“Grey,” she pants. “I can’t—”
“You will. Twice now, I think.” I nod, emphatic. Something happens to me when she shortens my name like that, but I ignore the warm feeling in my chest. A few more orgasms will do her good—and then the painkillers to take away her headache. She probably needs to drink water, too. Coach is always after us about hydrating. Keeping our bodies like temples.
She twists away from me. The motion knocks my hands away, and I watch her shimmy toward the opposite side of the bed. On her belly.
Her ass is perfect. A little rounded, pale.
I climb back up and straddle her legs. I smack her ass cheek hard. The pain whips through my hand—especially my fucking knuckles. I’ll probably have to spend the week icing it to get ready for the next game. Never mind practices.
Fuck, I’m getting distracted.
A red print rises on Violet’s skin.
She didn’t make a noise the first time—and her face is pressed into a pillow now.
I narrow my eyes. “Vi.”
She doesn’t respond. She’s turned into a statue under me.
A foreign emotion winds through me, forming a weird pain in my throat. Concern?Moreconcern than I’ve felt for anyone, I think, compounding on worry.
It’s such an abnormal reaction for her, I don’t know what to do for a minute.
Then I get the fuck off her and flip her over, her body so stiff she moves like a board. There are tears leaking out from under her closed eyes, streaking down her cheeks.
What caused this?
“Violet. What just happened?”
“Nothing.” She covers her face.
I pull her hands away and sit her up. Her shirt falls back into place.
“Spit it out.”
She tips forward and presses her forehead to my shoulder. “I just don’t like… that. It brings up bad memories.”
I narrow my eyes. Someone else did that to her? Spanked her in a way that left a lasting, negative impression?
She takes my hand and sniffs, then sits up straighter. Her expression is granite when she looks me in the eye. “Is it so bad that I draw a line with that?”
“Yes,” I say. Simple. “You don’t draw lines with me.”
Violet narrows her eyes. I like making her mad—and this seems to be a touchy subject for her.
“Why?” I question, letting more of my weight down on top of her. “More reason for me to banish whatever is making you feel like this is bad.”
“It’s dirty.” She pushes at my shoulder. “Let me go.”
“Not until you tell me more.”
“My dance teacher used to spank us when we messed up.” Her face gets even redder, and she averts her eyes.
I quirk my lips. “Naked?”
“No!”
“Sexually?”