Cherry was more interested in a safe word than beginning her training? She was definitely up to something. “How about . . . Romeo. If that word clears your lips, we’re done.”
She shot him a startled glance, then cleared her features. “Romeo. Okay.”
“Good. Lay yourself across my lap and present your ass for punishment. No coming.”
“What the—” Tara stopped herself and bit back her irritation.
“And no talking. If I was capable of selling you to a Colombian drug lord willing to pay five million dollars for the privilege of raping you, do you think I’d be letting you speak? Follow directions or suffer more punishment.”
Her body tensed as she lowered herself awkwardly over his thighs. Immediately, he knew Cherry had never done this. She wasn’t sure how to balance her weight, where to perch. That fact pleased him more than it should.
With a guiding hand on soft skin that only made him want to f**k her more, he helped her settle. “Count for me, Cherry. Lose track, and we start over.”
He needed to get on with scaring her half to death, but the sight of that pale, curvy ass spread across his thighs had Logan swallowing down a fireball of lust. Nothing was going to help his cock. It poked Tara, desperately seeking her heat. She kept trying to shift away, and instead rubbed herself all over it.
Logan stopped her with a hand at the small of her back. She’d stilled, but he could hear her heavy breathing as he caressed down until he palmed her sweet ass. He nearly groaned. God, he could sink his fingers, his teeth, his c**k into that flesh and be one happy bastard.
Focus.
Raising his hand, Logan hesitated. He didn’t want to hurt her, but damn, he couldn’t afford to back off. If he had any hope of getting her to quit, he had to unleash some bad shit.
Steeling himself, he bypassed the warm up and struck her harder than he’d ever hit a sub. His swat landed on her right check with a deafening smack. She yelped, jerked. Logan winced. His palm stung like a bitch, so he could only imagine how poor Cherry felt.
“Count,” he choked out.
“One.” Her voice wobbled.
Ruthlessly, he squelched his guilt. “Ready for more?”
Under him, she tensed, clearly bracing for more pain. “Yes.”
She wasn’t, but she’d never admit it. As much as he admired tenacity, not curbing her stubbornness could get her killed on this mission.
As he lifted his hand again, he saw the clear red print of his hand on her ass. His c**k jerked. He’d love to put his stamp all over her. No doubt, she would think that made him a sick f**k, but Logan knew that ship had sailed long ago.
He gave her another harsh slap on her left cheek. Tara cried out, her body jolting, as she took the blow. Her nails dug into his calf as she tried to process the pain.
“Get your nails out of my skin and count,” he demanded.
Tara’s back stiffened, and she shuddered, panted. “Two.”
She’d silently punctuated the statement with you ass**le. He could hear it hanging in the air. When he saw her struggling to accept his blows, he felt like an ass**le.
Logan drew his arm up to deliver another swift blow to her upper thigh. She tensed, every line in her body screeching with anger. He hesitated. This wasn’t scaring her, just reinforcing her low opinion. She expected pain from him. In fact, she was holding her breath expectantly, like she was waiting . . .
What the hell was she up to? What would a novice sub trying to control a scene do?
Immediately, Logan knew he was playing right into Tara’s hand. Shit. He lowered his arm.
“On your feet,” he ordered.
Tara froze. “Wh-what about the rest of the spankings?”
Fully capable of math—she’d kicked his ass in algebra, too—she knew they hadn’t completed fifteen swats. Nor had she been looking forward to the rest of such a brutal spanking. She’d merely been looking for an excuse to scream her safe word.
Logan gave her credit; she’d always been clever.
“The rest of your punishment will wait. When we’re together, I want you to look at me. Always at me.”