Page 13 of Suspicion

Ella never finished her sentence. Moving with the same agility and speed Tucker had shown when he’d swept her from her feet and over his shoulder, he eased her down the length of his body. As her feet hit the ground, he threw her forward over his lap.

Time, dashing in spurious pockets, sped up as the approaching ground neared. She was going to land flat on her face, and even with her bound hands to break the fall, it was going to hurt.

She screamed, closing her eyes as the looming apocalypse neared, but just as she braced for the pain, his arm snaked around her middle and prevented the impact. Winded by the abrupt standstill, she blew out a breath.

“What the?” Her eyes flew open to find herself only inches from the hard ground, her fingertips breaking the skin of her palms as she eyed the leaves she’d feared might be the only things left to break her tumble. Somehow, she’d avoided the plummet she feared might do her some serious damage. Relief flooded her senses. “What’s happening?”

“I’m giving you something to regret.”

Regret. There was that word again. She heard no malice in his voice, but neither was there glee. Tucker sounded almost matter-of-fact as he settled on the ground and arranged her sprawled body over his.

Whatever relief she’d experienced evaporated when his hands clawed at the top of her joggers and yanked them down to her thighs. She gasped at the change of tack, conscious first of the cold, then how displayed and vulnerable she was without the protection of her clothing.

“What are you doing?”

Writhing to be free, she yelled so loud that a tiny part of her hoped someone might hear her protest and come looking for her, but it was a futile prayer. Wherever this forest was, her father wouldn’t have been stupid enough to drop her where there would be witnesses. He was cruel but not inane.

“You have to start listening.” Tucker’s reply sounded as if it had been hissed through his teeth, but she couldn’t understand why he was so upset. He wasn’t the one stretched out over the forest floor with his ass exposed to the chilly air. “I’m giving you something to regret.”

His palm rested on her bared behind, squeezing her cheek in a manner he had no right to do. Kicking at the ground with her fettered ankles, she leaned on her forearms and attempted once again to shuffle away.

“You can’t do this!” she muttered as he promptly dragged her back into place and proved the precise opposite point. “Stop it, Tucker. Stop it!”

Pushing down on her back with one hand, he answered her with one sharp swat to her uncovered ass. The strike was so intense, it stole Ella’s breath, time once again lengthening as she grappled to process what was transpiring.

She’d never been physically rebuked in her life. Even as a child, her mother had never spanked her, and now this stranger was doing so, exposing and striking her in the middle of the woods!

“I’m only going to say this one more time.” His hand rose, peppering her vulnerable cheeks with repeated spanks as he spoke.

She froze at the onslaught, half of her desperate to scurry away and yet the other half working out what the effort would earn her.

“You’re coming with me. The only issue is whether you conform or need to be chastised every mile or so.” He laughed, the sound contracting the anxiety in her tummy as it echoed around the trees. “Although I won’t look favorably upon the delay.”

“Oh God.”

Her head fell as his palm rained down the blows. Each swat hurt, and she could only imagine the red hue they’d leave on her perfectly exfoliated skin. Why had she only donned a thong the day before? The flimsy fabric did nothing to shield her cheeks from his ambush, no matter how much she squirmed to try to get away.

Stretched over him and forced to accept the swats, she realized something else. It wasn’t only the brunt of the pain that kept her head down but the weight of her shame.

He’s spanking me!

At twenty-six, Ella was prone and powerless to resist the thug who was treating her in such a base and unjust way.

“Stop it.” She mouthed the words, too afraid to speak them aloud as the nightmare continued. He was too strong to push away. That much had been effectively demonstrated already, and the more she complained, the more his palm seemed to react. All she could do was suck up the blows and wait it out. Perhaps he’d tire of painting her backside with his palm soon and would move on?

How can I ever look him in the eyes after this?

Her toes curled as the humiliation swelled. A part of her wished the ground would just open and swallow her whole. Whatever happened, she could never live an embarrassment like this one down.

“Okay,” he resolved.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, his hand paused, resting over her heated cheeks. She imagined how red and swollen her backside was.

How am I ever going to sit down, let alone live this down?

“That’s enough for now.”

For now? Was the guy clinically insane?

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