Page 31 of Surrender Your Grace
“I am the viscountess,” she snapped. “Have I no rights?”
“You have the rights I allow,” Andrew murmured, trailing his palm over her now bare bottom and thighs. “And you’re forgetting something, sweeting—I shall always outrank you.”
“You should treat me with dignity, not toss me about like a sack of Yorkshire potatoes!”
“I’d never mistake you for potatoes,” he said. “They don’t argue—or sass.”
She huffed, then flinched as his hand struck again, a sharp crack echoing through the trees.
“This is beyond the pale!”
“True,” he agreed, maddeningly calm. “Your lovely backside is pale no longer—it’s the prettiest shade of pink.”
A flurry of stinging spanks followed. Cici kicked reflexively, her boot heel catching his shin.
Andrew grunted, startled. “You little imp! Are you assaulting your husband mid-spanking?”
“I’m making tactical demands,” she retorted. “Release me at once, or I’ll shout so loud the entire village will hear and know I’m being assaulted.”
He adjusted her to keep her firmly pinned. “Go ahead and shout if you’d like an audience. Just remember, come Sunday, seated in the family pew, everyone will know you have a beauty mark on your delightfully curvy arse.”
She glanced back, scowling. “You’re a beast!”
“Perhaps,” he replied, unfazed, “but are you brave enough to test me?”
“Are you,my lord?” she challenged. “After all, you must sleep sometime.”
Andrew froze, her threat hanging heavy between them, especially with the addition of his title. It gave her the opening she needed.
With a quick twist, Cici slipped free, her skirt falling around her as she retreated. “You should see your face,your lordship,” she dared to tease, unable to contain her amusement.
He stared, speechless, then lunged—but she was already retreating.
“Oh no,” she sang out, backing away. “If you want to spank this delightfully curvy arse, you’ll have to catch it!”
Whirling, Cici darted between the trees like a fox loosed from a trap, petticoats and skirt fluttering wildly with every step.
Behind her, Andrew let loose a string of expletives. She glanced back, a grin spreading across her face at the poetic justice of him tripping over the very stump he’d propped his foot on. It only briefly slowed him.
“Get back here, Wife!” he called, taking off after her. “You can’t run off mid-spank!”
“Oh, but I can, Husband! Because I just did,” she shouted, her laughter trailing through the trees.
Coincidentally, she also tripped over a root, but it propelled her forward. With her skirts bunched above her knees, tall weeds stung her bare legs. Improper didn’t begin to describe her behavior, which only made it more delicious.
He was gaining on her, his long strides eating the distance. “You little minx!” he shouted, laughing. “What will they say if we’re caught like this?”
“That you married brilliantly!” she hollered back before disappearing behind a thicket.
He rounded it moments later—and froze. She stood there breathless, hair wild, leaning against a tree.
“I’ve reconsidered,” she said sweetly as she plucked a twig from her hair. “I’ll let you catch me, but no more spanking.”
“That’s not how this works,” he growled, feinting left before circling right to catch her around the waist.
She spun into him, her palms flat against his chest. “Oh, no?” she asked, breathless from more than exertion.
His hands trailed up her back then down, thumbs grazing boldly. “No,” he murmured. “This chase ends with surrender.”
