“You took too long,” I say in my defense, my voice hoarse. Even I can hear the need in it.
“Something you should know about me,” he says against my neck, his voice dark and hard. A chill runs down my spine, but I wouldn’t say it was from fear—I wouldn’t say that at all.
“What’s that?” I ask, trying to keep my mind on his words and not on the hand pushing my dress up.
The chill of the night air hits my ass and I swallow as I look around to see if anyone can see us. The way he has his mouth against my neck though, I can’t turn. I’m about to complain when the sound of ripping fabric reverberates through the air. Then he pulls my underwear from my body. The wind blows against my exposed * and my panic kicks up a notch. I try to look around again but he doesn’t let me.
“I don’t like to be disobeyed.”
“But—”
“And I don’t like to be argued with. You’re going to have to be punished, Holly,” he growls. His words should scare the hell out of me. Instead, I feel moisture pool on the inside of my thighs.
His hand palms my ass and he gives it a squeeze. I should hate it because he’s definitely not concerned with who is around when he manhandles me. He’s not being gentle either, and he’s threatening to punish me. I don’t hate it. In fact, when he pulls me back, half-dragging me about ten spaces, I feel completely at his mercy. My body must love that because I am wetter than I have ever been in my life. He turns us around and I’m standing in front of a bike. I don’t get time to ask him what he’s doing before he pushes me over the seat of it so my stomach is against the cushioned area. I pull against his hold, trying to get away from him, not sure of what he’s doing. Blood rushes through my system and now it is a mixture of excitement and fear because he has me pinned to the seat of the bike—refusing to let me move. His other hand pulls my skirt up around my hips, exposing me completely.
“Hunter…”
“Don’t speak unless I tell you to,” he growls. It’s then that I know I’m not prepared for all that is Torch. He seemed so easygoing, so laidback when he was flirting with his cheesy pick-up lines. He’s anything but, now.
“But…” I start again, the panic rising inside of me.
His hand leaves my ass. I think he’s finally going to let me go. I plan to jump in my jeep and get the fuck out of here. I try to pull myself up, but he pushes down harder on my back.
“Hunter,” I growl, getting pissed off now. Bethie and I have taken self-defense classes. It’s one of the first things we did when we escaped France, but I’ve already let myself get in this position and my brain is foggy from the mixture of booze and sexual awareness that I can’t for the life of me remember what the instructor told us to do in this situation. You know, besides not getting yourself into this situation. That was probably mentioned. I’m an idiot.
Then, I feel his hand connect with my ass with a loud noise. Crack! The sound erupts as skin connects to skin and it feels like fire hits me.
“Hunter!” I shout, but again he spanks me. He spanks me. I’ve never been spanked in my life. My father never bothered when we were younger, and when I got older, his punishment was more about punching than spanking. “Stop! What are you doing??” I ask inanely, my ass feeling as if it is on fire.
“The more you talk, the harder I’m spanking this ass, Holly. So keep it up, sweetness, because I like it. Your ass is all pink now, but I’m still going, and it’s going to be blood red. I’m okay with that. More than okay, because when I’m done, I’ll fuck you so hard that every time I thrust against you, it will hurt, and you won’t forget me for a fucking long time.”
That shuts me up. It stops me for many reasons. The largest being: I went from contemplating a one-night stand with a man who is dangerous to me and my sister, to having my ass out in the night waving at anyone who wants to see and being reprimanded like a little girl. The thing is, it doesn’t feel like that. No. With each connection of his hand, my body’s reaction changes. Somewhere along the way, it’s no longer a punishment. The pain mingles with other feelings, even as tears sting my eyes. When his big hand caresses my tender flesh, I can’t stop the moan that tumbles out of my lips.
“Please,” I whimper.
Torch bends down and kisses the top of my ass, and I can’t help but push up into the touch. Then, he stretches out over top of me. The rough material of his jeans rubs against the burning skin of my ass, and the scrapes cause more pain, but somehow even that feels good. He grabs my hair and pulls so I have to raise my head, then bites the shell of my ear. His hand goes down between my legs and he drags his fingers through the creamy wetness that has gathered. I can’t even manage to feel shame over that; my body loves what he’s doing to it.
“Please what, Holly? Please fuck you?” he growls, and that hurt rises again at being called another woman’s name. I want to hear him say Katie. I want to hear my name in that rough voice he has right now.