Page 15 of His Mate

“Get away from me!” I screamed, twisting in his grip, but he didn’t budge. His fingers dug deeper into my wrist, the pressure just shy of bruising, and I felt something wild and desperate rise up inside me.

I wasn’t just going to take this. I was going to fight.

With my free hand, I slapped him across the face, hard enough that my palm stung. The sound echoed in the padded room, loud and startling, and for a moment, I froze, my breath catching in my throat.

He didn’t move. He just stood there, his head snapping to the side from the force of the blow, and then slowly, agonizingly, he turned back to face me. His eyes were all wolf now, glowing and furious, and I felt a shiver run down my spine, but there was something else there, too—something almost curious.

He cocked his head, staring at me with those strange, golden eyes, like he was trying to puzzle something out. His grip loosened, just a fraction, and I could feel the heat of his skin, the way his muscles trembled, like he was holding onto control by the thinnest thread. His nostrils flared, and he leaned in, so close I could feel his breath on my cheek, warm and ragged, and I couldn’t help it—I shrank back, pressing myself harder against the wall, trying to put some distance between us even though there was nowhere left to go.

“You’re going to pay for that,” he growled, and his voice was rougher now, deeper, with that same animal edge I’d heard inthe growls of the wolves that haunted my nightmares. His breath was hot against my skin, and I could feel every word as it rumbled through him, like the growl of something far larger, far more dangerous, lurking just beneath the surface.

And then, before I could react, his hand wrapped around my upper arm, his fingers digging into the soft, vulnerable flesh, and he spun me around. I gasped, struggling against his grip, but it was like trying to fight against a steel cage, solid and immovable. My breasts were pressed against the soft padded fabric of the wall, and I pushed my hands against the wall, but I wasn’t fast enough.

Before I could think, before I could even draw breath to react, he moved. His hand snapped back and then swung forward, and I felt the sting of it—the sharp, searing pain that exploded across my backside, hot and blinding in an instant.

He’d smacked my ass.

Hard.

I gasped, the sound torn from my throat, and my body jerked forward, my palms slamming into the padded wall as I tried to brace myself against the force. My skin burned where he’d struck me, the sensation radiating outward in waves, and for a moment, I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think.

He’dspankedme!

“How dare you,” I managed to choke out, my voice quivering with rage, with embarrassment, with something else that I couldn’t quite name. My core spiraled tight and I tried to ignore the way my inner walls fluttered.

His hand clamped down on the back of my neck, firm and unyielding, his grip like iron, and I could feel the heat of him, the way his breath came faster, matching the erratic rhythm of my own.

Then he smacked my ass again. Just as hard as the first time. If not even harder.

I tried to push against the wall, but he held me in place, his grip like a vise, and I couldn’t get away. My legs trembled, the muscles in my thighs twitching as I fought against his brutal punishment, but it was no use. He just spanked me, every swat so hard and unyielding that I began to question if his hand was actually made of wood.

He spanked me again, the crack of it echoing in the small room, each swat sending a jolt of pain up my spine. It wasn’t playful, it wasn’t teasing—it was a punishment, raw and brutal, and I felt my face flush, hot tears springing to my eyes despite myself. I tried to twist away, tried to kick out, but it was like trying to fight a mountain. He barely even budged, his body holding me in place, and I hated how powerless I felt, how small and vulnerable.

It hurt so much.

“Stop it,” I yelled, but he didn’t respond. He just brought his hand down again, the impact stinging and relentless, and I gasped, my knees buckling. Heat scalded across my ass, burning and hot and I bit my lip, trying to quiet my cries, but it was growing increasingly difficult because the sting was building upon itself, more and more until it consumed my every thought.

“Fighting won’t change anything,” he growled, and there was something feral in his voice now, something rough around the edges that made my skin prickle. “You need to understand that.”

I squeezed my eyes shut, refusing to let him see the tears that blurred my vision.

His hand paddled my ass, and this time I couldn’t hold back the cry that tore from my throat, raw and broken. It wasn’t just pain—it was something deeper, something that reached into the darkest parts of me and dragged them into the light.

My legs trembled violently, and for a moment, I thought they might give out entirely. But still, he didn’t stop, his hand rising and falling with that same brutal, unyielding rhythm, until all I could do was survive, gasping, my skin burning with every strike, my heart pounding in my ears.

He smacked from the upper swells of my cheeks all the way down to the middles of my thighs, which stung more than all the rest. I closed my eyes, seeing the girls walking by me in the hallway with red handprints all over their asses, tears in their eyes, and imagined myself looking just like them.

My clit pulsed.

I tried to ignore it, but it kept throbbing harder with every hard smack.

I couldn’t be enjoying this.

Ishouldn’tbe enjoying this.

None of that changed the fact that there was a tiny piece of me that wanted him to spank me harder…

And he did. As if he knew exactly what I was thinking.

---