Page 66 of False Confidence

“Fuck,” she cried out, struggling in his hold. The chair was tall and cushioned, and he pulled her just far enough over his lap that her feet couldn’t touch the ground. She kicked them, trying to wriggle out of his grip.

“Behave.” He brought his hand down on her ass and she moaned, her body falling still. “Do you want me to be gentle?” he asked, already well aware of her answer.

“Fuck no.”

“You want it to hurt? You want me to punish you like the filthy brat you are until you’re begging for mercy?”

“I don’t beg,” Jasmine promised.

He chuckled, running his hand over her ass. “We’ll see about that.”

Smack!

Jazz cried out, her legs kicking aimlessly before she fell limp over Liam’s knee.

Over.

And over.

And over.

He alternated, giving each ass cheek equal attention, his palm connecting with her ass again and again like he couldn’t possibly leave a single spot unpunished. Her skin was burning, each strike of his hand like an electric shock leaving a trail of fire in its wake.

“Ready to beg yet, darling?”

Jazz whimpered, not sure she would be able to find the words even if she wanted to give him that satisfaction. And she absolutely did not. Yet.

She’d been tense for the first few smacks, but he’d slapped every ounce of tension from her body. She didn’t even have it in her to tense as she felt the air rushing toward her in anticipation of another strike. Her body craved this; there was no point in pretending otherwise.

She was dripping wet, sticky with his cum and her own desperation to get him inside her. Jazz wasn’t sure how long he’d been spanking her for—it could have been five minutes or five hours for all she knew—but she wasn’t sure how much longer she could hold out without some sense of relief. How the fuck did Liam have the patience for this?

His palm came down on the top of her thighs, the new spot jolting her body out of its pliancy. She cried out, her hand slamming against the side of the chair. “Ow.”

Liam ran a flat hand over the spot he’d spanked her, gentle and soothing. And it was so much fucking worse. He was so close to her pussy, so close to the spot she so desperately needed him.

“Please.” Her lips formed the words, but barely a sound fell from them. It was enough for him to hear her, though. Liam’s hand stilled.

“What was that?”

She drew in a shaky breath. “Please,” she repeated, her voice scratchy and weak.

“Please what, darling? Tell me what you want.”

He’d won the second he’d thrown her over his knee. Hell, he’d won the second he’d walked through the goddamn door. “Fuck me, baby. Please. I’m begging.”

Liam ran his thumb over the curve of her ass, so close, but so fucking far. And then, without warning, she was on her feet, and he was practically throwing her down on the bed. Her head was spinning, her desperation to feel him overtaking every one of her senses.

“Are you okay?” Liam said in her ear, stroking his hand through her hair, his fingers and voice gentle. Temporarily if she had anything to say about it.

“Yeah,” she said, breathing hard. “Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”

“Turn your head and look up.”

“Make me.”

Liam didn’t even hesitate to wrap her hair around his fist and roughly force her head, but he leaned in and peppered her temple with soft kisses. He toed the line between hard and soft so fucking beautifully.

Jazz flicked her eyes up toward the mirror and gasped. Her ass was red raw.

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