Total pages in book: 230
Estimated words: 217798 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1089(@200wpm)___ 871(@250wpm)___ 726(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 217798 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1089(@200wpm)___ 871(@250wpm)___ 726(@300wpm)
“Well, I won’t be calm. Why should I be calm? You lied to me.” She stabs a finger in my direction. “You purposely hid things from me so I wouldn’t understand. You’re a liar. You’re an asshole, exactly like my brother said.”
That amuses me. “Your brother warned you about me.”
“He said people talk about you. That you’re controlling. That you’re a freak.”
“Is that so?” It’s oddly endearing to me that he tried to warn his sister. If only her father had been as concerned with her welfare as he was about his hotel.
She lifts her chin. “And he was right.”
Isabella’s eyes widen as I stalk toward her at the piano. There’s fear in those eyes, of course, but other things, too. A quicksilver flash of relief and desire. I cage one hand around the back of her neck and turn her when I’m seated on the stool. Then I bend her over my lap. Isabella struggles within my grip. “You’re not doing this. You’re not going to do this.”
I pause, leaning back enough to let her escape if she really tries. “Do you want me to stop, Isabella? Or should I call you Isa the way your family does? If you really want me to stop, say the words.”
“Bastard,” she says. Her hips buck unconsciously against my leg. I consider telling her, but I don’t want her to notice that she’s enjoying it. Not quite yet. “Asshole. Freak.”
“And apparently you knew that before you married me, so what are you so shocked about?” I flip her dress up to expose the curve of her ass. Isabella wears no panties, no thong, nothing. She won’t be wearing them in my house unless I give her express permission.
That will come later, when she’s trained.
Now she’s as wild as an unbroken horse, swearing extensively. I’d be impressed if I weren’t so irritated. This is not the Isabella I agreed to marry, and now we’ll spend valuable time making her into that woman.
“Now you tell me what happens next,” I say, still giving her enough room to escape if she chooses. “Am I going to spank you? Or are you going to walk away from our contract?”
She shivers, and I know it’s not entirely fear. It’s curiosity. Arousal. “I hate you.”
That’s answer enough. “Every time you speak you earn five more.”
The first five swats are hard enough to stun her. Isabella reaches for her ass with one hand with a shocked gasp. I pin her arm behind her back. She had her chance to walk away. She didn’t want it. “If you can’t keep your hands still, I’ll tie them,” I inform her. “Trying to cover yourself is a good way to get hurt.”
“I’m already hurt.”
I cut her off with another series of hard spanks. I had intended to go easy on her for her first punishment, but no. That won’t get her attention. “You’re hurting in the moment, but there won’t be lasting harm. No, you’re simply being punished. You disobeyed my commands, and these are the consequences.”
This time, I give her ten. By the last one Isabella is panting over my lap and crying out with every contact. I rub a palm over her pink flesh. “That’s enough,” she breathes. “You did it. You punished me. You spanked me.”
I cover her mouth with my free hand. “I love your voice, my dear wife. Except when I’ve expressly forbidden you from speaking.”
Another ten.
It’s hurting her more now. Her cries are turning to whimpers interrupted with sharp gasps that make my cock throb. And between Isabella’s legs, she’s slicking up. I haven’t touched her there yet. I don’t need to. I can scent her arousal, and it makes me want to bury my face between her legs and lick her until pleasure becomes its own punishment.
Instead I keep spanking her in a relentless rhythm that turns her bottom a darker shade of pink and then a deep red. Isabella lasts longer than I expected before she gives in. It’s a subtle thing, with a woman like her. A delicate curving of her body over my lap. Her surrender isn’t some big, showy display. It’s a tiny surrender in her posture. She stops trying to get up, stops trying to pull her wrist out of my hand, and lays herself over my knees like she should have done all this time.
Five more, and she offers her ass up to my hand.
Isabella’s crying now, red-cheeked and quiet. A softer man would stop. Would soothe her burning flesh with his hand and murmur that she had done well. Her punishment has not made me feel particularly soft or gentle. It’s made me want more from her.
I take more.
Ten more stinging slaps across her ass, as hard as all the others. Isabella sobs through them, her hips rocking against my leg. When I’m finished, I pull her off my lap and stand her abruptly in the middle of the pantry.