by Julia Sykes
I huffed, a little tinge of annoyance souring my blissful peace. “This is very high-handed. I don’t think I like this part.”
He chuckled. “You will, and you won’t. I’m sure you won’t be accustomed to the sting for your first spanking. But you might like the sting. I guess we’ll find that out soon.”
Spanking? He couldn’t be serious.
But he’d been dead serious about sending me to my room yesterday. He might like to tease and laugh with me, but Mateo didn’t joke about doling out consequences.
I had a sneaking suspicion it wouldn’t work, but I tried pouting, anyway. “I don’t want you to spank me.”
He grinned. “You really don’t understand how punishments work, do you, belleza? If you wanted me to spank you, it wouldn’t be a punishment.” His smile twisted slightly. “But if we discover that you do enjoy it, I’ll have to come up with cleverer ways to discipline you in the future.”
My mouth went dry. His dark eyes were sharp with hunger, and something tugged low in my belly.
“What if I don’t do anything to deserve a punishment in the future?” I challenged, not realizing that I was implicitly accepting this arrangement by engaging in a conversation about hypothetical future scenarios.
“You will. You might love being my good girl, but you like testing my boundaries almost as much.”
He got to his feet, keeping me in his arms.
“Where are we going?” I asked as he started walking through the open-plan kitchen and into what appeared to be his living room. With the L-shaped, brown leather couch and massive TV mounted above the slate fireplace, the space had a man-cave vibe.
“This will be more comfortable on the couch,” he explained as he sat down, taking me with him. “Well, more comfortable for me, at least. You, on the other hand…”
He shifted his grip on my body, maneuvering me as effortlessly as a doll. Suddenly, I found myself staring at the hardwood floor, my hips folded over his knees.
“Hey!” I tried to push myself up, but he grasped my wrists and pinned them at the small of my back. His grip was as careful with me as ever, but his hand might as well have been an iron shackle for all the chance I had of breaking free.
“What are you doing?” I objected, squirming over his lap.
His other hand rested on my thigh, his huge palm pressing just beneath my ass. His t-shirt provided a flimsy barrier, but I felt his thick thumb push down on my tender flesh. If he shifted half an inch, he’d penetrate the juncture between my legs. His fingers flexed, and I stilled on a gasp.
“I’m going to spank you now,” he told me, his voice calm and deep.
“But you promised you wouldn’t hurt me,” I protested weakly.
“This won’t hurt you,” he assured me. “It will sting, and you’ll ache after, but it won’t hurt you.”
His hand shifted on my thigh, his fingertips teasing beneath the hem of his shirt. In this position, it fell to the backs of my knees, but when he started easing the fabric upward, I stiffened.
He paused his progress, stroking the few inches of flesh he’d exposed. “I’m not going to do anything other than spank you. I won’t touch you in any other way. Not unless you ask me to.”
I bit my lip, torn. I didn’t want him to see my thighs. I didn’t want him to ask about the scars.
But I didn’t want to stop him, either. If I tried, he would definitely ask more questions, and then he’d find out about my scars, anyway.
As wrestled with what to say, he continued to pet me. Something long and hard jerked against my belly.
I bucked on his lap, gasping in shock. I’d felt boys’ erections before. I might be a virgin, but I enjoyed making out.
None of those boys had felt remotely like Mateo.
He was big everywhere.
“You don’t need to worry about that,” he said, his voice rougher than it had been a few seconds ago. “I’m not going to try anything. I want you, Sofia, but I’m in control of my actions. I swear I won’t force myself on you.”
I licked my suddenly dry lips. How many times had I fantasized about Mateo being the one to take my virginity?
But this was different. In my fantasies, I didn’t have scars. I didn’t have shameful marks on my body.
My mind churned, searching for a way to get through this without Mateo finding out about the scars.
They’re just on the front, I reasoned. If he lifted the hem of the shirt farther, he would only see the backs of my legs. And if I kept them pressed together, there was no way he’d see the mark on the inside of my left thigh.
