Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 55109 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 276(@200wpm)___ 220(@250wpm)___ 184(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55109 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 276(@200wpm)___ 220(@250wpm)___ 184(@300wpm)
That threat makes me tingle — and it makes my blood boil. I don’t care if he’s hot. I don’t care if the idea of being spanked has always been a turn on for me. I absolutely care that this man is taking away my autonomy and replacing it with pancakes.
I watch him as he walks to the door and retrieves the tray of pancakes. He comes back with that same smug smile on his face, the same arrogant set of his chin. I wonder if he’s ever been properly and truly told no before. He seems like someone who has always gotten his way with everybody, someone who breaks rules and then pretends they’re just not there.
He leans down to put the tray of pancakes down on the table, and something mad takes over me. I don’t want to be a subservient, grateful, forced wife. I want to show him he’s picked on the wrong girl this time.
As the tray descends toward the table, my hand rises. Force equals mass times acceleration. I slap the thing right out of his hand. Together we watch as a second batch of ill-fated pancakes arc through the air and land on the hotel’s carpet. I’m sure they know how to get sticky stuff out of the fibers. For their sake, I truly hope they do.
Cosmos lets out a laugh, and then grabs me by the back of my tank top. Doesn’t really offer him much in the way of leverage, but it turns out that doesn’t matter, because all he wants to do is sit down in the chair next to me and put me over his thigh.
He slaps my ass. Hard. Hard enough to make me squeal. I feel a flash of heat and a stinging pain that I didn’t actually anticipate. I always thought spankings sounded kind of hot. It never occurred to me that they’d really hurt. This one really hurts from the beginning, his hand sweeping through the air time after time and catching my upturned, legging-clad ass in heavy, stern strokes. He doesn’t come across like a strict kind of guy, but the evidence now suggests he is.
I am snugged tight against his hard body, unable to squirm away and completely unable to stop him from spanking me. In a desperate attempt to stop the punishment from continuing, I put my hand back to cover my ass. As quickly as I do that, he slaps my open palm and grips my wrist to pull the arm up and away from his target area.
“I don’t mind if you want to be a brat,” he says. “I love brats. But I also love to make brats very, very sore.”
He emphasizes that point with a flurry of slaps right to the seat of my poor posterior. I can’t help my reaction. I squirm, and I whimper, and I even find myself begging as the pain gets too intense.
“Please! Okay! I’m sorry!”
He relents instantly, patting instead of smacking, like I am a good pet.
“You think we understand each other? Is it safe to order more pancakes?”
“Yes. Fine. Okay.”
He lets me up, putting me back in the chair I started in. My ass lands on the puffy hotel chair and it still hurts even though there’s barely any solidity to the chair. It should be like sitting on a cloud. Instead, my rear is aching and throbbing even through the carefully constructed layers protecting it from the cheap laminate that lurks at its core.
“More pancakes.”
Cosmos is on the phone. He winks at me as he makes the third order of the day. “Yes. The first two were great. We just love your pancakes. Yes. Newlyweds. Yes. We love pancakes. Oh, yes. Thank you so much.”
“Third time lucky?” He gives me a smile as he hangs up the phone.
“Who knows. Maybe.”
I am speaking more bravely than I am prepared to act. The heat in my ass has not only chastised me, it has proved to me that he is ready to inflict pain as well as pleasure if he sees fit. He’s ruthless.
A tap at the door heralds the news that pancakes are here again. This time, Cosmos is not taking any chances with his breakfast. He tells me to stay seated at the table, goes to the door, opens it, and ushers the porter in.
“Put them on the table,” he says. I guess he figures I’m less likely to throw them everywhere in front of a stranger.
The porter puts the pancakes down — and puts a knife to my throat. It all happens so quickly and smoothly I find myself in the kind of shock that doesn’t allow me to process these events as real.
“Nice try, brotherhood, but she’s ours.” The man smirks. I am a fraction of an inch away from death, and in this moment, I find my eyes locking on Cosmos. I don’t move. I wait for him to fix this.