Page 34 of Beautiful Secrets
“Say it, little rabbit.”
I moan when a new—wholly different—sensation begins spreading through my body.
What the hell is happening to me?
It hurts like anything, but…
Slap.
“Okay!”
Slap.
“I—” I choke on the words, my body writhing against Cole’s strong legs. He uses the grip in my hair to wrench my head up.
His eyes dart over my face as he holds me mere inches from him. My heart feels like it’s going to pound its way out of my chest.
“Say it,” he murmurs, his lips barely moving.
I lick my lips again, try and swallow down the mass of conflicting emotions and sensations surging through me.
“I will be a good girl,” I whisper. When I blink, I set free a pair of tears. He watches them trail down my face, seemingly fascinated, and then his hand lands on my ass again.
But this time he doesn’t slap me.
He simply lays his hand on me and slowly starts rubbing my tortured flesh.
“See,” he murmurs, his eyes dropping to my mouth. “Look what happens when you put your mind to it.”
I don’t know what comes over me. Maybe his attack left me weak and defenseless.
Because I push against his hand instead of moving away from it. And the thrill of pain that courses through me is like nothing I’ve ever felt.
All I know is I want to keep feeling it.
I let out a choppy sigh, and my body finally relaxes. I drape over him, spent, as he caresses my bare ass with a large, warm hand.
Then he slaps me again. Jerks my pants up to my hips. And pushes me away so hard that I tumble onto the tiles.
Panic turns my body to stone, not knowing what to expect next…but he just steps over me without looking down.
He strides over to the door, yanks it open, and pauses with his head hanging low.
When he turns and looks back at me, my bones grow cold.
“Next time you run, I’ll use the belt,” he says, lifting up the strip of leather.
12
Mika
Iam perched on the edge of the same chaise lounge Cole tied me to last night. He’s lounging on a nearby sofa, scrolling through his phone, legs wide as they can go. His body is rigid—but not tense. He is not anxious—he is ready to move at a moment’s notice.
Occasionally, he will glance up, catch me looking at him, and smile like he knows exactly what I am thinking—and just how dirty those thoughts are.
So why the hell can’t I stop looking at him?
Because for some sick reason, I enjoyed his punishment.
