Page 52 of Taming Seraphine

Did he really expect me to hand over the last of my weapons?

I roll my hips, my mind replaying those gentle caresses in between the stinging slaps. No one has ever touched me in a way that didn’t make my skin crawl, let alone deliver such pleasure. They usually just stick their fingers where they’re not wanted, but Leroi teased me to a fever pitch and left me here to simmer.

Sweat breaks out across my skin. I’ve been trying to work myself up to an orgasm and all I’m getting is frustration. He could have at least left me with my hands tied around my front.

“Bastard,” I sob, envisioning the pretty patterns I’ll carve into his skin.

The door swings open, and I freeze.

“Who’s a bastard?” asks a deep voice that makes my spine tingle and my clit pulse.

I turn my head, finding Leroi standing in the doorway, still dressed in black. He tilts his head, his gaze assessing.

“You left me here to suffer.” I twist my body to the side.

He closes the distance, and heat blooms across my cheeks. How long was he standing behind the door, listening to me trying—and failing—to get some pleasure?

Before I can say anything else, he takes my shoulder and turns me onto my back. The new position stretches my arms underneath me and my back arches, displaying my tightened pert nipples. Leroi quirks a brow, “I left you here to learn a lesson, and it seems like you haven’t.”

“I’m sorry,” I whisper.

He raises his brows. “For?”

“I lied about hiding weapons.” My throat dries, and I swallow hard. “And for disobeying when you told me to stay in my room.”

“Is that all?” he asks, still stern.

“And for calling you a bastard,” I murmur.

He draws back. “Turn around.”

My heart beats so hard its vibrations reach my core. I roll onto my front, all the while trying to keep eye contact. Maybe if I’m convincing enough, he’ll accept my apology and finish what he started.

He crouches by the bed, but instead of reaching for my ass, he slides his fingers through my hair. His touch is gentle, soothing, and warmer than expected, considering I’m being punished. My lips part with a gasp. What is he doing?

Just as I’m about to ask, he trails his fingers down my back, setting my skin alight. I exhale a breathy sigh, my core clenching in anticipation. As he reaches the base of my spine, my legs part, a silent invitation for him to rub circles around my clit.

“Still wet?” he asks, his voice hoarse.

“Yes, sir.”

I meet his eyes, and they’re even darker than before. My gaze trails down his muscular body and settles on the bulge straining against his pants. He’s hard for me, and that gives me courage to speak.

“Please, touch me,” I say.

“What makes you think you deserve a reward?” he asks.

The words dry up in my throat.

“I’m going to ask you once, and I want you to tell me the truth. Have you hidden any more weapons?”

“Yes,” I confess before I can stop myself.

Without another word, he unfastens the buckles of my wrist binder, eases one arm out of the leather shackle, and massages around my shoulder. I melt into his touch. I hadn’t realized the strain I was under until he released the restraints. Next, he frees the other arm and repeats the soothing ministration on my tight muscles.

But there’s one more muscle that’s still in need of his attention.

As he helps me up to sitting, I press my chest against his and whisper, “I’m sorry. Please, sir. Touch me.”

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