the slope, and how had he passed her without her knowledge?
Niall was putting his camera equipment away. As the vampire turned toward her, she didn’t need any exceptional intuition to know he was not in a good mood. In fact, he looked angry. Shifting her glance to Niall, she didn’t get any clues. In fact, he was watching the vampire as warily as she was.
“Master? May I do something for you?”
Evan studied her, his mouth a harsh line. “Strip. I want it all off.”
She lifted her hands, began to slip the top button. “Now,” he snapped.
She yanked open the rest, her fingers trembling a little, and pulled the shirt off her shoulders. Unhooked the bra as she was toeing off the shoes, pushed the jeans and panties off her hips. Niall had made her indulge a second pair of earrings at the shoe store to wear with her current outfit, and she deposited those on the pile of clothes, heedless of whether they’d tumble off into the grass and be lost. She could feel Evan’s eyes on her like two brands.
Closing the distance between them, he clamped his hand on the back of her neck, turning her toward the picnic table. A brief arm around her waist and he’d put her knees on the bench, pushing her facedown to the table. “I said everything.” He yanked the clip from her hair and tossed it away.
“I’m sorry, Master.”
“No talking. Grip the other side of the table, arms spread as wide as they’ll reach.”
She did it. Her cheek pressed against the rough wood.
“Spread your knees and lift your ass. Hold that position.”
She obeyed. Her breath was shallow. With Stephen, punishment had been performance. He’d never punished her in private. Ironically, except for that one unforgivable betrayal, she’d never done anything to merit punishment, though of course with vampires it wasn’t necessary to do anything, if they enjoyed dispensing it. Stephen hadn’t.
From what Niall had said, she knew Evan enjoyed the pleasures of dispensing punishment, but it was obvious this was not that. She wasn’t frightened; her heart was pounding and tears were close to the surface because she’d done something to displease him, and she couldn’t bear that thought. She wanted him to punish her, to make it okay, so that he would go back to his thoughtful discussions with her, the half smile, the unexpected yet entirely welcome caresses . . .
Like now. She let out a tiny noise of hope as he spread her hair over her shoulders, stroked it so he was also stroking her skin beneath. When he swept it off to the side, it pooled on the table by her right shoulder. She closed her eyes, shuddering again as his fingers trailed down her spine.
“Niall, give me your belt.”
She swallowed, fingers spasming on the table. She’d never been struck by a belt, and Niall’s was a thick leather strap.
“Count them off, Alanna.”
“Yes, Master.” Her voice was quavering, but she made up for it by lifting her ass higher, spreading her legs another inch, increasing the strain on her hips, because she wanted to make it clear she would take whatever punishment he desired.
The first stroke was a hard, stinging burn. She bit back the cry, but strangled out the count. “One.”
Each one was worse, because he stayed in the same target area, hitting no more than an inch above or below the last stroke, so he was overlaying them in no time. By the time she reached ten, she was sobbing, fingers digging into the wood. But she bit down on her lip so hard she drew blood and kept raising her ass, anticipating by his rhythm when the next one would fall. She would prove her devotion to him, her acceptance of his Mastery. She would win his forgiveness by showing she submitted to his will in all things.
Though she was in pain and heartbroken that she’d disappointed him, he’d also taken away the fear she’d felt, sitting on the mountain path. She’d whispered I’m so afraid because she felt so alone with all of it, but this . . . She’d affected Evan enough to make him angry. Maybe it wasn’t his intent, but with every strike, it felt like a part of her was being bound more firmly to him and Niall. Perhaps firmly enough that her entire soul wouldn’t go to Stephen when he was killed. Maybe a vital splinter would be left here, with them, and that would make the rest bearable.
“Twenty-five.”