Page 22 of The Sadist and the Brat

Her cheeks were even more flushed now, and the loss of the spreader bar had her wobbling. He wrapped one arm around her waist to hold her steady, then flicked open the quick release hooks on her wrist cuffs and drew her arms carefully down.

She swayed and reached out with one hand to grab the collar of his shirt. “Whoa.”

He cupped her cheek, tilting her face up so he could see her eyes. “Talk to me, Sadie.”

She blinked up at him. “That hurt, you sadist.”

“You’re welcome,” he told her, and laughed when her eyes lit. He scooped her up, ignoring the way she went stiff with surprise, and carried her a few feet away. He lowered her to a seated position on the floor, bracing her back against his bent knee, then picked the blanket up off the top of his toy bag and draped it around her shoulders. When she grabbed the ends, he picked up the water bottle, unscrewed the top, and handed it to her.

She snorted. “See? Bottle of water and a blanket.”

“Smart ass,” he chided, and tapped the bottle. “Drink.”

“Bossy,” she shot back, and tipped the bottle to her lips.

“Hold the water in your mouth for a second before swallowing,” he instructed. “It’ll help your tongue feel better.”

She obeyed, her eyes sparkling at him. “You put a unicorn hair clip on my tongue.”

He smiled at the accusation. “I did.”

“It was pink. And sparkly.”

He didn’t bother to hide his delight. “It was.”

She ran her tongue around her teeth. “I have glitter in my mouth.”

“Well, what do you expect from dollar-store hair clips?” he asked, and tsked with exaggerated disapproval when she stuck her tongue out at him. “That’s not the kind of behavior that gets rewarded with chocolate.”

“I was just showing you,” she said, her eyes going innocently wide.

“Uh-huh.” He picked up the baggie and offered it. “Is that the story you want to stick with?”

She worked an arm free of the blanket and reached into the bag, digging out a few almonds. “Yes.”

He looked her over while she munched the snack, searching for signs of a post-scene crash. Her color was good, her eyes bright, and she was having no trouble holding the water or feeding herself—or plotting revenge for the hair clip, if the look in her eye was anything to go by.

He’d expect nothing less.

He scanned the rest of her. The blanket had slipped down on one side, baring her breast and the candle wax that still decorated the smooth slope almost to the nipple. “Looks like I missed something,” he remarked mildly, and reached out to peel it away. The marks left behind were bright pink against her pale skin, and he traced them with one finger, noting the increase in warmth where the wax had been. “Does it hurt?”

“No.”

Her voice was tight and strained, and he lifted his gaze to her face. She’d gone still, the almond she’d been bringing to her lips forgotten in her hand, and her eyes were heavy. He shifted to cup her breast, holding the weight in his palm, and stroked his thumb over the largest of the marks. “You sure?”

“Do you want it to hurt?”

“Little bit, yeah.”

“Maybe it stings a little,” she admitted in a voice gone raspy with arousal.

He stroked his thumb over the mark again, slowly, just to watch her eyes darken. Then he forced himself to pull away and reached for his bag. “I’ve got a burn gel that should help.”

“I have some in my aftercare kit.”

“You didn’t bring it,” he reminded her, and held up the tube. “May I?”

“Um. Sure.”

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