Page 9 of Joined By Magic

He shook his head. “Do you think you’re safe because I don’t have my cane? I have a belt, and we have three days ahead of us sitting on a train. You’re going to feel every bump.”

Good point. Fear tangled with a rush of heat at the prospect.

I pushed my jeans and underwear down in a hurry and kicked them onto the untidy pile at my feet. The little biting insects surged toward my naked body, but the prince waved a hand and his power burned them up. The warmth of it brushed over my skin, and I shivered. Another flick of his wrist produced a glowing shield that covered us and the tree at my back.

“You’re in a disobedient mood, aren’t you?” His gaze trailed over me. “Present yourself for punishment. Don’t make me tell you twice.”

I didn’t. Turning my back to the prince, I bent at the waist and rested my hands against the smooth bark of the tree. A snap of magic locked them in place as nervous anticipation jittered through me. My body already tensed, anticipating the pain. Part of me craved it, but I had my limits, and he did love to push them.

Amusement shadowed his voice as he said, “Count backward from fifty by threes. Any mistake earns you two extra stripes.”

Damn it. I bit back a complaint and tried to ready myself for the task. This was a new, unwelcome trick of his. He’d worked out that I could slide into pain and lose myself in it, let it soften my thoughts. During playtime, he allowed it. But for punishments, he’d started finding ways to keep me present, aware, and feeling every moment.

The soft noise of the prince’s belt sliding free rang out, loud in the silence of our shield bubble. He prolonged the tension, made me wait as my mouth went dry and I shifted from foot to foot. A faint swoosh was my only warning, then the belt landed hard. The pain lanced across me, a brutal smack leaving heat in its wake. I took a breath and started to count.

“Fifty.”

“Forty-seven.”

“Forty-four.”

“Forty-one.”

The strikes layered together, and my eyes watered as my skin became an inferno, each bruising lash adding to the fire. My thoughts tried to melt away, but I couldn’t let them. I kept my mind present, struggling to work out the numbers as the belt fell with merciless speed.

“Thirty. Wait, no—twenty-nine.”

“What’s the matter? A mind as sharp as yours and you can’t manage a simple mathematics exercise?” His voice was soft now, alive with sadistic pleasure that resonated through me, setting off a deep ache at my center. His hand slid over the hot, sore skin of my ass, down to the place where it joined my thighs.

“This spot right here is the most painful place to bruise when you have to sit down for long stretches. Your two extra strikes are going here”—he lashed out, painting a line of fire on the sensitive spot that made me suck in a breath—“and here.” He repeated the process on the other side, and I bit back a yelp. “Try not to fuck up again.”

He resumed the punishment, and my mind swam as I tried to focus on the numbers rather than the searing heat left by his belt. Two more mistakes, and I whimpered as he layered more strikes in the same painful spot. By the time I reached zero, my legs shook, and my ass and thighs burned so brightly I couldn’t imagine sitting ever again. I breathed hard as he approached and rubbed his hand over my sore skin.

“Did that take care of your little spark of defiance, or should I start again at fifty?”

“No!” True fear spiked through me at the thought. The prince didn’t make idle threats. “Please, Your Highness. Don’t.”

The binds at my wrists disappeared, and he spun me around to face him. “Place your back against the tree. Raise your hands.”

This time, I scrambled to obey him, and a satisfied look settled on his features as he bound my wrists to the trunk once more, stretched over my head.

“That’s better. Who owns you?”

“You do, Your Highness.”

“And what are you?”

I swallowed, and for one single second contemplated a smart-ass remark. But the deep, throbbing pain in my ass and thighs forced the correct words out, even though I cringed at saying them. “Your little slut, Your Highness.”

“That’s right.”

He stepped closer and cupped the side of my face, pushing my lips apart with his thumb. I opened my mouth, tasted the salt of his skin. My breath came quicker as the small possessive gesture set my nerves alight. His free hand slid between my legs, clever fingers tracing teasing circles around my clit until I could hardly bear the light sensation. I pressed myself into his hand, needing more.

He plunged two fingers into my throbbing pussy. “Soaking wet for me. Your body knows its master, doesn’t it?”

I nodded, writhing against him. He pressed his thumb into the inside of my cheek, pinching hard, and twisted his hand up further. “Say ‘Yes, Your Highness.’”

“Yes, Your Highness,” I mumbled.

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