Page 53 of His Pretty Little Duet

My cheeks burn. "Yes."

"Do you want more?"

Slowly I nod. "Yes."

My pulse is like a drone in my ears as his hand meets my burning flesh again. I cry out, then moan uncontrollably, grinding my hips into his leg.

He does it again.

Each slap creates a pulse of shock in my clit. Vibrating on his lap now, the sensation is like dropping through a hole in the ice, shock—paralysing and confusing. This doesn't seem normal. Natural. Sane. I don’t know whether to hide my face as I drip from between my legs or beg him to please never stop the punishing pleasure.

He rains down slap after slap, until I drag my nails down the leather seating, carving into the material as my orgasm carves into me.

I pant, face down, tears dripping from my eyes but not from sorrow. I'm all wrong. This is all wrong.

Everything I want from him isall wrong.

Then he lifts me from his lap, dipping down to scoop me up, and cradles me in his arms. He kisses my temple, and I think Imight die, my heart skipping off its tracks, no longer on the same trajectory. Lost in him.

"That's my good girl." He strokes my hair, and I nuzzle into his chest. "Don't be ashamed. That was beautiful. You're safe..." He pauses for a moment, but I want more words, so I lean up to see his face. His intense blue eyes collide with mine, and he repeats, "You're safe here. You have no place being here, yes, and you will leave once it's all done, but for now, you're under my care. You have my word."

"Why do I feel like this?" I ask him, feeling incomprehensibly wrapped in content.

"You trust me."

My eyes widen in shock while my head nods in slow acceptance. "Yes." I inhale steadily, and his mint-laced breath mingles with mine. While holding his gaze, I become willingly lost in the lines and swirls of the crystal-clear blues in his irises. "I don't do that often, Sir. I've had a lot of bad luck."

"I'm surprised you believe in luck. It's only real to those who hang on to it for every move. You have raised yourself. All your achievements are on account of you."

I snort contemptuously. "And that's why I have so many of them."

I feel the brunt of his stare intensify. "You're stronger than that, my girl. You're better than that thought." His hand comes to my lower stomach. "You are better than them. You don't need anyone," he states, his tone deepening with severity. The cadence of his voice sends tingles inside me, forcing me to really concentrate on the words while my head spins in the wonder of his affections, of his attention. "You will survive everything the world throws at you because you have learned how to adapt. You will survive. Just like you have survived everything else in your life. You're a very brave girl. Wilful. Stop apologising for being you."

I like his lessons... Still, I chuckle softly and pretend they don't mean the world to me. "You're bossy." A little flitter of euphoria dances beneath my skin, through my blood and bones, a little high off him, light-headed, and hopeful—invincible.

Gah, Mum was right.

"Yes." He smiles at me. "I am."

With that, he grips my hips and slides me to stand in front of him. Ducking, I manage to avoid the roofline. Not that my short arse—mythrobbingarse—has to dip much at all.

He reaches for my shorts, and I place my quivering hands on his shoulders before stepping into them. It's the endorphins. A constant buzz at the tip of every cell.

When he taps the seat beside him, I instantly comply, sitting down. As he leans across me to buckle me in, I barely notice the way my arse stings under my weight.

He belted me in.

It's the little things.The small actions. Such a tiny gesture, butoh my God, I'm not sure anyone in my past would have even noticed if I was fastened in or not, let alone taken it upon themselves to secure me like a fragile item.

The car starts again.

As he looks out the darkened windows, I stare athim. He drags his thumb over his lower lip in a contemplative way, his distant gaze narrowing in thought. For a moment, just a split second, a flitter of exhaustion crosses his eyes. I think about his admission to having nightmares. Such a seemingly common issue for such a powerful man to be bothered by.

Failure...

I imagine him frowning when he's pulled from slumber.Do you know who I am? Clay Butcher, that's who. I don't have time for your insolence, little nightmare.

I chuckle at my own inner monologue.

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