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“M-my juices.”
“I can’t hear you.”
I clear my throat, wary of another spanking, and say, “My juices. I’m…wet.”
There’s no time to fluster with embarrassment because he pushes his fingers into my mouth and makes me taste myself.
“Mmm,” he groans, watching me suck on his fingers. “You’re wet. You enjoyed being spanked.”
I’ve been beaten more times than I can count, but I’ve never beenspanked.Not like this. Not by him…
The lust swirling every vein in my body loosens my lips. “Yes.”
“You enjoyed being punished.”
“Only by you,” I whisper.
He freezes for a beat, then pulls his fingers out of my mouth, his body still rigid.
“Why?”
“Because I know you won’t hurt me more than I want to be hurt.”
“You don’t know that,” he says darkly, his voice detached. “I could have broken my promise.”
Into the leather seat, I say quietly, “But you wouldn’t. I trust you.”
The silence hangs heavy between us and I know I’ve ruined the moment.
Cillian doesn’t want feelings; he wants my body. But drunk on adrenaline, the truth slipped out from my mouth like butter on a hot knife and I can’t take it back.
I trust him. I have since he crashed through the doors of my gilded cage and he warned me I’m making a deal with the Devil.
A few more heavy seconds of nothingness, then—
“Your punishment is over. You can leave now.”
I pull myself off his lap, off his rigid cock, and pick my clothes off the floor.
“Well, um, I’m going to go back to studying,” I mutter, knowing full well I’m going back to the hut to frantically finish what he started within me. “I’ll uh, see you around, I guess?”
Cillian says nothing until I reach the door.
“Dahlia Rose?”
I turn, meeting his blistering gaze.
“Don’t touch my flowers again.”
Dahlia
A week passes in a haze of sex and studying.
Despite being in one of the strangest, yet most beautiful places I’ve been to, I’ve managed to fall into something resembling a routine.
I wake up with the sun, study for a couple of hours by the river, then head to the kitchen for breakfast. I still haven’t figured out who’s prepping the meals, leaving them labeled and neatly stacked in the fridge, but I’m assuming it’s the same person that keeps the living quarters sparkling and smelling like fresh linen and lemon.
After breakfast I study some more, sometimes at the dining table, and then I’ll go for a swim in the river. If I’m feeling lazy, I’ll just float, letting the gentle current carry me through the garden on a loop. There’s always a magical flower, shrub, or tree that I haven’t spotted before.
