Chapter 20 #3
The King shrugs off his long black coat, letting it fall over a chair.
He unbuttons his cuffs, pushing the sleeves up to reveal corded forearms, strong, veined, controlled.
The movement is quiet, but it fills the room with tension.
Damon leans against the wall near the foot of the bed.
Hunter stands closer to me, arms loose at his sides, both clearly as confused as I am… maybe more.
The King crosses to the dresser, opens the top drawer, and lifts out the box. Black lacquered wood, simple but heavy with meaning. Everyone in the room knows what’s inside. What it’s for.
He opens it.
The rod gleams in the low light, thin, polished ebony, light in weight, but vicious in purpose. Carved spirals twist down its length to a handle wrapped in deep red velvet. A tool of correction. A wedding gift from my uncle, presented with a smile and a warning.
My knees start to shake.
I’ve felt it before. Once. Never again, I swore.
The King does the unexpected and holds it out to Hunter.
Hunter takes it with a firm, reverent grip, eyes tracing the carvings like he’s holding something sacred and terrible. Our gazes lock for a second, his steady, mine wide and pleading, and a shiver races down my spine.
When the King speaks, his voice is calm, almost conversational.
“The Baroness does not yet understand her boundaries,” he says, “or the weight of my words. Flaunting insolence in public is no way to get what you want.”
He steps closer, mask hiding the face behind it, voice dropping.
“You knew I wouldn’t turn you away in front of all of Forsyth. So yes, little girl, little wife, you got your way. But in turn, you’ll reap the consequences.”
He takes a seat in the high-backed chair by the glass doors that lead to his patio, legs spread, posture regal.
“Hunter will dole out your punishment,” he says. “Because this behavior isn’t just about me. It’s about your role with each of us. You offend me, you offend them.”
I open my mouth to speak, to beg, but nothing comes out.
Hunter is less silent.
“No.”
“Pardon,” the King asks, in a way that makes sure we all know he heard Hunter’s defiance.
“I’m not using the rod.” He runs his hand down it, almost wistfully, then sets it on the bedside table.
“That thing is a fucking relic. A part of the Hexleys that should have burned to the ground with Strong Manor. She belongs to us and I’ll punish the Baroness, our way. ” His eyes meet mine. “My way.”
He holds up his hand–big and powerful, callused from years of working with his father or on his truck. I wait for the King to tell him no, to step up and do it himself. Instead he shifts his gaze to Damon and says, “You’ll restrain her.”
Damon nods.
“How many?” Hunter asks, licking his bottom lip.
“Five,” the King replies. “To that pretty little ass she so desperately wants me to fuck.”
Damon pushes off the wall. His eyes meet mine with no malice, just duty.
He moves behind me, strong arms wrapping around my waist and chest, pulling me back against him.
He sits on the edge of the bed, maneuvering me face down across his lap, my torso supported by the mattress, hips over his solid thighs.
One arm pins my upper back, the other bands across my legs like an iron bar.
Hunter steps in close. Cool air hits my skin as he flips up the short skirt and bunches it at my waist. A fast rip–my panties are torn clean off and discarded.
I squeeze my eyes shut.
“Begin,” the King commands.
The first strike lands with a sharp, resounding crack across both cheeks.
Fire blooms instant and searing, spreading outward in a white-hot wave.
I flinch hard, a choked cry escaping before I bite it back.
The second crosses the first, this one higher, overlapping just enough to double the sting.
My body jerks against Damon’s hold; his grip tightens, and I feel his thumb stroke in small, secret circles on my shoulder–silent comfort in the middle of punishment.
The third lands lower, right where thigh meets ass–agony flaring bright and vicious.
Tears prick my eyes and I force myself to look at Hunter.
He’s breathing heavily, fingers curled into fists at his sides, like he’s trying to retain control.
My gaze shifts and I see the hard line of his erection straining against his jeans.
There’s no reaching him like this.
The fourth and fifth come fast–crisp, deliberate spankings that overlap the earlier marks.
Each one lands with a sound that echoes in the room, each one driving the heat deeper until my skin feels like it’s glowing.
I bury my face in the duvet, panting, shaking, refusing to scream though every nerve begs for it.
When it’s over, silence rings louder than the strikes.
The King rises to stand above me. His hand meets my chin and tilts it up so I can see him. “There will be no more games and no tantrum from this punishment, understand?”
I swallow, but the position makes it hard. I manage to respond over the lump in my throat. “I understand.”
“Good.” He drops my chin and steps back. “Remove her and take her to your room. Watch her overnight, but I don’t think there will be a problem, do you, Arianette?”
Shaking my head, I sob, “No.”
Relief rushes through me knowing I won’t be going back to the cage. Damon lifts me carefully, cradling me against his chest like I weigh nothing. Hunter opens the door, but the last thing I see is the man who just reminded me, in the cruelest way possible, exactly where the line is drawn.
And how much it hurts to cross it.