Page 78 of Purchased

Armand looks at Mr. Volkov with an expression I know means violence.

“Why would you say that?”

“We had a session, which she did not attend. I told her that it is rude not to let someone know if you’re not coming.”

“It is rude,” Armand says. “If you’re going to make me retain this man, you should attend the sessions you make with him.”

“Okay. Maybe. But you have to remember that I don’t care.”

He smirks, but shakes his head. “No, Beatrix. You’ve been rude to our esteemed guest, and you will have to pay the price.”

“What…”

Armand sits down in the chair I was sitting in, and pulls me over his lap, tipping me over his thighs like it’s nothing. It all happens so quickly I don’t really get a chance to respond before he smacks my ass.

“Ow!”

He spanks me again, hard enough to make me yelp for real.

“Is this what you need, Mr. Volkov? A demonstration of discipline? Some evidence that I do not let my mate run entirely wild? Do you want to see her bare bottom spanked?”

He flips my skirt up and smacks me over my panties. I curse and earn myself another slap as a result. Spankings don’t really hurt, not the way actual violence hurts. But they sting in a way it doesn’t. It’s like he’s whipping my pride, not my ass.

“This isn’t necessary,” Mr. Volkov says.

“Isn’t it? You’ve been insisting that I’m not sufficiently in control of my mate, and this pack, but here I am, showing complete command.”

He’s making a point, and he’s using my butt to do it.

I should be angry, and I am, but this is also an opportunity to fuck with Mr. Volkov, and I want to take that. Armand’s hand peppers my ass with a series of harsh slaps that make me tingle with arousal.

“Does she look under control now?”

“She looks like she likes being treated this way. And you like treating her this way. This isn’t discipline. It’s foreplay. This is more evidence that the two of you are unsuited to the situation in which you find yourselves. If you were, you’d not resort to these antics, talking about weddings when you should be…”

“Oh, that’s right, we’re getting married, just as soon as she accepts my proposal.”

Mr. Volkov makes a noise under his breath, turns, and walks away just in time to save my ass from getting really sore. The moment he’s gone, Armand stops spanking me and just starts rubbing instead.

“We are fucking with him a lot.”

“We are,” Armand agrees, rubbing my ass.

“It’s nice to share a hobby.”

Armand grins, and in that moment we feel completely on the same page. “He called us murder brats once.”

I snort. “Well, that doesn’t fit.”

“You hardly murder anyone, and I’m never a brat.”

“You are…” he laughs. “You are such a brat, Beatrix.”

“I am not! Brats are spoiled and they get their own way, and they push limits even when the limits are clear. I just do what I want when I need to do it and I have never been spoiled in my life.”

“I regret to inform you,” Armand smiles. “I have already spoiled you terribly, and as for the rest of it, you’re describing a brat.”

“I was raised in an orphanage, so I’m not a brat. You were raised in this house. You’re the brat,Maître.” I grin, teasing him, knowing it’s a bit of a sore spot, but wanting to play with it anyway because he called me the name first.

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