Page 16 of Stripping Little Seraphina
“You wouldn't dare.”
I took the bait. “Stand up,” I ordered.
Her eyes widened, but she obeyed.
“Strip your bottoms. Now.”
Her hands shook, but she pushed her jeans and panties down, leaving herself bare from the waist down. Vulnerable. Blushing furiously.
I guided her over my lap, settling her against my thighs, one hand firm on her lower back. Her brown hair sweeping the floor. “You’re being punished, Sera. For your tone, your sass, and your disrespect earlier. You’ll take your spanking, and then no sweets for two days. Do you understand?”
“Two days!”
I massaged the roundest part of her ass, warming the skin. Her skin was soft, almost buttery smooth. Ripe. Bouncing nicely under my fingers. I felt the darkest parts of me awaken, rushing to the surface. This was dangerous.
“Two glorious days,” I murmured, distracted by her sweet scent. Vanilla maybe. I could only hope that she tasted as good. And if I had my way, I was definitely going to taste her. Not now, but it was going to happen.
Her voice was muffled in the crook of her arm. “Yes, Mistress.”
The first swat landed, sharp and echoing in the quiet room. She jerked, but I held her steady. Again. Slow, deliberate, until her skin warmed under my palm. I continued, letting her softness push back on my palm, taunting my resolve.
Her sass gave way to whimpers, then to soft, broken sobs. I kept going until the tears came freely, her body trembling, her voice cracking. I kept to the rhythm of her breathing. Using her body against her, letting it guide me to give her exactly what she needed. Then I pushed her a little more and she fell apart, shattered into a million pieces. And I caught every one of them.
When I finally stopped, I gathered her into my arms, pulling her into a sitting position on my lap, holding her close. She curled against me like a child, face wet against my shirt.
“Shh,” I soothed, stroking her hair. “It’s okay. Let it out. I’ve got you.” I pulled the knitted throw from the back of the couch and covered her with it. I massaged heat into her arms and legs, until she relaxed into me.
Her breathing slowed little by little, her tears easing into quiet sniffles. She clung to me, and I let her, rocking slightly until her body softened completely in my arms.
“You’re mine to care for,” I whispered against her hair. “Not just to correct. Do you understand that?”
She nodded, still pressed close, her whisper small but certain. “Yes, Mistress.”
“Mmm…”
And just like that, the tension between us shifted. The walls she’d built cracked, leaving room for something real to grow.
Chapter Seven
Vasiah
After the spanking, I held Sera until her tears dried and her breathing evened. But unlike last night, she couldn’t crawl into bed and shut the world out. She had to get to work. I made sure she ate lunch—real food, not just something quick—then sent her off with water and the reminder that I expected her totext me when she arrived safely.
The quiet of her suite stretched around me once she left. I glanced at the clock, I needed to get my bags still sitting in Ezra’s guest room. If I was going to make good on my promise, I needed to move in properly. By the time she came back, I wanted there to be no doubt—I was staying.
The guest room was easy enough to claim, but what stopped me cold was the kitchen. Bare cupboards. A fridge that looked more like a college dorm than a grown woman’s space. A few condiments, half a carton of orange juice, takeout containers stacked in the recycling bin.
My lips pressed into a line. No wonder she was fidgety, tired, and easily irritable. Her body was running on sugar and scraps.
That wouldn’t do. Not anymore.
I pulled out my phone, ordered groceries—fresh produce, proteins, pantry staples—and had them delivered within the hour. Then I rolled up my sleeves, tied her one cartoon apron around my waist, and set to work. By the time she walked back in that evening, the suite smelled like roasted chicken, garlic potatoes, and buttered green beans.
She froze in the doorway, her nose twitching, eyes widening. “You… cooked?”
I turned from the stove, smiling faintly. “I don’t just scold and spank, little one. Sit. Wash your hands first.”
She obeyed, sliding into her seat at the table, though I noticed the restless way her fingers tapped against the surface, her knee bouncing under the table, and the way she shifted in her seat.
