Before I can stop myself, I lunge for him. My hand moves on its own, striking him across the face. The slap echoes off the shower walls, and his head moves to the side with the hit. My hand tingles all the way through to my fingertips. I shouldn’t have done that, oh god.
Everything falls into an eerie silence.
My chest heaves like I’ve run a marathon, and I can see Quinton’s toned chest rising and falling at equal speed. We stand at a face off, neither of us saying a single word.
I didn’t hit him hard, but plenty hard enough to leave an angry red mark on his cheek. My palm is suddenly on fire. Maybe I hit him harder than I thought.
His face is slightly tilted, a few longer strands of his hair sweep over his forehead while surprise is painted over his normally stoic features.
Slowly, he turns his head until his burning eyes bleed into mine, and I swallow…hard.
“Didn’t I tell you what would happen if you hit me again?”
My mind flashes back to when I hit his arm after he took a bite of my candy. That feels forever ago now.
Next time, I will hit you back…
I can’t back down now, no matter how scared I am. I might never be his equal, but I can tell him I’m done being his punching bag. Lifting my chin, I puff my chest and square my shoulders.
“You won’t hit me. I know you won’t.” Even as I say the words, I realize that I’m actually not so sure.
The smile that graces his lips is so sinister, I visibly tremble. Danger crackles through the air, sparks of it igniting in my belly, telling me I should run, warning me of the danger ahead.
“If you don’t think I’ll hit you, maybe you haven’t been paying attention to what I am capable of.” His voice is so dark and rough, it almost doesn’t sound like him.
My mouth goes dry, and my whole body quakes. This time, not from the cold.
Just then, my flight instinct kicks in. The danger is real, and Quinton isn’t going to just let me get away with hitting him.
My eyes dart to the only exit in the room, and a second later, I try to dash past him to the door. He’s on me in a flash, wrapping his muscled arms around me before pulling me into his chest.
He drags me toward the center of the shower space, and I’m not sure what he is doing until he sits down and pulls me into his lap, leaving me draped over his knees with my ass up.
“What are you—” His palm connects with my ass cheek without warning, and a sharp yelp of pain erupts from my throat. “Fuck!” He slaps my ass again, and the burning sensation on my skin intensifies.
“Are you serious?”
“Very.” He chuckles.
His hand comes down a few more times, each time a little harder, or at least, it feels like it. I wouldn’t know since my ass is burning, and I feel humiliated being spanked by him.
“Okay, okay!” I shout, while trying to wiggle out of his hold. “I get it. I won’t hit you again. I’m sorry!”
“Are you, though? I think I better make sure.” His palm smacks against my tender flesh once more, and the pain brings tears to my eyes.
“I’m sorry. Please, stop!” I beg, and it’s either my begging or the tone of my voice that finally makes him take pity on me.
His hand lands on my ass one more time, and I flinch, expecting him to continue punishing me, but this time, his touch is gentle. Like Jekyll and Hyde, his behavior changes, and he goes from punishing me to massaging the aching flesh.
“Are you going to hit me again?”
“No…” I wince.
He lets go of me, and I scurry off his lap and stand on wobbly feet. I reach to touch my backside. The skin is hot to the touch and feels swollen. “I hate you.” I seethe.
Quinton grins like the fucking monster he is. “Maybe you do, but we both know you want me to fuck you, regardless of what I do to you.”
“No,” I snarl.