Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 121723 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 609(@200wpm)___ 487(@250wpm)___ 406(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121723 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 609(@200wpm)___ 487(@250wpm)___ 406(@300wpm)
He inhaled sharply. Had the sight of me sparked unexpected pleasure? It may have been the sexiest thing I’d ever heard.
His fingertips trailed over the lace. Was he tracing the patterns? No. His fingers slipped under the edge and tugged—
“Oh, my God,” I whispered.
The word was sharp and corrective. “Quiet.”
It meant I had to hold my breath as he eased the sides of my panties inward, wedging them uncomfortably between my cheeks like a thong and exposing more of my skin to him.
Every inch of me was now combustible. I was going to burst into flames, which would consume him, his antique couch, and likely raze the entire mansion. That was how much heat he was generating. Beneath his strict grasp, I clenched my fists and dug my fingernails into my palms.
I’d never been spanked before. Not by my family, and certainly not by a lover.
Macalister fell into neither of those categories currently, but that wasn’t surprising. He wasn’t a man who could be labeled or categorized. He was unique. An enigma.
The first smack of his hand against my backside physically felt like nothing. It made a staccato slap of skin striking skin, but it sounded far worse than it was. There was no discomfort or much of a sensation, really, yet my body’s desire to respond was enormous. I’d wanted it to hurt, to burn, to take my breath away.
He spanked me a second time, this one on the other side, but he maintained the same level of energy, so the blow fell harmlessly, and disappointingly, across my skin. I craved more. It was like an itch I couldn’t quite reach. Scratching the skin close to it gave some satisfaction but didn’t do the job.
I wiggled under his grip, my hipbones grinding against his thighs, and he hissed, “Stay still.”
The first pair of spankings he’d given me were a test, which I’d passed, because his second set were quick, hard, and no fucking joke. My eyes went wide at the sting that lingered like a band of heat across my bottom, and then I hazed as he pressed his palm against my enflamed skin, massaging in a slow circle.
My head spun with how turned on his touch made me. Pleasure simmered inside my center, building with each circuit of his hand smoothing over my skin. And he wasn’t immune to the effects of delivering this spanking either. There was a bulge thickening beneath the fly of his suit pants, impressively firm against my belly.
He’d told me to be quiet, but it was beyond my control, and the words came from me like a long, soft sigh. “This doesn’t feel like punishment.”
He said it as a challenge. “It doesn’t?”
Before I could process the question, he struck me so hard, my cheek reverberated with the impact and I inhaled sharply through clenched teeth. Okay, that one was legit, and I—
“Fuck,” I groaned, my eyes fluttering closed.
Macalister’s fingers pressed against the damp center of my panties, rubbing gently against my clit, and the pleasure it produced was white-hot. It curled my toes inside my shoes, and I melted across his lap, threatening to liquify and drip down his legs.
“Watch your language.”
It was shockingly natural the way we fell into our roles. I was the disobedient little girl who craved attention, and he was the disapproving dominant, determined to teach me a lesson.
I wanted it to sound snarky, but his fingers twitched, and more pleasure jolted through me, so my retort was breathless. “Sorry, Daddy.”
His hand cracked across my ass. “Do not call me that.”
I bit down on my tongue, but the inappropriate chant continued in my head. Daddy, daddy, daddy . . .
God, his fucking fingers. They teased without mercy.
I squirmed against his hold, not wanting to break free but enjoying his restraint. And when I writhed in his lap, it made me rub against his erection, and the faintest grunt of pleasure escaped his lips.
Strain filled his voice, so his order verged on a plea. “You will hold still as I’ve asked you to.”
“I can be good,” I whispered. With the thin lace, it was like nothing stood between his touch, and he pressed harder on my swollen clit, causing sparks behind my eyelids. “I can be so good . . .”
Whatever had been holding him back broke down. He came unleashed, overwhelmed with desire. He let go of my wrists so he could curl the fingers of both his hands into the waistband of my underwear and peel the fabric down until it was gone, hung on the backs of my knees.
No longer inhibited by the lace, Macalister slid two fingers across my most intimate part and discovered exactly how powerful an effect he held over me. I was wet. So wet, it had to be shocking to him, but all he issued was a hushed sigh. My hands moved mindlessly, seeking whatever part of this gorgeous yet cold man I could find. One latched onto his leg, and the other followed the line of buttons on his shirt upward, searching for skin to connect with.