Chapter 14 #2
My hair falls all around me like a veil, my hands flying out as I try to brace myself.
With firm, deliberate movements, he traps my legs with his, winds a hand around my middle, and anchors me in place.
One large, rough hand caresses me, as if priming my naked skin.
He starts at my lower back, dragging his rugged palm over my arse, and pauses at the tops of my thighs.
“You were a bad girl,” he scolds.
I close my eyes.
I was, though. I really, truly was.
I am.
“Aye,” I whisper.
Again, his hand travels from my thigh and over my arse to my lower back, then back down again. Up and down, over and over, until my skin is hot to the touch, tingling.
“Is there anything else you need to tell me?” he asks, his palm resting on my arse, an erotic vibe shooting straight between my legs.
So much. So fucking much.
I shake my head.
Liar.
I imagine when his palm descends that he’s punishing me for my lies, scourging me for my sins.
His palm falls, heavily.
I flinch and gasp.
He slams his palm a second time.
I whimper.
A third, and my legs scissor, the pain nearly fucking unbearable.
A fourth, and I squirm, but he holds me fast.
A fifth, and I’m actively trying to get away from his punishing palm, but I can’t budge at all. My skin’s on fire, my throat clogged with tears.
“Oh God!” I yell. “That fucking hurts!”
He doesn’t respond at first, but he squeezes my heated skin, massaging my tender arse.
“Of course it hurts. What do you think this is, foreplay? You’re being spanked.”
Yes? No?
“Fucking count them,” he snaps. “Ten more for what you did.”
But he doesn’t even know what I’ve done, what I’ve yet to do. I whimper when he pinches my bottom.
“Count.”
Whack.
His palm lands harder than ever, the sound echoing in his room and I arch in protest.
“One!” I gasp.
I’ve barely recovered when he whacks my arse again, a stinging smack that takes my breath away.
“Two,” I manage to say, between choking sobs that I can’t seem to stop.
On and on the punishment goes, and I barely manage to stutter each number until finally I get to “ten.”
He doesn’t give me even a second to recover before he’s lifting me up and tossing me onto the bed.
“On your knees,” he orders, and I squeal when he gives me another spank I wasn’t prepared for. “Grab the bed rail and spread your fucking legs.”
I quickly do what he says, aware of the heat that travels from my arse to my pussy, throbbing and heated. I hear the sound of his belt being unfastened, then he tugs it through the loops. I look over my shoulder just as he smacks my arse with the folded leather.
I squeal, gripping the bed rail as he leans over, wrapping the leather around my neck. Real panic sweeps through me, and I remind myself that I trust him, that he’s had ample time to really hurt me and he hasn’t hidden his real character from me.
This is Mac, and I trust him.
My world goes momentarily hazy when he tugs the belt, restricting my air supply. I still manage to take a deep breath and will myself to breathe.
I hear the crinkle of a condom, then pressure at my entrance as he parts my folds and fists the belt.
One punishing thrust and I can’t breathe, my grip tightening. Fuck, my pussy clenches around him. I’m primed and ready, slick and hot from the punishment he gave me.
He thrusts again, impaling me on his hardened length. The knowledge that this is part of my punishment makes my pussy spasm around his cock. He thrusts hard, and I want more. Harder. Longer.
He grips my hair and yanks my head back, and the leather belt tightens on my neck.
I gasp for breath, completely overwhelmed, as he masters my body and commands everything.
My body caught beneath the onslaught of thrusts, my mind unable to focus on anything beyond the pain of punishment, his belt on my neck, his fingers pulling my hair.
He thrusts again.
It doesn’t matter who I am, it doesn’t matter who he is. Here in this moment, there’s one thing I know.
He owns me. He fucking owns me.
He bends his mouth to my neck, and I feel the sharp bite of his teeth. My pulse spikes, and I shatter. A tidal wave of pleasure overtakes me, and I spasm and moan as he roars through his own release. He thrusts, his cock pulsing inside me, as he rides out waves of pleasure mingled with mine.
Slowly, his thrusts begin to slow, and he loosens the belt at my neck. He’s panting, but he hasn’t said a word. I know without an explanation that being fucked soundly is part of the punishment I asked for, and I didn’t realize how badly I needed this… all of it.
He slides the belt off and tosses it to the bed.
He releases my hair, and it falls around my shoulders in messy waves, sticking to my cheeks still damp with tears. My body trembles as he lays down on the bed and pulls me to his chest.
Wordlessly he runs his fingers through my hair. Over and over, from the top of my head to the nape of my neck, he combs his fingers through my hair. I close my eyes and enjoy the consolation of his touch, his tenderness more meaningful after his harshness.
I’m tired. So fucking tired.
He lifts the blanket and tucks it in around me.
