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She was quiet. I spanked the other side, and she remained quiet but wriggled her hips on my crotch.
“What do you have to say for yourself?” I leaned down and asked her.
She mumbled something into the covers. I pinched her ass cheek hard, and she lifted her head.
“I didn’t quite catch that apology, Your Majesty, try again.”
“I said fuck you, Martino. You can go to hell. I’m glad you got fired, you lunatic,” she snarled at me.
I tutted loudly and spanked her again, her hips bucking into every movement.
“That’s not very good manners for a well-bred brat. Try again.”
I spanked her again, and she arched her back and gasped. “I’ll never apologize to you,” she challenged, her eyes blazing as she twisted to stare up at me.
“Is that right? Maybe we need to try something else,” I suggested and reached into my pocket. I had her lower legs trapped under one of mine, so she was stuck there, waiting to see what I’d do.
The butterfly knife caught the light; I twirled it in my fingers. She really stilled this time, her attention fixed on the blade.
“I’m not like your country club trust fund boys. I’m not someone you want to fuck with.” I trailed the blunt edge of the knife up her leg. “I’m not scared of you, or your daddy, or anyone you know. Your money doesn’t impress me. I don’t think you’re as hot as you think you are. Crossing me is always a mistake, DeLaurie, learn that here and now, and save yourself trouble.”
I reached the hem of her ugly-ass nightshirt and tugged it up. I planned on cutting her panties off. That should instill the right lesson not to fuck with me. Well, it would in anyone else. “You have to make me.” I was starting to believe what I’d long suspected. Winter DeLaurie wasn’t like anyone else.
The hem of her shirt slid over her round ass, and I stared.
Winter slept without panties on. It was a piece of knowledge I didn’t particularly want floating around in my head, keeping me up at night.
“If I didn’t know better, I’d have thought you knew I was coming,” I mocked her.
“Yeah, because I fantasize about being spanked by a knife-wielding delinquent,” she tossed angrily over her shoulder.
“That’s between you and your therapist…I don’t give a fuck what you think you like or don’t like.” I spanked her again hard, this time on her hot skin. She hissed, jerking just right against my cock trapped beneath her. I soothed the burn with a circular motion, my fingers drawing dangerously close to the heat between her legs.
I matched the other side and a tiny gasp left her. Was she wet? I had to know how fucked up the Ice Queen really was.
My finger dipped an inch as I soothed the second spank, trailing up her inner thigh. Wetness coated my fingers.
I tutted loudly. “My, my…This is supposed to be a punishment, you do know that, right?”
She was quiet even though I’d given up holding her mouth shut.
“Forgot about shouting for help? Now would be a good time,” I reminded her, squeezing her ass cheek hard between my fingers until she wriggled against me. Her dripping cunt was right there, needy and empty. I could’ve sunk my fingers inside there right now and had her coming in seconds. But this girl was poison, and getting tangled up with her was a mistake. Besides, this was a goddamn punishment. For the first time, Winter DeLaurie wasn’t getting what she wanted.
I trailed my finger up her leg, waiting until she parted her thighs in a subtle invitation to climb higher. Satisfaction burned through me when she did.
“Does daddy’s spoiled little princess want to be spanked and fingered?” I allowed myself a second to run my fingertip down her slit. She was so wet I could smell the heady scent of her. I resisted the urge to sink my face between her legs and inhale a lungful.
Her hips nudged against my fingers, daring me to slip inside. Instead, I smacked her left cheek again, hard, and pulled my hand away.
“Too bad I’d rather stick my hand in a woodchipper than your cunt, DeLaurie.”
She jerked in response to my cruel taunt, and I trailed the knife over the arch of her back, making her still immediately.
“Since this is a lesson, let’s go over the most important point again,” I murmured.
I ran my hand over her waterfall of flaxen hair and wrapped a strand around the blade of my knife. “I’m the trouble you won’t recover from.” I jerked my hand, and a pale curl fell to the pillow beside her face.
“How attached are you to this hair?” I mused, stroking my hand down the entire length of the locks.
