Page 81 of The Duke's Pet

“Bend over.” He pushed her over the table quite roughly.

Her palms slapped down on it. Then she gasped as he pressed her flat, dragging up her dress at the same time to expose her ass.

“Please, no...” She shook from the center of her belly to her fingers and toes. “I’ll make it up to you.”

“You can’t. The book is gone.”

“But... please, not another spanking, my ass is...”

“Is still marked, yes, a testament to just how disobedient you are. And cry out all you want, I don’t care if Mrs. Cook or James hear you. I’m sure they’d agree you more than deserve this, Jemima.”

“Oh, please.” She tried to reach around her backside and protect her buttocks.

He caught both of her wrists in just one of his hands and pinned them to the small of her back.

“Don’t make this harder than it’s already going to be.”

“I’m sorry. Really. I’m so sorry.” She wriggled but it was no good, she was trapped tightly in place.

“Is it correct to burn books?”

“No, Sir.”

A searing smack landed on her right buttock. It was like nettles stinging her there. “Ouch!” She jerked forward but could go nowhere.

What the hell is he spanking me with?

She twisted to see, and spotted—as it was flying down to make contact with her left buttock—the hairbrush he’d used so tenderly the day before.

“Ow!” she cried out, arching her back and straining against his hold.

“Yes, it hurts. It’s supposed to.”

He had her ensnared, her poor bottom offered up and at his mercy. She was no match to his strength. But even so she wriggled and squirmed as slap after slap of the brush landed on her ass.

Tears pricked her eyes the way the brush spiked her skin. She was so hot, as if coals were lit beneath her.

She adored the duke but this...it was like having the rug pulled from under her.

She felt safe with him but...

“And do not damn me for this,” he said, pausing and breathing heavily. “This is for your own good. How can you expect to be a lady when you’ll willfully throw books on a fire?”

“I don’t know, Sir.” He was right, of course. It wasn’t something she should have done. She was a fool to walk down the stairs thinking she could ever be the lady of the house and belong at Hillcrest. Look how quickly she had failed today, her breakfast barely eaten.

She was a disgrace.

He picked up the pace again, slapping her hard with the mean brush and thoroughly spanking her bottom. Her flesh would be scarlet, she was sure of it. Tears ran freely down her cheeks—tears of shame and remorse. She hated that she’d burned a book that had belonged to his father. It was irreplaceable. And she hated that she’d done it in a nasty twist of her own frustration.

“Oh, please,” she sobbed. “No more.”

“I’ve barely started.”

“Ohh...” She didn’t know how much more she could take.

He slapped the tops of her thighs.

She danced on her toes, the new heated shockwaves of sharp sting traveling to the backs of her knees.

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