“Get some sleep.”
I don’t know what to say, so I don’t say anything at all. I close my eyes, mentally and physically exhausted, and fall to sleep.
I wake hours later, the heaviness of his arm around me, his body behind me, spooning me. It’s warm and comfortable here, and I don’t ever want to leave.
But I have to. I have to.
I fall back asleep.
The next day, I’m groggy and sore when he gently shakes my shoulder.
“Gotta get up, baby,” he says, in that sleepy-gravelly voice I love.
“Mmm. Tired,” I groan.
He chuckles. “We've got a wedding to go to, darling.”
My eyes fly open, and I’m immediately sitting up. “What time is it?”
He chuckles, all rough and sleepy, beside me. He’s bare-chested and when I peek under the covers, completely naked and ready.
“Bloody hell, don’t you get any ideas, honey. I’ve got a wedding to get ready for and unlike some people I know, I need to do more than slap on a pair of trousers and run my fingers through my hair.”
I toss the blankets aside, only to find myself hauled straight through the air and thrust against his chest.
“What was that?” he rumbles.
“Now, Mac—”
His arm goes around my back, an iron band. “If I want to fuck you, I’ll fuck you. Got that?”
Mmm. I love when he gets all possessive-alpha. Turns me the hell on.
“Aye,” I say with a sigh. “I think if anything, last night taught me that.”
I still wish I knew the meaning of that punishment I practically begged him for. Does he know how badly I needed that to be real?
But could it be, when he doesn’t even know the full truth?
He pulls me to him, his hand on the back of my head, and gives me a quick, rough kiss.
“Go on, then,” he says, before he pats my arse.
I wince, which only makes him grin proudly.
“You’re proud I’m all sore because of you?”
“Aye,” he says, sobering. “I want you thinking of me with every step you take. I want you remembering me every time you move. I want you to know you’re mine.” He tugs a lock of my hair and winks. “And maybe while you’re at it, you’ll remember how to behave, hmm?”
I smile. “Aye, that I will. You did a bloody thorough job of it, didn’t you?”
“Aye, darlin’.” He’s suddenly sober. “You left me no choice.”
How much of this is pretend, and how much of this is real? God, I wish I had the nerve to ask him. I’m fucking daft, going straight up crazy.
But there’s no time to dwell. We have a wedding to go to, and I’ll have the sexiest fucking bloke by my side.
It isn’t just the romantic part of it that I'm looking forward to. His sisters will be there, and their dates—ugh, their bodyguards—but I can’t wait to see Fran wearing the dress that I made. I can't wait to dance with Mac, with love in the air and all that.
It’s a gorgeous, sunny day. The weather forecast called for rain, but it looks as if Fran managed to dodge that.
“Have you met her fiancé?” I ask Mac, as he tugs up the zipper on my dress.
He frowns. “No. None of us has. I’m told they fell in love online and she hasn’t spent much time with him face-to-face.”
I nod. “Doesn’t seem like the girls think much of him, do they?”
He shrugs. “I’ve no idea what the girls think. I’m going to the wedding because of you, and to make sure they’re safe as well. Good luck to Fran.”
“Seems Tate cares.”
“You think?”
“Och, aye.” Do men notice nothing? I tuck my hair back with little clips the girls and I bought. “He got all bossy and critical about her wedding dress.”
He shrugs. “I think you’re overthinking it.”
“Am I?”
His phone rings, and he leaves to go get it. “Aye. No one’s found her? Bloody hell.” A pause. “He said someone helped her, but he doesn’t know who? Only that it was a woman?” He curses. “Alright, then, I’ll see what I can find out.”
He hangs up the phone. This time, I don’t ask questions. I know better than to pry, though I’m dying of curiosity.
Maybe if I pretend I don’t want to know what that was all about, he’ll tell me of his own accord.
“You look lovely,” he says. “I like that lipstick.”
“It’s lip gloss.”
“Lip whatever, it’s hot.”
I smile, while I run a mascara brush through my eyelashes. “Everything alright?” I ask.
He frowns and shakes his head. “Caught one of the staff spying on us. Kept her in holding when I attended to some business. She escaped, and we haven’t been able to locate her since.”
“She escaped? How exactly does one escape from one of you blokes?”
They’re all huge and strong. Makes no sense to me.
He smiles. “Seems she may have had help, and that’s the last question I’ll answer.”
“Fair enough. It was more information than I thought you’d give me, anyway.”
He chuckles, shaking his head at me, as a deep black car pulls up to our door.
“There’s our ride, then. You ready?”
I fuss with my mascara, frowning at my appearance. “I don’t know about my hair, I think I—”
He rolls his eyes and takes my hand. “Let’s go, lass. You look fine.”