“When I say twenty minutes, I mean twenty minutes. Understand?”
“Yes.”
“Since you’re still learning your boundaries, I won’t use my belt this time, but you’re getting a swat for every minute you were late.”
The idea of his hand on my ass turns my insides to molten desire. “A total of ten?”
“Eleven, Novalee.” His warm palm settles on my right cheek, fingers squeezing the flesh there. “But I wonder, my sweet girl, will my hand punish, or will it turn you on?”
I’m already turned on, but hell will ice over before I tell him that.
His palm lifts from my ass, and a second later, he lands a sound smack. I jump, unable to hold back a yelp because his hand hurts more than I thought it would. He lands another, and another, each one escalating in force. Gnawing on my lower lip, I fist my hands against the table, hoping to find the strength to get through the last half of the spanking.
His hand comes down again, and I can’t help but cry out. “You’re hurting me.”
“Yes. That is the idea behind a corporal punishment.”
“But it was only ten minutes!”
“It was eleven.”
Whack!
A pitiful whimper escapes my lips. I never knew a spanking could be so painful, could humiliate to this degree. My face burns, undoubtedly as red as my ass.
He issues the last strike—an especially harsh blow of his hand—and then he makes me sit on my hands at the table.
“Now you’ll wait eleven minutes before you eat.” He reclaims his seat and casually lifts his coffee cup to his lips.
“Why are you so cruel?” He’s better than this, better than Sebastian and his caustic personality. I’ve seen it.
Liam meets my angry gaze, and I think I detect an apology there; one he doesn’t want to give voice to.
“What you call cruelty, I call consistency. As the first in this tower to spend time with you, it’s my job to make sure you know your boundaries.” He pauses, and a beat passes, laden with importance. “I’m not being cruel, Novalee. I’m arming you against those who will take discipline and control to especially Draconian levels.”
Fear flourishes in my gut, unstoppable. It’s a weed I can’t control. An invasive sickness I can’t cure.
“You’re scaring me,” I whisper past the aching lump in my throat.
“I’m scared for you.”
“Why?” I ask, running through the events of the previous day, and the introductions at dinner. “Is it Sebastian? Is he dangerous?”
“Sebastian should be the least of your worries, my sweet girl.”
“Then who should I be worried about?”
“Truthfully? All of us, myself included.” He blinks, and something close to hesitation crosses his face. “I’ll do my best to prepare you, but I can’t protect you after you leave my house.”
“Why not? Aren’t you the chancellor?”
“My power only goes so far. Every man in this tower has authority over you until the auction.”
“But I get no say in who I marry, isn’t that right, Chancellor?” The title slips out, as does the testy note in my tone. I don’t apologize for it, or take it back—I’m too angry at the situation that’s been forced upon me.
He grips me by the arm and hoists me out of the chair. “Is your ass not red enough, my queen?”
His threat does little to put me in my place, which is where he wants me. I’m too busy recalling the warmth of his hand on my backside. His punishment was painful, but the memory of it doesn’t overshadow the way this man makes me feel when he puts his hands on me.
“You don’t scare me, Liam Castle.”
“That makes one of us.” He releases my arm, and the warmth in his eyes deepens as he pulls the impromptu hair stick from my bun. My blond locks cascade around my shoulders, free for the tangle of his fingers.
“How do I scare you?” It’s a preposterous concept that this strong, confident man fears me.
“You behold more power than you realize.” His breath dances on my lips, suddenly quick and shallow. Three eternal seconds pass, heavy with mutual yearning.
Then he slams his mouth on mine with a groan. A gasp escapes me as I part my lips for his insistent tongue. His kiss, deep and consuming, sears me to my soul. I whimper into his mouth, fingers clutching his suit jacket as heat ignites between my legs.
I’ve never been kissed until now. Have never known what it means to burn for a man until Liam lit the match.
He groans again, and I reciprocate his vow of surrender. He lifts me onto the table amid rattling china and settles between my thighs. His hands are in my hair, his hot, open mouth devouring the column of my throat, cock hard and snug against the wet center of my innocence.
I don’t feel innocent anymore. I’m wanton with sin, wrecked by lust. An accusing pang attacks my heart because I’m not being honest with myself.