Total pages in book: 26
Estimated words: 25205 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 126(@200wpm)___ 101(@250wpm)___ 84(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 25205 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 126(@200wpm)___ 101(@250wpm)___ 84(@300wpm)
And that’s when someone sucks in a harsh breath.
My eyes flick open.
The man of my fantasies is standing at the foot of the tub, his toffee eyes reduced to slits. Both hands form fists at his sides.
I veer upright, hands covering my chest, and water sloshes everywhere. “What are you doing in here!”
“I live here.”
“But these are my private quarters.”
“You won’t find a place on this island I don’t have access to.” He rounds the tub and hauls me out of the water to stand before him in stunned mortification. “Did you come?”
My cheeks flame even hotter. “N-no.”
Water runs in rivulets down my skin, dripping from my hair, soaking the plush mat under my feet. Blood throbs between my legs, a wondrous itch I can’t scratch. As displeasure darkens his beautiful features, I can’t help but grieve for the climax that didn’t happen. What would it have felt like to tip over the edge?
“Orgasm is a gift,” he says, his grip tight on my wrist as he pulls me out of my suite of rooms and into the shared space of the penthouse. “You’re never to take it without permission.”
I’m shaking as he drags me into his quarters. The dip of the sun toward the horizon casts the space in shadow, and the heavy furnishings give an undertone of masculine virility. A bed designed for a king sits atop a platform in the middle of the room, outfitted in midnight blue. A color fit for royalty.
He ushers me away from the bed and gently shoves me into a seat at a small table in front of a set of French doors. Beyond the glass, I spy a balcony. “You’re not to come in here unless I instruct otherwise. Do you understand?”
“Y-yes,” I say, teeth chattering. “Why am I here?”
“Lay your hands on the table, palms up.”
I obey, knowing now is not the time to question him. With a decisive nod, he strides across the room and pulls something down from a rack on the wall. My stomach drops upon his return.
“Do you know what this is?”
A hard swallow precedes my answer. “It’s a riding crop.”
“Do you know why your hands are on that table right now?”
Without thinking, I yank them back.
“Do not move them.” The leather end of the crop makes a harsh smack on the table, punctuating his command.
I inch my hands back into position, every fiber of my being urging to me to take flight. But how far would I get? Out of this room? Maybe I’d breach the penthouse door before he catches up with me. Maybe I’d make it into the elevator, then I could streak through the tower as naked as the day I was born.
“Do you understand why you’re being punished?”
“Because I was touching myself?”
“Because you did it without permission.”
“You’re not being fair. I didn’t know it was against the rules.”
“Discipline is how you learn, Novalee.” He gestures to my vulnerable, exposed palms. “If you move your hands again, I’ll have no choice but to take you to our enforcer for punishment. Trust me, neither of us wants that.”
His threat collides inside me, a fatal crash of anger and fear. Trust him, he says. I want to laugh and cry and scream at the irony in that demand. As he steps back and raises the crop, an ominous preamble, I remind myself that I’ve been through worse.
I needed medical attention and a soft cushion for a week after Uncle Rowan unleashed his whip on my backside for trying to escape.
“You’ll receive five strikes to each palm.” His hand twitches, a millisecond away from inflicting pain, and our eyes lock. “Brace yourself, my sweet girl.”
Smack!
I jump, suck in a breath, and another notch of anger forms on my armor. He brings the crop down on my left palm.
Then the right.
Back and forth, reddening my fair skin.
Causing my eyes to water.
I glare at him through my unshed tears.
Before the fifth and final set, he stops to take a deep breath, and my arms quake on the table, hands burning from his abuse. My soul brims with rage, but underneath that, I’m hurt. I hate that my heart throbs with the traitorous emotion, throat aching from the toll of holding it back.
Because I thought he was different, believing we had a connection despite the reality of our power exchange. Did he not feel it too, back in the library with his cum still lingering on my lips?
He issues the last two strikes, making them count, and my teeth grind from the intensity of the sting. My toes curl with it, muscles stiff.
I don’t dare move my hands.
I don’t move at all.
“It’s over.” He sounds relieved, which is ludicrous because he wasn’t the one suffering a physical punishment. Setting the crop aside, he pulls me to my feet. “I’m not a sadist,” he says, sliding his hand along my cheek. “I don’t enjoy inflicting pain.”