Chapter 6 #2
His hand came up to grip my chin, fingers cool against my flushed skin.
The touch sent lightning straight to my core, made worse by how gentle it was despite his anger.
He could crush my jaw with those fingers, could freeze me solid with a thought, but instead he held me like spun glass—precious and breakable.
"Yours is."
He forced my chin up, and I had no choice but to meet his eyes.
The storm-gray had gone darker, like clouds heavy with snow that hadn't yet begun to fall.
In their depths, I saw the echo of that moment when I'd been falling—his terror, his helplessness, the visceral understanding that all his power meant nothing if I chose to destroy myself through defiance.
"You disobeyed a direct command." His thumb brushed along my jawline, the gesture almost tender except for the way it made me hyperaware of his control. "You nearly fell into the void—a wound in reality from which I could not have retrieved you."
The words hit harder than any physical blow.
Through the bond, I felt the truth of it—the void wasn't just death.
It was complete cessation, soul and body both erased from existence.
No afterlife, no memory, just nothing. And he would have been left with half a bond, forever feeling the echoed absence of what he'd lost.
"Had you fallen," he continued, his voice dropping to barely above a whisper that somehow carried more threat than shouting, "I would have followed you.
Did you know that? The bond would have demanded it.
Three thousand years of winter, ended because my Little one couldn't obey a simple command to stay safe. "
Tears pricked at my eyes, but he wasn't finished. His face lowered until his breath ghosted across my lips, until I could taste winter on my tongue without him actually kissing me.
"There are consequences for endangering what is mine," he said, and the possessive made my knees buckle slightly. His other hand came up to steady me, gripping my hip with enough force to leave marks. "Consequences for risking yourself. Consequences for making me feel that terror."
The word 'consequences' sent liquid heat pooling in my belly.
My body knew what that meant, craved it even as my mind tried to maintain some shred of dignity.
But dignity was hard to come by when standing naked in a nursery, held in place by nothing more than his grip on my chin and hip, wetness literally dripping down my thighs from how much his controlled fury aroused me.
"Daddy," I whispered, the word escaping without conscious thought.
Something flared in his eyes—satisfaction, possession, and still that underlying current of anger that promised I wouldn't escape this unscathed.
"Yes," he said simply. "That's what I am. And you're about to learn exactly what that means."
I was trembling—I couldn’t help it.
"We will address this transgression now," Sereis stated, and those five words carried enough authority to make my insides liquify.
He moved across the Nursery Nook with that devastating grace, every step deliberate, calculated to make me watch the flex of muscle beneath his perfectly tailored clothes.
The warm-ice rocking chair—that impossible piece of furniture where he'd first explained the rules—waited like a throne.
He sat with the kind of deliberate precision that made my mouth go dry.
The chair accommodated him perfectly, carved to his specifications, existing in that space between ice and warmth that defined everything about him.
His posture radiated authority—spine straight, shoulders back.
But underneath that formal positioning, I could feel through the bond his very personal investment in what was about to happen.
"Remove what’s left of that dress."
There was barely any point. It was a few strands of fabric, held in place by a couple of pearl buttons.
I undid them, and the scraps fell to the floor.
I stood naked before him. This time, the silver frost patterns on my skin glowed with unmistakable arousal, broadcasting my body's betrayal of how much his dominance affected me.
My nipples were already hard peaks, my thighs pressed together in a futile attempt to hide the wetness gathering there.
"Over my knee, little one. Now."
The command brooked no argument, no hesitation.
But walking those few steps across the room felt like crossing an ocean.
Each footfall on the soft carpet made me more aware of my nakedness, of how my breasts swayed with movement, of the way his eyes tracked every inch of exposed skin with possessive satisfaction.
When I reached him, standing between his spread knees, the scent of him overwhelmed me entirely. My knees went weak, and I swayed slightly, caught between the urge to run and the deeper need to submit.