“Okay,” I whispered, giving him my consent to continue.
He worked slowly, easing the soft cotton over my skin. The cool air on my bare flesh made me shiver. Or maybe that was just Mateo. I felt all hot and shivery at the same time again. It made me a little lightheaded, my thoughts going fuzzy until all I could focus on was the sensation of his hands on my body.
By the time the fabric bunched at my lower back, my skin was pebbled, and I was practically quivering.
He trailed his fingertips beneath my bare bottom, exploring the shape of my curves. His hard cock pressed into my belly: a stark contrast to his gentle, reverent touch.
The warmth in my body pooled between my legs, creating liquid heat. A strange, musky scent I’d never smelled before teased through the air. Whatever it was, it made him groan and shift his cock against me.
“You are so fucking perfect,” he said, his voice rough with desire and awe. “More perfect than I could have ever imagined.”
My cheeks flamed, and I squeezed my legs together, hiding my glaring imperfections from him. I never wanted him to see the ugly marks, not when he spoke to me as though I was the most breathtaking thing he’d ever seen.
He started petting me, rubbing his palm over my ass. “Relax,” he soothed me.
Despite my worries about him seeing my scars, the tension eased from my body as he continued to stroke me. The liquid heat between my legs grew slicker, and my sex began to pulse in time with my heartbeat. My back arched without conscious thought, offering myself into his hands.
I wanted more. I reveled in the heady pleasure elicited by his fingers on my flesh, but somehow, the delicious sensation made me even needier. I didn’t understand what was happening to my body, but I craved…more.
Smack!
The sound of his huge hand slapping my bottom cracked through the room, registering just before the shocking sting. I sucked in a gasp, and he spanked me again before I had a chance to release it on a sharp cry. I squirmed over his lap, seeking to move away from the impact of his palm.
“Mateo!” I protested, tugging against his iron hold.
Judging by his body’s reaction, he liked when I cried out his name. His cock was a hard rod beneath my belly, straining against the confines of his jeans. His grip firmed around my wrists, keeping me pinned as he continued to pepper stinging blows all over my tender flesh.
My skin was on fire, and he made sure to evenly distribute the heat all over my bottom and upper thighs, leaving no sensitive spot unpunished.
Something strange was happening to me. Although the spanking stung fiercely, the heat of his unrelenting, punitive hand sank beneath the surface of my skin. It permeated my body in my most vulnerable places, joining with the warmth between my legs and stoking it to a conflagration. My labia became swollen and achy, and my clit pulsed.
My struggles to get away slowly shifted into needy writhing, and I tried to seek relief by stimulating myself on his thigh.
A harder blow crashed down on my bottom, a shocking rebuke.
“Naughty girl.” His chastisement was gravelly with his own desire. He delivered another stinging slap. “You can have your reward if you ask nicely when we’re done.”
“Please,” I whimpered. I wasn’t sure if I was begging for the spanking to stop or for more delicious, hot contact.
He released my wrists, and his fingers sank into my hair, tugging my head b
ack. The position forced me to arch into his hand, rendering me helpless to do anything but accept his discipline.
“Tell me what you did wrong,” he commanded. His tone was deep and rough, but not with anger.
“I tried to leave,” I squeaked, quivering in his immobilizing hold.
He switched tactics, stroking my enflamed skin with his fingertips. I shuddered at the sudden contrasting sensation. My nerve endings jumped beneath his touch, more sensitive than I ever could have imagined. The slickness between my legs slipped down my inner thighs, and I barely had the presence of mind to keep them pressed together.
Another hard smack. “Are you sorry for disobeying me?”
“Yes.” I’d already been sorry before he’d started the spanking, but somehow, this scenario eased the guilt I’d been feeling. He wasn’t being withholding to punish me with emotional pain. He was exacting his discipline on my flesh, and I found that I much preferred this tactile method of correction.
