I open my mouth to tell him the truth. “My father…” I begin, but the words are strangely clogged, as if I’ve been cursed not to be able to speak.
He doesn’t release me but holds my gaze.
“What about your father?”
“He knows I’m here,” I whisper.
“Aye. You’ve told me that. Nothing wrong with that. Is there something else you’re hiding?”
“I lied to you.”
His stubbled jaw firms, and his eyes narrow. “Did you?”
I squirm, the truth playing through my mind with vivid clarity.
He wanted me to betray you.
He told me to seduce you.
I promised him I would.
“Aye,” I finally say, quaking in fear at what would happen if I told him the truth. “I told you I didn’t know Fran was friends with your sisters.” This is partially true, but it isn’t the whole truth. “I knew, though. I’ve seen them in town together. But I didn’t tell you, because I didn’t want you to think I was spying.”
His fingers trail from my jaw down the column of my neck and flex. I take in a trembling, jagged breath as he cages my throat.
“That was a very naughty thing you did.”
There's a fine line between sexuality and fear, between correction and eroticism. His lecturing tone makes me shiver in anticipation, caught halfway between fear and sexual desire.
I hang my head in shame, but it has everything to do with the actual guilt I feel for being less than honest with him. I’m a coward, a fucking coward, and I hope he punishes me hard for this. I want to be punished. I need to be.
“I know,” I say with regret. “I should’ve told you the truth.”
I should even now.
He nods and tucks me against his chest.
No, I scream in my head. Don’t be so tender. Don’t be so bloody perfect. I need you to hurt me. I need you to punish me.
“I understand,” he says, and I swear for one second I feel as if he actually truly understands the difficulty of my situation. “But I agree with you.”
My palm flattens on his chest, and I can hear his heartbeat. A little thrill goes through me at the feel of his erection pressed firmly against me. He’s turned on by this. Dammit, so am I.
“Agree with what?”
“That you ought to be punished.” His large, rough hand pushes me off his lap so I’m standing in front of him. “Strip.”
“Strip?”
Leaning forward so his elbows are on his knees, he nods. His eyes narrow.
“I’ve made you come straight through your clothing. I’ve even punished you over your clothes before. But tonight, I want you bare-arsed.”
I feel my jaw slacken as I stare at him, all sexy-rugged alpha. His black hair falls across his forehead, the blue of his eyes icy and brilliant. His lips are pressed thin, his strong, muscular body tense as I slowly begin to obey. Leaning his elbows on his knees, he gives me a stern look that makes me quake.
I’m so nervous with anticipation, my hands shake as I step out of my joggers and top, the clothes tumbling to the floor. When I reach for my bra clasp, I fumble with it, nervously meeting his eyes. He watches me, and I see him grow hard straight through his trousers.
I pause when I reach my knickers, my fingers on the lacy edge.
“Off with ‘em,” he growls. “And be quick about it or your punishment worsens.”
I step out of the knickers and they join my bra on the floor, as he slowly rises. He towers over me, stern and foreboding. He reaches for my hand and drags me over to him. Wordlessly, he arranges me over his lap.
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.