I groaned my frustration, balled my hands into fists, and lifted my gaze to the ceiling.
He said it as a dark warning. “Don’t you roll your eyes at me, young lady.”
Excuse me. Young lady?
His eyes went enormously wide, having surprised himself. This wasn’t something he’d meant to say.
I gaped at him and loaded my voice with as much sarcasm as I possessed. “Oh, I’m so sorry . . . Daddy.”
The word echoed in the room like a gunshot.
It charged the air with a violent, sexual energy that strangled us both to a stop. My ‘daddy’ response had been without thought, but now that word was out there, never able to be unsaid. It clung to our skin like a stain that’d never wash off.
My heart tottered and crashed clumsily against the walls inside my chest like a baby just learning how to walk, but he seemed to be faring better. Macalister smoothed a hand over his hair, grabbed the sides of his coat to adjust how it sat on his shoulders, and gave me a firm look.
“You are behaving like a child, so I will punish you as one.” He lowered himself to sit on the couch, his posture straight and his hard stare burning a hole through me. “Down in my lap,” he demanded. “Across my knee.”
NINE
SOPHIA
MACALISTER CREATED STATIC IN MY BRAIN and steam everywhere else in my body. I was boneless and had to stay absolutely still. If I moved, I’d collapse into a puddle at his feet. This concept of me bending over his knee was ridiculous. Insane, really.
It was so fucking inappropriate, I wanted to throw myself immediately into his lap. But it was a bluff; it had to be.
“You’re not serious,” I scoffed.
Yet he looked deadly serious as he growled, “Get over here and find out.”
He had command over my body, and it was disorienting when my feet moved, bringing me to the couch where he waited impatiently. I didn’t have to think about how to get into the position. He wrapped a hand around my forearm and jerked me down. My palms flew out, catching myself on the cushion beside his legs.
He touched me like he had every right, positioning my body over him so my stomach was pressed against his thighs, which were like granite. The man was as addicted to his treadmill as I was to my phone.
“Hands behind your back.”
Shivers rolled in waves down my bare legs as I stared at the damask pattern of the upholstery. My mind was disconnected, like he’d pulled it out and plugged in a new operating system that was controlled by him. That would explain why I followed his order, laying my cheek against the couch cushion and twisting my arms behind me.
His hand was ice as it clamped down on my wrists, and although his grip wasn’t rough, I felt the squeeze of him all over. It forced the air from my lungs, made my heart beat frantically and my stomach rattle.
Like last night, the lights weren’t on in this room, so the only source of lighting came from the chandelier in the entryway. It was better this way with the moody shadows heightening the experience. What was happening didn’t belong in a brightly lit room.
I didn’t know what he was going to do, exactly, but the waiting? Each second dragged along my skin, creating tension in my center until it began to ache. I snagged my bottom lip between my teeth to keep quiet. If I spoke, he might come to his senses, realize how I was provocatively draped over him, and put a stop to this nonsense.
My breathing was shallow, but his was deep, and although I couldn’t see him, I pictured his gaze sliding over me. It evaluated every place on my body he had access to, and which spot would be best to dole out his punishment.
“Are you scared?” There was a teasing lilt to his voice.
I swallowed thickly and shook my head, unable to answer.
“This trembling is, what? Excitement?” He sounded disappointed, and dear God, it tripled the ache inside me. I imagined how hard his jaw was set and the muscles there I wanted to run my tongue along the length of. Down his neck and back up the other side.
Macalister shifted slightly beneath me, his legs spreading and adjusting his position, as if readying himself. My breasts flattened against the top of his thigh.
“Your actions yesterday were unacceptable, Sophia. To reinforce that point, you require a firm hand.”
His grip on my wrists tightened a degree, but this wasn’t what he meant.
It was preemptive, because his actions were going to cause me to jolt, and he wanted me to stay in place. He didn’t spank me, though. The bottom of my dress was lifted, exposing the swell of my bottom and my black lace underwear that was covering it. I flinched as cool air wafted over the backs of my newly bare thighs, the sensation causing me to pinch my knees together.
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—