Zayne has no qualms about spanking his girl when she oversteps the mark. But can his new girl Gabby step up to his expectations, and will he fulfil hers?
“What about a third option? Something like—” I stop dead, right there. A shadow has crossed his face and it has a familiarity to it, one that reminds me that I have to be careful what I say. But what exactly have I said wrong?
He clucks his tongue. “Oh, that’s not good.”
“What?” I can see the tawny hairs of his eyebrows and they are straight across his brow.
He lowers his hands, reaches around, and grips both my ass cheeks, squeezing them. “The third option is a spanking. Because—”
“Because, baby, you were given two, not three. And that’s how the rules work. When you step into my shoes and try to twist me around your pretty little fingers, I’ll remind you that choices are a privilege. Don’t interrupt me either.”
“You’re punishing me for suggesting something you might like to do?” I roll my eyes to the vaulted ceiling. “Tsk, you’re mean.”
“I punish, Gabrielle.”
The sharpness of his voice snaps my head back to face him. No game, then. Maybe a test. “For what purpose?”
“My pleasure. I’m not one of those who taps and teases. When I spank, I expect a genuine response, a reaction. A change in your behavior, your demeanor. Play a game, if you think it will help you. But when I say I’m going to punish you, Gabrielle, you don’t roll your eyes or push back. You bend over—and you take it.”
I can’t remember the last time a speech had me prickling all over with nervous energy. I’m electric, charged up, and mesmerized.
It’s a weird combination.
He’s hypnotized me, and it’s crazy why I fall under this spell of his. He’s not testing me either. He expected me to simply agree to him tying me up. He knew it was my preference, but I blew it by giving him my famous sassy attitude.
“If I say I’m sorry, will you—”
“No.” He shrugs. “Apologies don’t bring me quite the same level of satisfaction as a hard spanking. I’m waiting, Gabrielle.”
Gabrielle. Gabby. Baby.
He’s signaling all the time. I’m learning quickly.
“Yes, sir.” I turn, bending, pressing my palms flat on the mattress of the bed. Without prompting, I spread my legs.
He shifts to stand next to me. “If you want my protection, you’re going to have to obey me. How will I keep you safe if you insist on doing your own thing?”
I squeeze my eyes shut and brace.
The smack of his hand against my upturned ass echoes around the chamber. The stone doesn’t absorb the soundwaves, it magnifies them, and the crack of flesh upon flesh is jarring. My ears ‘hear’ that pain before I feel it. It’s a lightning bolt and thunder at the same time. My knees buckle a fraction on impact.
But I don’t make a goddamn sound. I press my lips together and swallow down my cry.
I know exactly what Zayne is. I’ve been waiting for this man my whole life. Leondra warned me that I was hard to please, and that few men would have the gall to step up and give me what I need. He prepared me, showed me something of myself, but he stopped short of the full experience of sex.
Leondra was a gentleman. Zayne isn’t.
He spanks hard. Meticulously too. He’s had anatomy lessons, apparently. The tailbone is off limits, the hipbones too. But the rest of my ass and the tops of my thighs are there to punish to his heart’s desire. At this point, I’m not the slightest bit afraid. Rather, I’m exhilarated by the discovery Zayne is good at this. Would he know why?
Three, four smacks into Zayne’s definition of punishment, I’m hopping on my toes and biting down on my tongue. He’s not a wrist flicker, or a swiper, or like any of those nervous ones in the club who don’t want to get banned by going all out. Without those rules, Zayne can unleash what he likes, and nobody can hear us.
I refuse to cry. I refuse to let him have the satisfaction of hearing me beg for mercy.
“Hold position,” he says.
I’m leaning away from him, anticipating that next smack, trying to imagine it missing me.
God, his palm must be stinging.
This isn’t a simple spanking.
The word spank used to make me giggle. Annoyingly to the disciplinarians, I frequently giggled uncontrollably during some sessions at the club. Frivolous, lighthearted role playing brought out the laughs and silliness. Leondra changed all that, and left me in no doubt that pain and pleasure are intertwined, and that if I giggled, I wasn’t feeling it enough. He also said tears, the wretched sobbing of a broken girl were wrong, too.
“Balance,” he’d say.
I’m pretty sure Zayne doesn’t agree with Leondra’s notion of punishment. I’m already close to tears.
Six fucking smacks, and I’m on the verge of crying. What the fuck!
“There,” Zayne says, “will be no comeback if you decide to stop this, Gabrielle.”
An hour ago, he refused me a safeword, and now he wants me to use it? I guess he’s taking advantage of it, and I wonder whether he would be spanking me so hard if he hadn’t offered it to me.
I realize this is how’s it going to play out over the next month. Why waste time building up mutual levels of understanding when he can jump straight to the topmost one and have me call him out?
So, he knows I’m submissive, sexy. That I like being fucked. And that he can take a risk with blindfolds and bonds, but doesn’t think I have the pain threshold that feeds his dominance?
I’ll show him.
I breathe in deeply and lock my knees straight. “Please don’t stop on my account.”
He rests his hand on the base of my spine. “I’m not playing games, Gabrielle.”
The soft rasp of his voice tickles my scalp. I shiver, and I clench my pussy. My clitoris is zinging with enthusiasm. “Neither am I, sir,” I say firmly.
The shadow of his arm sweeps back higher than ever and I close my eyes.
What the hell have I done?