Page 15 of Yours

“No. you’re not,” he said simply, his hands steady on the wheel as he navigated the streets with unnerving ease. “But you still deserve it.”

My stomach did a flip. “I—what?”

His lips quirked, just slightly, but his gaze stayed on the road. “You heard me. You deserve ahardspanking, Kiera. Picking a fight with Marco Benedetti. Dragging Leena into it. Calling me to clean up your mess. And now, for wasting my time being difficult. And that doesn’t even include the fact that I want to, or that you need it.”

“I wasn’t—” I started, but he cut me off with a cool glance, one that silenced me before I could finish.

“Yes,” he said firmly. “You were. And now you’re going to deal with the consequences.”

My breath hitched, and I turned back toward the window, heat prickling the back of my neck. I wanted to argue, to tell him he was being ridiculous, but I couldn’t find the words. Because deep down, some small, annoying part of me knew he wasn’t wrong.

That I did deserve it.

Still, I couldn’t just sit there in silence.

“You can’t… you can’t just do that,” I said finally, my voice wobbling. “You can’t just… hit me.”

“I won’t hit you,” he said evenly, his tone annoyingly calm. “I’m going tospankyou. There’s a difference.”

I turned toward him, my face burning. “That’s semantics!”

His lips twitched, and this time I knew it was deliberate—a faint ghost of amusement that only made my embarrassment worse.

“Call it whatever you like,little girl,” he said, his tone still maddeningly steady. “It’s going to hurt. But you’re going to think twice before pulling this kind of stunt again.”

I stared at him, my heart racing, my thoughts tangling in a thousand knots. How was he so calm about this? So sure?

I’d never been spanked in my life.

Sure, I’d gotten into my fair share of trouble for my smart mouth, but my parents had only ever sent me to my room and grounded me. A few times they’d threatened a spanking when I’d misbehaved, but my father had certainly never followed through.

I had a feeling that wasn’t going to be a problem for a man like Ronan.

“And if I say no?” I asked, though even I could hear the lack of conviction in my voice.

His eyes flicked to me again, dark and unrelenting. “You don’t get to tell me no.”

I opened my mouth to argue, but no sound came out.

My cheeks burned as I turned back to the window, my breath coming short and shallow. I tried to focus on the city lights, the blur of yellow cabs and glowing billboards, but none of it could distract me from his words repeating over and over in my head.

It’s going to hurt.

I couldn’t stop thinking about his hand on my arm, the loud piercing crack of his palm against my backside outside my building, and the stinging heat it had left behind.

I shifted in my seat, my pulse hammering in my ears as the car turned onto a quieter street. I didn’t know where he was taking me, but the thought of what was coming made every nerve in my body hum with a strange, overwhelming energy—fear, anger, anticipation, all tangled together.

“Relax,” Ronan said suddenly, his voice low and smooth.

I glanced at him, startled. “What?”

He didn’t look at me, his attention still fixed on the road.

“Relax,” he repeated, his tone lighter now, almost teasing. “You’ll survive.”

The faintest hint of a smile curved his lips, and my stomach flipped again.

This wasn’t fair. None of this was fair.

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