I groaned my frustration, balled my hands into fists, and lifted my gaze to the ceiling.
He said it as a dark warning. “Don’t you roll your eyes at me, young lady.”
Excuse me. Young lady?
His eyes went enormously wide, having surprised himself. This wasn’t something he’d meant to say.
I gaped at him and loaded my voice with as much sarcasm as I possessed. “Oh, I’m so sorry . . . Daddy.”
The word echoed in the room like a gunshot.
It charged the air with a violent, sexual energy that strangled us both to a stop. My ‘daddy’ response had been without thought, but now that word was out there, never able to be unsaid. It clung to our skin like a stain that’d never wash off.
My heart tottered and crashed clumsily against the walls inside my chest like a baby just learning how to walk, but he seemed to be faring better. Macalister smoothed a hand over his hair, grabbed the sides of his coat to adjust how it sat on his shoulders, and gave me a firm look.
“You are behaving like a child, so I will punish you as one.” He lowered himself to sit on the couch, his posture straight and his hard stare burning a hole through me. “Down in my lap,” he demanded. “Across my knee.”
NINE
SOPHIA
MACALISTER CREATED STATIC IN MY BRAIN and steam everywhere else in my body. I was boneless and had to stay absolutely still. If I moved, I’d collapse into a puddle at his feet. This concept of me bending over his knee was ridiculous. Insane, really.
It was so fucking inappropriate, I wanted to throw myself immediately into his lap. But it was a bluff; it had to be.
“You’re not serious,” I scoffed.
Yet he looked deadly serious as he growled, “Get over here and find out.”
He had command over my body, and it was disorienting when my feet moved, bringing me to the couch where he waited impatiently. I didn’t have to think about how to get into the position. He wrapped a hand around my forearm and jerked me down. My palms flew out, catching myself on the cushion beside his legs.
He touched me like he had every right, positioning my body over him so my stomach was pressed against his thighs, which were like granite. The man was as addicted to his treadmill as I was to my phone.
“Hands behind your back.”
Shivers rolled in waves down my bare legs as I stared at the damask pattern of the upholstery. My mind was disconnected, like he’d pulled it out and plugged in a new operating system that was controlled by him. That would explain why I followed his order, laying my cheek against the couch cushion and twisting my arms behind me.
His hand was ice as it clamped down on my wrists, and although his grip wasn’t rough, I felt the squeeze of him all over. It forced the air from my lungs, made my heart beat frantically and my stomach rattle.
Like last night, the lights weren’t on in this room, so the only source of lighting came from the chandelier in the entryway. It was better this way with the moody shadows heightening the experience. What was happening didn’t belong in a brightly lit room.
I didn’t know what he was going to do, exactly, but the waiting? Each second dragged along my skin, creating tension in my center until it began to ache. I snagged my bottom lip between my teeth to keep quiet. If I spoke, he might come to his senses, realize how I was provocatively draped over him, and put a stop to this nonsense.
My breathing was shallow, but his was deep, and although I couldn’t see him, I pictured his gaze sliding over me. It evaluated every place on my body he had access to, and which spot would be best to dole out his punishment.
“Are you scared?” There was a teasing lilt to his voice.
I swallowed thickly and shook my head, unable to answer.
“This trembling is, what? Excitement?” He sounded disappointed, and dear God, it tripled the ache inside me. I imagined how hard his jaw was set and the muscles there I wanted to run my tongue along the length of. Down his neck and back up the other side.
Macalister shifted slightly beneath me, his legs spreading and adjusting his position, as if readying himself. My breasts flattened against the top of his thigh.
“Your actions yesterday were unacceptable, Sophia. To reinforce that point, you require a firm hand.”
His grip on my wrists tightened a degree, but this wasn’t what he meant.
It was preemptive, because his actions were going to cause me to jolt, and he wanted me to stay in place. He didn’t spank me, though. The bottom of my dress was lifted, exposing the swell of my bottom and my black lace underwear that was covering it. I flinched as cool air wafted over the backs of my newly bare thighs, the sensation causing me to pinch my knees together.