Chapter Six #3
Not just that. A part of me wants to give in, even if it's just for one forbidden night, before morning comes and I run again. Before the weight of the world and my past crashes back in.
Kayden's eyes flash, genuine surprise flickering through them before narrowing with wicked delight. "No? Well, then," he whispers, his voice a sinful promise, lips hovering a breath from mine, "I think it's time you learned your lesson, sunshine."
And then the world tilts.
A rush of wind, a blur of movement, and suddenly I'm draped over his knees, my body stretched out across his bed, the shirt riding up scandalously high. My breath catches as cool air skims exposed skin.
His hand moves slowly, sliding from the curve of my ankle, up the length of my calf, over my thigh. It stops just at the hem of the shirt.
A whimper escapes before I can swallow it. Pathetic. Embarrassing. And yet I ache for more.
He leans down, voice like liquid heat in my ear. "All evening… I've been wondering." A dark pause. "How those tattoos of yours look beneath this shirt…"
And then he lifts it. The hem glides higher, baring me completely.
I should've put my underwear back on.
Should've, could've… didn't.
Kayden hums, and there's a low, satisfied edge in his voice now. "As I guessed…" His touch grazes the curve of my hip, following the lines inked into my skin. "Beautiful."
His hand traces the patterns like he's memorizing them. Every stroke lights up my nerves, sending heat low and deep, until I'm molten.
"But don't think pretty pictures will get you out of your punishment," he says at last, his voice sharpening with that delicious threat again.
And then—
Crack.
The sound slices the air. The sting flares instantly, heat blooming across my skin. I gasp, the sound torn from my lips, raw and startled and something more.
He's actually spanking me.
And I'm letting him.
Crack.
Another. Sharper. The burn spreads, igniting something primal inside me. My core pulses with it, my legs trembling with each strike. My body responds before my mind can catch up, every part of me wide open, strung taut between pain, pleasure, and the sheer shock of it all.
I grip the bedspread. Bite my lip. Try not to moan.
This is madness.
Crack.
The third lands with more force, sharper. My hips jolt against his thigh, breath hitching. The burn spreads across my skin, an echo that sinks deep.
I should hate this. I should fight it.
But I don't.
I clutch the sheets tighter, every nerve lit up and focused on him—on the weight of his palm, the heat of his thigh under my belly, the way his other hand rests against my spine, keeping me in place with just enough pressure to remind me that he's stronger.
Crack.
A choked gasp I can't bite back escapes me. My body arches, pressing back into his hand even as fire licks across my skin.
"Look at you," he murmurs, his voice low and intoxicating. His palm smooths over the tender skin he just punished, and my body shudders from the contrast of gentleness. "So responsive. Maybe I should keep going until you're dripping with regret… or something else."
I shake my head. "That's not… true," I murmur, not even sure why I say it. The words slip out on instinct, too soft to carry weight.
"Really?" he murmurs, and then—
Crack. Crack. Crack.
Three in a row, sharp and deliberate. I gasp, the sound torn from my throat, my body trembling as sensation crashes through me like a wave—sting, burn, ache, need.
"Are you trying to lie to me…"
Crack.
"…or to yourself?" His voice rumbles like thunder in my ear.
Then his fingers trail a little lower, just enough to make me jolt. With a slow motion, he shows me how slick my inner thighs are with the heat that has built between them.
He chuckles wickedly. "Tell me, sunshine," he drawls, dragging the nickname out. "Is this still your preferred option? Or have we found a third choice somewhere…?
I don't answer. Can't.
I've slipped into a space I don't recognize—somewhere between resistance and surrender, punishment and craving. I glance back at him, breathless, my body flushed and humming, my pride barely hanging on by a thread.
He spins me in his lap, pulls me against him. My bare thighs straddle his. I feel the ache of my punished skin pressing against the fabric of his sweatpants. His grip is firm, fingers splayed possessively over my hips, his arousal hard and pulsing beneath me.
"Just say the word…," he breathes, his lips grazing my jaw, his voice the devil's lullaby. "One word, and I'll give you exactly what you need. What we both need."
It would be so easy… so ruinously easy.
But…
"I…" The word is torn from my lips, fragile, trembling. "No."
He stiffens. His jaw tenses, grip loosens.
"Why?" he asks, not angry but quiet and honest. Like the question matters more than he wants it to.
I force myself to meet his eyes, to suppress the ache spiraling inside me. I say it with cold detachment: "Because vampires are repulsive dead husks."
Not my words. Words I was taught. Ones I dig out now like armor.
Something flickers across his face, but it's gone too fast to catch. Then he lets out a bitter, hollow laugh. "Of course we are. That's what makes it more fun."
He stands abruptly and deposits me on the floor like I'm weightless.
"Run back to your room, nymph," he says, voice all mockery now, sharp enough to cut. "Before my filth rubs off on your holy little self."
I turn away. My knees are still trembling, my body sore and raw from what just happened. But I walk out with a steady stride, head high.
I don't look back.
The moment the guest room door closes behind me, I press my back to it and release a shaky breath.
What the hell did I just let happen?
And why do I feel like such a jerk for what I said?