He resumed stroking me, and I trembled under his hands. The tender touch alternating with the punitive slaps pulled me deeper into his thrall. Despite the fact that this was a punishment, it felt like a form of affection. Like he cared enough to see the lesson through rather than leaving me alone to simmer in guilt and anguish.
Suddenly, his short fingernails raked over my abused flesh, drawing a strangled cry from my chest.
“Promise me you won’t do it again.”
“I promise!” I swore, the last of my guilt leaving me in a rush, seared away by the heat of his hands. “I promise I won’t try to leave.”
I didn’t want to go anywhere. I wanted Mateo to keep touching me, and I didn’t care how. The intensity of his attention was so gratifying that it was almost overwhelming. I was greedy for more.
He rested his palm against my heated skin, his grip on my hair easing. He no longer tugged on the curled strands, but he didn’t release me from his hold. My cheek rested on his knee, and warmth leaked from my eyes to wet his jeans.
Was I crying? I wasn’t sad, and I wasn’t in pain.
He started petting me again, trailing his fingers all over the area he’d spanked. “Good girl.”
A shuddering sigh left my chest on a long exhale, and my eyes drifted closed as more tears fell. I floated in blissful peace, basking in Mateo’s praise and affection.
As he continued to touch my hypersensitive skin, I sank deeper, losing myself to the sweet sensation. All I could think about was how good it felt to have his hands on me. I became keenly aware of the pulsing between my legs, the throb so powerful that it caused desperate discomfort.
“I promised I wouldn’t hurt you. That didn’t hurt you, did it?” he asked, his voice rich and deep. He sounded as though he was at peace, too. Although I could still feel his insistent erection pressing into my belly, he wasn’t tense or frustrated.
“No, but…” I bit my lip, uncertain how to express what I was feeling. “I ache.”
I pushed back against his hand, seeking more.
His touch shifted, his fingers teasing between my closed legs. My clit was a hard, aching bud, my lower lips swollen and puffy. My thighs parted slightly, welcoming more without conscious thought.
He didn’t explore farther; he continued to tease and stroke, whipping my need to a fever pitch.
“Does my good girl want her reward?”
I whined and nodded, desperate.
“You have to ask, Sofia. You have to beg if you want me to play with your pretty pussy.”
“Please,” I whimpered, opening wider to urge him on. “Please, Mateo.”
Two of his thick fingers slid through the wetness on my labia, and I cried out at the foreign, delicious contact. No man had ever touched me like this before. And while I’d harbored fantasies about what it might be like for Mateo to touch me here, I never could have prepared myself for the shock of pure pleasure elicited by the barest brush of his fingers against my sex.
He explored farther, pushing forward in a slow glide. The first feather-light touch to my clit rocked my body with a hit of bliss, drawing a gasp from my chest.
“Are you always this sensitive, dulzura?” he asked, his voice impossibly deep. “Or is this just for me?”
He brushed my clit again, and I let out a wanton moan.
“I don’t…” I struggled for words, for breath. “I’ve never…”
A harsh growl rumbled from him, and his palm suddenly pressed against my soaked lips, gripping my entire sex in his huge hand.
“All mine,” he snarled.
I shuddered, pleasure washing through me. I wasn’t frightened of the animal sounds he was making. Not anymore. I craved this primal possessiveness, this savage intensity. His obsessive hold reassured me that he didn’t want to let me go. He wouldn’t abandon me and leave me bereft.
“Come for me, florecita,” he commanded, grinding his palm against my pussy lips. His fingers pressed down directly on my clit, rubbing in a firm, demanding rhythm.
“Mateo!” I screamed out his name as a tidal wave of ecstasy slammed through my body. Pleasure swept me up in a ruthless torrent, claiming my entire being. My body shook with the overwhelming force that wracked my body, and my fingers and toes curled as the pleasure rushed outward from my sex to flood every inch of my flesh.
“Good girl,” he praised while I continued to whimper and writhe over his lap.
