Still, not a word. Effortlessly, he gathers my wrists in one of his hands and pins them to my lower back. He yanks up my dress and tears my knickers clean off me. I crane my neck around to see his face tight with determination, jaw clenched.
Oh God.
I’m pressed against the bed, the corner pushed into my belly, when without a word he snaps the folded leather across my arse.
It hurts, the bite of leather on my bare skin searing into me, and for a moment my mind clears. I can’t think, I can’t talk, I’m suspended in time when he spanks me a second time, then a third, until I’m squirming on the bed and my arse is on fire.
After the fourth searing lash, he taps his belt on my arse.
“I don’t want to whip you,” he says, but I can feel his hardened length against me.
“Oh yeah?” I throw back at him. “Then why did you get a hard-on from beating me? Liar!”
Another line of fire lights up my arse.
“I warned you. I warned you about me. I told you not to push me. I told you what I would do. Do you think I want to hurt you?”
A lump forms in my throat. “No,” I say, my voice sounding distant and strained. “I know you don’t want to.”
But maybe I need him to.
He spanks me again until I can’t speak and I’m a blubbering mess.
I’m crying freely into the bed now when the clash of metal tells me he’s dropped the belt onto the floor. He sits on the edge of the bed, drags me onto his lap, and cradles me in his arms.
“Don’t you trust me, Fiona?”
“Of course I do,” he says, his voice is softer now, I think whipping my arse has calmed him.
“This has nothing to do with me trusting you.”
“This has everything to do with you trusting me.”
“No, lass,” he says, holding me close. “It has to do with your safety. I didn’t keep you in the dark because I don’t trust you. I didn’t want to be overheard. And God almighty, I don’t want to threaten our safety.”
I reluctantly have to admit that makes sense.
“Aye,” I say slowly. “Will you always beat me when I ask questions?”
He lifts me off his chest and cups my chin in his palm. “I will never beat you. I will spank your disobedient little arse when I need to, aye.”
I try to pout, but he’s turning me on.
“We’re in another hotel arranged by Calum,” he says. “Now that we’re in this room, and I know it’s safe, I can speak freely to you.”
Oh.
“We came here so we wouldn’t be followed. This hotel is owned by the Boston Clan, and their friends are allowed access. It’s fully patrolled by them, carefully guarded, and a fucking fortress of protection.”
I nod. “Okay. Well, since you put it that way…”
“And I didn’t want anyone outside or our driver to hear where we were going or why.”
“The men outside…?”
“Our new bodyguards, assigned by Calum.”
Ooohhh.
I swallow. “Ah, I had no idea, though. Why didn’t you tell me?”
He rolls his eyes. “I couldn’t, Fiona. I needed to get you to safety first.”
I feel small and summarily chastened.
“Well. Maybe next time you can tell me,” I suggest helpfully.
“Or maybe next time you trust me,” Lachlan says. I don’t know if it’s my imagination but I truly think he may be hurt. “All these years, Fiona, and you don’t trust me? Not yet? I don’t know how else to show you.”
He rocks me back and forth and kisses my forehead.
“This,” I whisper. “This is nice. I could get used to this.”
“I don’t think you flipped out just because you were angry, though,” he says softly.
“No? Then why don’t you tell me what you think?” I’m not being snarky, but truthful.
“I think a part of you wanted to lose control. And a part of you wanted me to take it back.”
“That’s ridiculous,” I say, my cheeks flushing, as I realize that he’s totally right.
He’s quietly massaging my sore and tender backside, I squirm when the pain morphs into heat and the heat travels beyond my arse to my core. I wriggle a little at the touch of his palm on my naked skin, and just that quickly, I start to crave more of him.
“I wish I could keep you safe,” he whispers. “Away from all of this. From anyone who could hurt you.”
I burrow my head on his chest. “I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I’m really so sorry for all of this. I was such a brat.”
He gives me a roguish grin. “You like it.”
“What?” I ask, embarrassed.
“When I punish that naughty arse of yours.”
“I do not,” I protest. “Nope! It hurts, and you’re mean.”
“Really?” he asks. “Then why do your eyes dilate, and your face gets all flushed?”