Page 46 of Yours

“Three,” I choked out, my voice cracking.

The sting was far harsher than I expected, but it was the softness of his hand afterward that unraveled me—the way his fingers traced the edge of where the heat lingered, his touch more intimate than punishing.

“You’re doing so well,” he said quietly, his voice like a balm against the harshness of his actions.

“Is this really necessary?” I snapped, my defiance sparking back to life even as my cheeks burned.

“Very,” he said simply, his hand trailing lightly over my back before delivering another, much stingier swat.

“Four,” I bit out, though the anger in my voice was quickly giving way to unwanted desire.

The final swat landed with deliberate precision, harsh enough to draw a gasp from my lips, but softened almost instantly by the warmth of his hand brushing over the sting.

“Five,” I whispered, my voice trembling.

And then, it was over.

The silence that followed was thick, charged with an energy I couldn’t explain. His hand lingered on my back, steady and grounding, and for a moment, neither of us spoke. My chest heaved with the effort of keeping my emotions in check, my fingers gripping the table like it was the only thing keeping me standing.

“Look at me, Kiera,” he said finally, his voice gentle.

I hesitated, my cheeks flaming as I pushed myself upright, my legs trembling slightly. His dark eyes locked onto mine, and the intensity in his gaze made my breath catch.

“Good girl,” he murmured again, his lips curving into a faint smile.

I hated how much the words affected me, hated the way they settled into my chest and left me feeling raw and exposed. But more than that, I hated the way I couldn’t bring myself to look away.

“Was that so terrible?” he asked.

“Yes,” I muttered, though the word lacked any real bite.

He chuckled softly, stepping closer until there was almost no space between us. His hand reached up, brushing a strand of hair from my face, and I felt the breath hitch in my chest all over again.

“Lift your dress, Kiera,” he said quietly, his tone calm, but leaving no room for argument.

My heart slammed against my ribs, my fingers curling into fists at my sides as the command sank in.

“What?” I whispered, the word trembling on my lips.

“You heard me,” he said, his dark eyes never leaving mine. “Lift your dress.”

I blinked up at him, my mind racing as a dozen thoughts collided at once. My pulse was hammering in my ears, my skin burning under his steady gaze.

“You can’t be serious,” I said finally, though my voice wavered enough to betray me.

He tilted his head slightly. “Do I look like I’m joking, love?”

My hands trembled at my sides, my mind spinning as I hesitated. Every nerve in my body was screaming at me to push back, to walk away, to say no. But the look in his eyes—the quiet certainty, the unshakable control—left me frozen in place.

Slowly, reluctantly, my fingers brushed the fabric of my skirt. The material was soft, the faint rustle loud in the heavy silence of the room as I gathered the hem in shaky hands.

I lifted it just enough to expose the tops of my thighs, the cool air brushing my skin sending a shiver racing down my spine. My cheeks burned hotter, the flush spreading across my chest as I forced myself to meet his gaze.

“Higher,” Ronan said softly.

My grip tightened on the fabric as I lifted it a few more inches. The vulnerability of the moment was almost unbearable, every inch of exposed skin feeling like a spotlight under his unrelenting gaze. My cheeks flamed red hot the second I lifted the skirt enough to bare my pussy. His gaze glanced down, and he stared for a long moment before he said anything at all.

“That’s a good girl,” he murmured, the faintest smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Now bend back over the table. It’s time for me to finish what I started.”

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