His hands came up to grip my waist, steadying me, and that simple touch sent cascades of sensation through my oversensitized skin. The frost patterns flared brighter where he touched, as if my very magic recognized his authority over it.
"Down," he commanded, and used his grip to guide me.
The position was more vulnerable than I could have imagined.
He arranged me with careful precision across his thighs, making sure my weight was supported but also ensuring I felt the solid strength of him beneath me.
My upper body angled down, palms flat against the carpet, while my bottom curved up over his right thigh.
The position left me completely exposed—not just my backside but everything, my wet core visible and accessible should he choose.
His left hand came to rest on the small of my back, heavy and inescapable.
That single point of contact anchored me in place more effectively than any restraint.
Through our bond, I felt his satisfaction at having me positioned exactly as he wanted, vulnerable and waiting and already trembling with anticipation.
"You are precious to me, Mira." His voice rumbled through his chest, and I felt the vibration everywhere we touched. "The most valuable thing in my existence."
His right hand came to rest on my upturned bottom, not striking yet, just resting there with a weight that promised what was coming. The touch was almost gentle, tracing the curve of flesh with a possessiveness that made me squirm despite my best efforts to stay still.
"Do you understand what that means?" He didn't wait for an answer. "It means that harming yourself, risking yourself, endangering what is mine—these are the gravest transgressions you can commit against me."
His hand lifted, and I tensed, expecting the first strike. But it didn't come. Instead, he continued speaking, letting the anticipation build until my entire body thrummed with nervous energy.
"My rules are not arbitrary." The words carried the weight of centuries, of hard-won wisdom paid for in ways I couldn't imagine. "They exist to protect you. Not just from external threats, but from your own reckless courage."
His hand smoothed over my skin again, and this time I felt the temperature drop where he touched. Not painful, not yet, just enough to make me hyperaware of every nerve ending.
"When you defy me," he continued, his voice dropping to that register that bypassed my ears entirely, "you risk yourself. You risk what belongs to me. You risk forcing me to experience loss after three thousand years of emptiness."
The hand on my lower back pressed harder, holding me firmly in place as I began to squirm.
The position left me with no leverage, no way to escape what was coming.
But more than that, the bond itself held me—not with compulsion but with recognition.
My body knew this was right, knew I needed this, knew that his discipline was just another form of care.
"And that," he emphasized, his hand finally lifting from my bottom in preparation for what we both knew was coming, "is something I will not tolerate."
The silence that followed was deafening.
I could hear my own heartbeat, rapid and desperate.
Could hear his breathing, controlled but with an edge that suggested his own arousal at having me positioned like this.
Could hear the faint creaking of the chair as he shifted slightly, adjusting his angle.
The anticipation was killing me. Every nerve in my body was firing, sending mixed signals of fear and arousal that made my head spin.
My core clenched around nothing, desperate for stimulation even as I dreaded the punishment about to begin.
The frost patterns on my skin pulsed in rhythm with my heartbeat, broadcasting my state to him through visual and mystical means.
"Please," I whispered, not even sure what I was begging for. Mercy? Severity? For him to start? To never start?
"Please, what?" His voice carried dark amusement now, though the underlying anger still remained.
The word came without thought, pulled from somewhere deep in my transformed nature: "Please, Daddy."
"Good girl," he said, and I felt his satisfaction through the bond like honey poured over hot coals. "Now, let's begin your lesson about obedience."
The first slap cracked through the quiet room like lightning splitting a winter sky, the sound arriving a heartbeat before the sensation bloomed across my flesh.
The impact was harder than I'd expected—not cruel, but definitely meant to make a point.
Heat spread immediately across my right cheek, sharp and stinging, making me gasp against the soft carpet.
Sereis didn't pause.
The second strike landed on my left cheek with matching force, establishing a symmetry that somehow made it worse.
Or better. My confused nervous system couldn't quite decide, interpreting the pain through the lens of our bond, transforming it into something that made my core clench with shameful need.
"You will not," slap, "leave this wing," slap, "without my permission."