I meet each strike with a gyration of my hips, the slow roll carrying the delicious pain through my every nerve ending.

How I whimper and moan, begging please when I’m close to a free fall that will change everything for us.

“Liam, I?—”

“Take what I give you so well. You’re motherfucking perfection.” Those last two words... God , his praise has such a powerful effect on me. Add to that the next strike; three full hand slaps that heighten every sense in my body before pleasure dominates my senses. I go from breathless shock to sharp pain and then all-consuming heaven within seconds.

My hips jerk with uncontrollable movements; I’m nearly riding the stitching while vibrating with the need to come when...

He stops and then steps back.

I haven’t made a single sound of protest during his punishment, and right now, I want to rage. Liam knows this. He makes a shushing sound before softly patting the abused skin where thigh and ass meet, and I nearly purr in satisfaction. The skin is sensitive, and every stroke of his hand feels like heaven, keeping me right on the edge, but as I lean my body into his touch, he groans.

“Don’t be greedy,” he says, while my bottom lip hurts. I’m embedding my teeth in deep, biting back every demand on my tongue. That he makes me come. That he let me return the favor on my knees.

I need you.

Instead, Liam admires his handy work...

Flesh hot, my thighs press together while I try to shift and ease my mounting frustration and need. To maybe recapture that elusive release that’s slowly trickling into nothing the longer he doesn’t touch me.

I’m wanton and almost vibrating out my skin.

It’d take so little to come, but instead, Liam’s hand retakes its place on my neck and with a firm grip, pulls me to stand. His front molds against my back. He’s breathing heavily, and the hard length pressed into my back gives a flex. “Three.”

Three? “What does that even mean?” There’s a bit of a pout in my tone mixed with annoyance at being denied when we’d been so close. I don’t care about the people partying on the other side of the curtain or how they can probably hear us; I just want him. All and in every single sense of the word, him.

I’m not given a verbal answer, though. Instead, Liam lays a kiss on the back of my head and exits the room before I can protest, leaving me a confused and very aroused mess.

I’m going to make him pay for this.