Page 32 of Bought
“Nocoat?” The word is quiet, but it reverberates through me like a warning bell.
“I left it in the house,” I say, already flushing. “I was rushing out.”
His voice is a steady, velvety tone, all control. “Rule number one. Put yourself first. How can you care for your strays if you don’t even keep yourself warm?”
“It’s just a coat,” I whisper, hating how small I sound.
It happens in a blink, so swift and unyielding that I lose my breath.
One moment I’m perched on the velvet edge of the sofa, trembling but steady, and the next I’m yanked across Lucian’s lap. My world flips upside down. His arm wraps around my waist, like wrought iron in a dress shirt, holding me so tightly there’s no point in trying to run.
I claw at the cushion, fingers sinking into the velvet as my cheek presses firmly against his thigh. I can feel his pressure—lean, relentless, merciless. His strength confines me, and the panic throbbing in my chest twists into something shameful.
Fiery hot desire.
The skirt of my dress rode up when he moved me. “You dared me after all,” he quips, tugging the tight, stretchy material up over my curves, baring me.
“Let’s see these pretty panties.” He strokes my bare cheeks, making me regret the tiny thong I wear. “So fucking sexy. Did you wear these for me? Did you know how much I’d like them?”
“Maybe?” Humiliation burns hotter than fire, accompanied by something sharper.
Cool air brushes against the backs of my thighs, then his hand, caressing. I gasp, the sound constricted and wrong, too desperate to be mine. His other hand presses flat against my lower back, and to my horror, I arch into it.
I am never this weak.
Only for him.
The room narrows until only his body is beneath me and the promise of what he’s about to do.
I should be trying to escape, but instead, I press even harder against him.
“You’re not even going to fight?” he murmurs, his words a velvet razor against my ear.
The comment makes me even weaker. I want to retort, to say something sharp and clever, but all that leaves my throat is a strangled whimper, too raw for defiance.
I’m terrified. I’m hungry. And I’m ashamed of both.
I should hate him for this. Instead, I fall headfirst into the dark, sweet current that’s pulling me under. I’ve already surrendered to him before his hand even lands.
The first spank is sharp, deliberate. My body jolts, a gasp slipping free before I can bite it back. Pain radiates, but underneath it, there’s a pulse of heat that has me moaning.
He caresses the sting, slow and soothing, before lifting again. The second strike is harder, and the contrast makes my skin prickle. I choke on the moan.
His words are low, gravel over silk. “Mine. Every moan belongs to me.” Another swat, firmer, and I can’t stop the whimper that escapes.
He strokes my bottom again, warm palm lingering, massaging over the tender heat he’s building. “Good girl,” he says, and the words sink into me deeper than the sting.
I’m stunned by how intense the praise makes me ache. My pride warns me that this is wrong, but every part of me yearns for him. “You take it so well,” he says with his hand trailing over my skin. “Obedient and beautiful.”
“Say it.” His hand tightens at my waist. “Tell me you’re worth taking care of.”
"Lucian..." I whimper. “I can’t.” Another smack lands, sharp and punishing, and I cry out. My resistance crumbles, and my voice breaks as I gasp out the words, “I’m worth it!”
“That’s right. You are.” His hand caresses my bottom again, slow, possessive, as though he’s sculpting me into submission.
“Yes,” I breathe, broken and trembling.
Tears burn hot and bright in the corners of my eyes, but it’s not from the spanking or the pain. I’ve carried the burden of worrying about those I love for a long time.
