Chapter 27 #2
“You don't.” He grabs my jaw, firm but not painful. “Not in this. Never in this.”
“You can't just decide?—”
“I can. I am.” His eyes bore into mine. “I will go, but you'll stay here, where you're safe. And you will obey me in this. ”
The word obey sends liquid heat pooling in my belly, even as my mind rebels against the command. “That's not fair.”
“I don't care about fair.” He leans in closer, his voice dropping. “I care about keeping you alive. And if that means you hate me for it, I'll live with it.”
“I don't hate you—” It comes out breathier than intended. “But I don't think it's fair.”
I shiver, torn between wanting to argue and wanting to submit to the absolute certainty in his voice. Part of me wants to stay safe. I don't want to see him hurt in the ring. I don't want to be where Crowning can reach me.
“Lass has spirit,” Seamus says, approval clear in his voice. “But Ash is right, Bianca. This is too dangerous.”
“We'll keep her safe,” Nolan says, his tone brooking no argument. “You have my word.”
Seamus nods. “It's settled, then. Two days. Ashland fights. We draw Crowning out. We fucking end this.”
“Two days,” Ashland says, but he's looking at me, not Seamus. “Two days, and this is over.”
His eyes narrow, studying me. “Bianca.”
“What?” I ask innocently.
“Whatever you're thinking, you’re not coming.”
“If you think I’m going to sit at home, doomscrolling on my phone while you’re facing Marcus in the ring, you’re a fool, Ashland McCarthy.”
“I said you’re not coming, and that’s final.”
I blow out a breath. “Fine.”
His hand slides from my jaw to the back of my neck, his fingers threading through my hair with possessive gentleness. “Don't lie to me.”
“I'm not.”
He studies me for a long moment, and I refuse to look away, even as my pulse quickens under his scrutiny.
“We'll discuss this later,” he finally says, the promise in his voice making my stomach flutter.
“I'll be looking forward to it,” I say sweetly.
His da laughs outright. “She's got your number, lad.”
“Aye,” Ashland says, never looking away from me. “That she does.”
His parents leave shortly after, and the moment the door closes behind them, Ashland's hands are on me.
“Upstairs.” My heartbeat thunders.
Ashland doesn't say a word as he leads me upstairs, his hand firm around my wrist. Not painful, but unyielding. My heart hammers against my ribs—part anticipation, part trepidation .
The bedroom door closes with a soft click that sounds thunderous in the silence.
“Ashland—”
“ No .” His voice is low and controlled, dangerous in its calm. “You don't get to talk right now, lass. You get to listen.”
“Is that right?” I cross my arms on my chest. This may be a side of Ashland I haven’t seen before, and I’m not quite sure how I feel about it. I’m a bundle of nerves.
He sits on the edge of the bed, and my breath catches when I see him unbuckle his belt with deliberate slowness. His thick, rough fingers make quick work of it. The leather slides free with a whisper of sound that makes heat pool low in my belly, even as nervousness flutters in my chest.
“Come here .”
It's not a request.
My feet move before my brain catches up, carrying me to stand between his knees. He looks up at me, and the intensity in his silver eyes makes my knees weak.
“You agreed you wouldn't put yourself in danger,” he says quietly. “And the second my back's turned, you're already planning something reckless. I can see it in those pretty eyes of yours.”
“I wasn't?— ”
His hand comes up, one finger pressing gently against my lips. “What did I say about talking? And lying will make this far worse for you. You ought to know that by now.”
I fall silent, my pulse racing.
“That's better.” His hands move to my hips, turning me with gentle firmness until I'm facing away from him.
“Here's what's going to happen, mo chroí .
You're going to take your punishment like a good girl, and then we're going to discuss why you don't get to throw yourself in Crowning's path. Understand?”
I nod, not trusting my voice.
“Good lass.” His hands slide up my sides, then slowly bunch the borrowed dress up over my hips. He pulls my panties down—cool air hits my skin, and I shiver. “Safe word is ‘mercy.’ You use it, everything stops. Clear?”
“Clear.”
His hands smooth over my bare skin, and despite the situation, or maybe because of it, desire coils tight in my core as he bends me over his lap.
“Six,” he says, his palm resting on the curve of my backside. “And you're going to count them. If you lose count, we start over.”
“Six? That's excessive!”
“Would you like to make it eight?”
I snap my mouth shut .
“Smart choice.” His hand traces lazy circles. “You know why you're getting this?”
“Because you're a mean control freak!”
The first strike comes without warning, the belt cracking against my skin with a sharp snap that steals my breath. It's not excruciating, but it burns—a bright sting that radiates outward.
“What number was that, lass?”
I grit my teeth. “One.”
“Good girl. And I'm not a control freak. I'm a man trying to keep the woman he loves alive.” Another crack, on the other side. The sound echoes in the quiet room.
“Two!” I gasp. “And that's literally the definition of a control freak!”
His laugh is dark, approving. “There's that mouth.” His hand soothes over the heated skin. “Keep running it, see what happens.” His thick cock presses against my belly.
“What, you'll make it ten? Twenty?” I twist to look at him over my shoulder, defiant even as my body trembles. “Go ahead, then. I can take it.”
His eyes flash. “Careful what you wish for, love.” The third strike lands lower, harder, and I arch against the sensation. Earned that one.
“Three,” I manage, my sass wavering .
His hand slides between my thighs, and he makes a low sound of approval at what he finds there. “You're soaked, lass. All that attitude, and your body's begging for more.”
My cheeks flush. “Shut it.”
“Not sure that’s very smart of you, telling me to shut it when I’m holding a belt in my hand.” He snaps the leather across my arse again.
“Four! And maybe I would if you weren't being so—” The words dissolve into a gasp as his fingers trace patterns on my heated skin.
“So, what? Protective? Determined to keep you breathing?” His voice roughens. “Tell me you'll stay safe. Tell me you'll let us handle Crowning.”
“This is so unfair,” I mutter.
“ Bianca .”
“Fine! I'll stay safe.” The words come out petulant, and I immediately regret my tone.
“Try again. With less attitude.”
I take a shaky breath. “I'll stay safe,” I say quietly, and this time I mean it. “I promise.”
“Good girl.” The fifth strike lands, and my body trembles.
“Five,” I whisper.
“One more. You're almost there.” His hand cups my face, tilting it so I can see him over my shoulder. His eyes are dark with desire and something deeper—something that makes my chest tight. “Last one, love.”
The final strike comes, and I barely manage to gasp out, “Six.”
“Such a good girl,” he murmurs, setting the belt aside and pulling me into his lap. His hands are gentle now, smoothing down my dress and cradling me against his chest. “Even with all that sass.”
“Especially with all that sass,” I counter, still breathless, my arse throbbing and naked on his clothed legs.
He laughs, the sound vibrating through his chest into mine. “Aye. Especially with that.” He gives me a gentle kiss. “I love your fire, Bianca. Every bit of it. Just not when it gets you killed.”
I'm shaking from the endorphins and emotion, from the need that’s become the center of my attention. “I'm still mad at you.”
“No, you're not.” His hand slides up my thigh, and I bite back a moan.
“Okay, maybe not right this second.”
When he lays me back on the bed, his body covering mine, there's nothing gentle about the way he takes me. It's claiming and desperate, exactly what we both need.
Afterward, when we're tangled together and my heart is still racing, he presses his forehead to mine .
“Two days,” he says quietly. “Then this is over, and you're safe.”
I want to believe him. Why does something tell me it won’t be that simple?