Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 120240 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 601(@200wpm)___ 481(@250wpm)___ 401(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 120240 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 601(@200wpm)___ 481(@250wpm)___ 401(@300wpm)
“Eyes on me, love,” Cavin growls.
He’s watching me as his fingers travel to his waist and he unbuckles his belt, sliding the leather free. It’s a sound that makes me shiver. I watch as he coils it and places it deliberately on a little table.
“The last thing I want to do is control you,” he says quietly. “This is for both of us. You and me. This only happens if you like it. If you’re into this. If you want this.”
I swallow hard and lick my lips. Part of me wants this, and part of me is scared as hell.
“So there’s a safeword. A system,” he says. “You say the word ‘purl’ and this stops immediately.”
“Purl? As in knit and purl?” I bite my lip so I don’t giggle. He was listening, then.
“Mm-hmm,” he says. “But unless you say that word, you take what I give you. You obey. You submit. And this is not the time to sass me, woman. This is not the time to test me.”
I swallow hard. He’s giving me an out, but I’m not sure I want to use it. I want to see where he can take me.
He circles me, and I feel his gaze like a physical touch, trailing over my skin.
“You wanted to provoke me tonight,” he says. “You wore that top, knowing full well what it would do to me. And you did it, knowing I didn't want you there. You pushed and pushed, and here we are.”
He stops behind me, so close I can feel his heat, and his mouth goes to my ear. “Congratulations, love. You have my full attention now, don't you?”
I do.
His hand slides up my spine, his fingers finding the zipper of my skirt. He drags it down slowly, deliberately. “Now strip. Don’t make me say it again.”
My hands shake as I comply. The damned backless top that started all this comes off first, followed by the skirt that pools at my feet. I step out of my heels and stand there in just my black lace thong—vulnerable and exposed—while he drinks me in.
“You're fucking beautiful. And all mine,” he murmurs, circling back around to face me. His hand comes up, fingers gripping my jaw firmly. “Look at me.”
My eyes meet his.
“Good girl. Now, who do you belong to?”
“You?” I whisper.
“That a question?”
I shake my head. “No. No, sir. You. I belong to you, Cavin.”
His grip tightens. “Louder.”
“You. I belong to you.”
“That's right.” He releases my jaw only to fist his hand in my hair, tilting my head back. “You've been racking them up, haven't you, love? Your punishments. Every little act of defiance.”
I move toward him on trembling legs, but he stops me with a hand on my chest.
“Did I say you could move?” His eyes darken. “Stay right there.”
He releases me, lifts the coiled belt, and pulls out the chair so he can sit in it, legs spread, belt folded in his thick hand. He doesn't speak, just lets me stare at it, lets the anticipation wind tighter in my belly.
“Now, over.”
This is it. He's been dying to give me a proper punishment, and now here I am.
I drape myself across his lap, feeling the hard muscle of his thighs beneath me, the thick length of his arousal pressing against my hip. His hand smooths over my arse, almost gentle, before he hooks his fingers in the waistband of my thong and drags it down to my thighs.
“There we go,” he says, his voice rough with approval. “Fucking gorgeous.”
His belt connects with my bare skin—sharp, stinging. I gasp.
“Count them. And thank me for each one.”
“One. Thank you.”
Another spank, harder this time. “Louder, love.”
“Two! Thank you!”
He doesn't rush. Between each strike, his hand roams—possessive, teasing, never giving me what I'm truly desperate for. His fingers trail between my thighs, barely grazing where I need him most, before pulling away.
“Jesus, you're drenched,” he growls. “You like being punished, don't you, lass?”
“Yes,” I whimper.
“Yes, what?”
“Yes, sir. Yes, I like it.”
His belt comes down again, and I cry out the count. By ten, I'm shaking, grinding against his thigh, shameless and needy.
He fists my hair again, pulling my head back so I have to arch. “Greedy little thing. You think you've earned it?”
“Please—”
“Please, what?”
“Please, I need—”
He cuts me off with another spank, then his fingers finally, finally slide where I'm aching. But just as quickly, they're gone.
“Not yet. You'll come when I say you can, and not before. Understand?”
I nod desperately.
“Say it.”
“I understand. I'll come when you say.”
“Good girl.” He pulls me up by my hair, positioning me so I'm straddling his thigh, the rough fabric of his trousers against my bare, sensitive skin. His hand wraps around my throat—not choking, but possessive, controlling. “Now ride my thigh. Show me how fucking desperate you are.”
His other hand guides my hip, setting a torturous rhythm while his grip on my throat keeps me exactly where he wants me. Every time I get close, he stops me, holds me still, and watches me tremble and beg.