His approval pushed me higher, prolonging my ecstatic release. My world glowed with incandescent, white light, blinding me until all I could sense was the sound of his approval, the bliss of his hands, and his intoxicating, masculine scent. It mingled with the new, strange scent I’d noticed earlier. It smelled forbidden and decadent, and I heard Mateo inhale just before his cock jerked beneath me.
“Fuck, belleza,” he groaned. “You’re going to kill me.”
I didn’t quite understand what he meant, but he didn’t sound upset. I reveled in his admiration, enthralled by the silky feel of his fingertips sliding through the wetness on my inner thighs.
Suddenly, his touch faltered, and I felt him tense beneath me.
“What’s this?” he asked, his tone less warm than it had been moments ago.
He rubbed my thigh, and I felt his fingers running along the line of my scar. It was a neat, perfectly vertical cut, precise and deep. He traced the entire length of the mark; four and a quarter inches carved into my thigh.
Panic slammed through me, obliterating my bliss. I tried to close my legs, to hide my shame.
His huge hands wrapped around my thighs, spreading me wide so he could get a better look. I twisted against his hold, desperate to escape his judgmental stare. If he managed to turn me over, he’d see the revolting mess of neat, straight cuts that had mutilated the rest of me.
“Stop,” I begged, completely helpless against his strength.
He didn’t ease up. Instead, his fingers flexed around my legs, his entire body tightening beneath me.
“Did someone do this to you?” The disgust that roughened his tone was unmistakable.
The cathartic tears that wet my face were washed away by tears of anguish. He’d told me I was perfect, but now, he was staring at the evidence that I was damaged beyond repair.
“Let me go,” I beseeched, ragged and frightened.
His hands held firm, his incredible strength pinning me in place for his horrific inspection.
“Who did this?” he demanded.
I shook my head wildly. The answer to that would disgust him even more. Shame twisted my stomach, bile burning at the back of my throat.
“You promised,” I choked out. “You promised you wouldn’t touch me if I didn’t ask you to. Please, let me go.”
He released me instantly, and I shoved myself off his lap, stumbling away. He stood, reaching out as though to steady me.
I shrank back, grateful for the tears that blurred my vision. The sight of his revulsion would break me.
My fingers fisted in his massive t-shirt, tugging it down to en
sure it hid my ruined body.
“Sofia…”
He took a step toward me. I dodged back.
“Do you want some space?” he asked, his tone soft and sad.
Of course, he was disappointed that I wasn’t perfect like he’d thought.
I nodded, swallowing a sob. I hated being alone, but facing Mateo’s disgust was far worse.
“You can go to your room.” It was a suggestion, but it held an authoritative ring that indicated he desired my compliance. “I won’t lock you in, and I’ll be right out here.”
He didn’t have to lock me in to keep me in his home. There was nowhere else for me to go, and I was imprisoned with him by circumstance even more effectively than if he’d kept me in shackles. If I were chained up, I would try to fight my way free. But given the opportunity to choose my jailor—Mateo or Daddy—I chose Mateo.
Even if he didn’t want me anymore, staying with him was slightly less painful than facing my father’s lies.
I turned from Mateo and trudged to the bedroom, utterly miserable without the warmth of his embrace to reassure me.
Chapter 11
Mateo
“You look like shit,” Adrián drawled when I opened my front door to admit him.
“Adrián,” Valentina scolded softly, pressing closer against his side to bump his body with her petite frame.
His arm tightened around her waist, his fingers biting into her hip to hold her with more force than was strictly necessary. She tilted her head against his chest, welcoming the harsh affection.
When I’d first seen my friend with his beloved Valentina, I’d worried he would hurt her accidentally because he was maddened by possessive rage. Over the last few weeks, I’d realized that she liked when he hurt her. Adrián would never truly harm Valentina, but he marked her obsessively. She seemed to enjoy bearing his marks just as much as he enjoyed inflicting them. She was the perfect match for my sadistic friend.
“Sofia’s bags are in the car,” Adrián informed me, tossing me the keys to his black Jaguar. “Valentina and I will show ourselves in.”
He pushed past me, walking into my house as though he owned the place.