Page 35 of Stripped

He picked her up, and before she knew what was happening, he had her turned over his knee as he sat on the large bed. He lifted the hem of her skimpy dress and began to spank her bottom, the lace thong she wore offering no protection. She tried hitting him back, but he grabbed both her wrists and held them against her back in one of his large hands, pinning her in place. Her breath caught in her throat for a brief second as the initial thrill of being at his mercy kindled something in her core and damped the secret place between her legs.

"This is for going to a bar and accepting a drink from a stranger, for thinking this was an acceptable dress to wear out, for letting that man touch you, for all your foul language, and most of all, for not following my directions," he said, his tone business-like.

She struggled as his hand came down relentlessly, the flesh on her rear end burning in fiery rage. Her desire diminished, replaced by indignation. How dare he.

"Let go of me, you fucking bastard," she managed to say. The intensity of his swats increased, forging a red-hot trail along her skin. A lump formed in her throat and tears in her eyes, yet she refused to cry in front of him. He continued with his torment, his hand wielding its punishment, over and over. It wasn't the pain that bothered her; she could handle that. No, it was the feelings it was eliciting. At first erotic, it quickly turned punitive, and now it bordered on complete loss of control. He was forcing her to relinquish everything to him, and it made her feel exposed. She cried out. And as abruptly as he started, he stopped and stood her up.

She glared at him. "Don't you ever fucking touch me again," she said as she raised her hand to hit him. He caught her wrist. Her jaw dropped open, and she took a step back, surprised at what she was about to do. At first, she thought he might spank her again, but instead, he sat her on his lap and began to rub her back, his sudden change in demeanor and gentleness overwhelming and the catalyst to her breaking point. She crumpled into him, crying.

"Let it out, Primrose," he said softly. "You don't always have to be so strong."

She cried until there were no more tears left, for her grief, for everything horrible she had learned about her grandfather, for Natasha and her son, and all the while, Wraith held her and offered her the comfort no one else had ever offered in her life.

"Shh, that's my girl," he whispered. "I've got you."

She wiped her face on her arm. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to break down."

"You needed to. You can't keep everything bottled up. You're safe with me."

* * *

Christ. What had he just done? He could not become emotionally involved with her. The fact they slept together the other night was bad enough. But this. This crossed a line. What he just did was intimate and personal; it required trust. Damn it. He was developing feelings, where feelings couldn't be. Not with The Watch. He should have driven off when he had the chance, but instead, he'd followed her to Possilpark and then to the club. Whatever was going on in her head, she was acting recklessly. He saw red when that stranger put his hands on her.

"Who did this?" she asked after a moment, her hand still gripping the front of his shirt.

"I don't know, not yet, but I need to get you out of here."

"We need to call the police."

"No," he said. "No police. I'll have my people come and secure it. They can do the crime scene analysis."

She sat up, looking at him. "Your people? I thought you were a private investigator. Now you have people?"

"I am an investigator and, yes, I have people who help me." He slid her off his lap and stood up, texting a message into his phone. "Change your clothes and pack a small bag."

"We can go to my grandfather's house or your place."

Wraith shook his head, taking pictures of the vandalism. "No, I need to get you out of the city. Whoever did this will know where your grandfather's place is, and I'm sure mine by now."

"I can't just leave the city. I have ballet. I have rehearsal tomorrow. I perform on Saturday night."

"Primrose, this isn't up for discussion." He threw her a pair of sweatpants and a sweater. "Change."

A shadow crossed her eyes. Fear maybe, or resolve, either way, she let the ridiculously small dress slip from her shoulders and land in a puddle around her ankles, standing only in her black lacy panties.

Wraith swallowed, and his cock hardened. Fuck. He was doomed. He took a deep breath. "Pack a bag," he said, leaving to finish taking photos of the damage to send to Gabriel.

She came out a few minutes later, dressed in sweatpants, a wrap-around sweater, scarf and the soft botties she usually wore to ballet, carrying an overnight bag. "I'm going to Uber to my grandfather's or I'll get a hotel room, but I'm not leaving the city," she said boldly.

He frowned. God, she was stubborn. She didn't even have the sense to be scared of him. In fact, he was sure it probably excited her. She lived her life on the edge, constantly seeking out danger, but in her case, he thought it might be stemming more from guilt or self-punishment. "You'll come with me and do as you're told. I thought we already settled that."

"I'm not leaving. I can't," she said, her voice rising. "And let's be clear, whatever you thought happened back there, you're not in charge of me." Her face turned a deep red.

He took her bag from her and grabbed her hand. "You're coming with me."

"I'm not. You'll have to kidnap me."

"Fine, if that's what you want, Primrose," he said, whipping out a pair of handcuffs from his pocket. He brought her wrists behind her and clicked them shut.

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