“I hate you!”
The feminine squeal of desperate aggression was perfectly understandable given that it was emanating from a woman whose bare rear was being soundly thrashed by a very tall man with a determined expression on his handsome face.
Splayed on a large bed, lit by candlelight playing over the reddened curve of her already hot bottom, the naked young lady wriggled with furious rebellion as crack after crack rang out, thick leather meeting her bottom over and over again no matter how much she flailed. Her disciplinarian had perfect aim, aided by the grip he took of the back of her neck, his large hand wrapping around the nape to pin her in place, her raven hair falling in glossy thick tracts over the pale linen upon which she was sprawled.
“Hating me won’t stop your arse from burning, Hannah,” Lorcan Wallace growled down at the newest, most reluctant part of his pack. His eyes glowed bright amber in the candle light, rimmed dramatically by dark lashes which intensified his every expression.
Towering above his young captive, Lorcan gripped the leather tightly and bought it down, the muscles in his back, shoulders and arm working in pronounced synchronicity to snap the paddle across the round rump of the most deserving whelp he had ever encountered. Keep reading…