Known as a brat in the kink community, Everly can intimidate even the most experienced Dom. Then she meets Ambrose, a dominant who finds her ways amusing. Not only does he charm the pants off her, he makes her crave his mastery.
After being abandoned by his submissive, Ambrose has avoided any serious connections—until he meets Everly, who refuses to be ignored. But just when he thinks he’s found the perfect sub, he finds out she’s an anti-poverty activist with harsh opinions about the rich. Telling her he’s wealthy will ruin everything, but he can’t collar her with a huge lie hanging over them.
Will the best thing that’s ever happened to him walk away when she finds out the truth?
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A second later, he swung her over his knee. She yelped in surprise. Changing into a short skirt and leggings when she’d gotten home had been an excellent idea. Would he do what he’d promised in the club and pull them down?
But she wasn’t easily cowed, and he needed to know that. “Am I supposed to be intimidated by a hand spanking? Please. I’ve played with canes, Sir.”
He chuckled. While she hung over his legs, she wondered if he was the kind of Dom who could make her scream. Unlikely with just his hand. Maybe he had a belt he could take off. Or she could get her toy box from the other room . . .
“Ouch!” A wide streak of heat spread from where he’d hit her. “Where did you get the paddle?” Did he keep one in his back pocket?
“That was my hand, sweetheart. Still not impressed?”
He paused then ran his hand over her ass, soothing the sting there. Maybe she was slightly impressed. He had a fucking hard hand.
“You gonna tell me what you were thinking, or should I keep going?”
After two smacks? He had to be kidding.
“Huh? Did you say something? I just dozed off.”
He laughed, making her body shake against his. “Such a little brat.”
“Your safeword is ‘red,’” he said, serious now. “If you don’t want to play, I suggest you say so now. Otherwise, you’re agreeing to be mine. For now.”
He waited. She pursed her lips.
“Since you have a safeword, I’m taking your stubborn silence as consent.” With that, he lifted her skirt and yanked her leggings down, taking her panties with them.
She dug her fingers into his legs and braced herself. Was she afraid of him? There weren’t many Doms that could inspire that in her. That sliver of fear, of uncertainty, was one of her favorite parts. She clenched her thighs together to relieve the ache there.
“Fuck, you have a gorgeous ass,” he mumbled.
Her face heated. Men loved it because it was round enough to grab onto, to hold while they fucked her, or to take a good beating.
Grunting, he adjusted himself underneath her body, muttering something about her killing him. She wasn’t sorry.
A moment later, he brought his hand down on one naked cheek. Hard. She gasped and shut her eyes as the pain peaked then faded. But then he did it again, just as hard. And again. He fell into a rhythm quickly—slow enough to make her feel each one, fast enough that she didn’t have time to recover before the next one landed. And he wasn’t holding back.
Her bratting must have hit a nerve for him to spank her so hard. Still, she was known in the scene for being a stubborn bottom. She had plenty of cushion back there.
Minutes went by, and he kept going faster and harder. At least it felt harder. Her ass was burning now. Worse than the last session she’d had with George, a top from the club. And he’d used an actual paddle.
Unable to stop herself, she started to squirm, trying to dodge the blows. He held her easily and kept up his unrelenting assault. Damn, he had a hard hand.
The pain was intense and she started to kick, then twist to free herself. Tears pricked her eyes. She was gasping for breath. But no way would she safeword for a fucking hand spanking.
“Ambrose,” she finally pleaded, in a voice almost too small to hear.
“Did you have something to say about my hand?” He rubbed his hand over her sensitive skin.
Her thighs clenched as wetness pooled there. God, how could she be so horny after that?
When she didn’t answer, he flipped her to kneel between his legs. Her face was probably bright red, but she hoped he didn’t see the tears in her eyes. Thankfully, she managed not to let them fall. She was putting her reputation to shame. What kind of brat cried during a hand spanking?
“A brat masochist.” He tsked. “You are a handful, aren’t you?”
She didn’t answer, figuring the question was rhetorical. Also, she didn’t want to embarrass herself with a trembling voice.
“Did you think I couldn’t hurt you? Hmm?”
“And now what do you think?”
He wouldn’t let her get away with not answering, she was sure of it. After a deep breath, she pulled herself together and said, “You have a hard hand, Sir.”
Chuckling, he ran his hand down her hair, tenderly, as if it would make up for the other pain he caused. It didn’t. “I know you’ve played with canes, but I’m not the kind of guy to jump into that. I need to know your pain tolerance first. Not to mention, I call the shots here. Not you. I don’t tolerate topping from the bottom.”
“But, Sir . . .”
“I’m so good at it.”
He laughed. “I don’t doubt it. But that’s what frustrates you about other Doms, isn’t it? They let you get away with it. You know deep down inside, that’s not really what you want.”
She kept her gaze on the floor to keep him from seeing the truth in her eyes. No need to show him everything all at once.
But he wasn’t having it. With his hand under her chin, he lifted her head so she had to look at him. “Am I right?”
Their gazes locked. His blue eyes seemed to search her, pull answers from her without her permission. Shit. She was used to building walls, and here came Ambrose, looking in the window. He wouldn’t let her hide.
She nodded, feeling warm and safe for some reason. Maybe, just maybe, he could really handle her. Was it too much to hope? To trust?
“Good girl.” He stroked her cheek with his thumb.
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