Tully (Dangerous Doms 7)

I stalk toward her, and she turns to run, but just as she does a large passel of people passes in front of her. She dodges left, then right, but can’t get away. I close the distance in seconds, scoop her straight up in the air, and toss her over my shoulder. She squeals when I clap my palm on her arse, the satisfying smack resounding in the air around us like the boom of a pistol. My dick hardens.

She screams and kicks, but no one even looks our way. They know who I am, and she hasn’t called the club safe word.

She’s mine.

Christ, how I’ve missed her. We’re fire and ice, McKenna and me, and we push each other away with finality, only to ignite when we reunite. But not again. I’m done playing games.

This time, the lass isn’t getting away from me.

“Put me down!” she shrieks, smacking at my back, but I only walk with greater determination toward the room I’ve prepared. This little girl is in a world of trouble.

“Tully! Tully! Put me down!” she hollers, which earns her another hard slap of my palm.

“Now, now, lass,” I say, shaking my head as I kick the door open. “You’ve already earned a punishment for showing up late. Do you really want to compound that interest?”

“Fuck you!” she bellows.

I shake my head with mock regret. “Now that will earn you more as well.”

I kick the door shut behind me, still holding her over my shoulder. She’s so much smaller, that even as she fights me, it’s easy enough to grab her wrists and secure them in the restraints I’ve prepared.

First the left. The satin tie tightens as her struggle begins to slow, and my cock strains in my trousers.

Then the right.

In half a minute I’ve got her bared and stripped, kneeling on the bed with her arms restrained on a post in front of her, one wrist atop the other.

“There,” I say, tossing the box of Cubans on the table and taking one out. “You can think about the punishment you’ve earned while I prepare.”

I tug a stool out from the corner of the room, and sit across from her so I can take her in. I cross one ankle over my lap, cut the cigar, and light it.

“You can’t smoke in here,” she says, her brows furrowed together.

“Says who?” I can do whatever the fuck I want.

She frowns, at a loss for an answer. “I thought people vaped these days.”

I chuckle. “Vaping’s for pussies.”

“You think damn near everything’s for pussies.”

I shrug. “Maybe it is.”

A ring of smoke rises into the air, and her gorgeous eyes follow it. She pulls against her restraints and sighs, as I take her in.

Her mousy brown hair’s tucked into a bun, her glasses perched on her nose, magnifying intelligent eyes so blue they’re nearly violet. Her pretty, full lips are pursed, and her dainty little chin juts out. She’s got a smattering of freckles I want to kiss, gently arched brows, and the cutest damn forehead that’s currently creased.

Her shoulders slope downward to the curve of her arms, secured above her head. She’s petite but solid, her body tight and fit. From here I can see the tapered waist and swell of her full arse, the gentle curves of her thighs.

Christ, but I’ve missed her.

“Was the mask difficult to wear with your glasses?”

“Well,” she says, taking on that philosophical tone that gets me fucking hard. “It was a leather mask, so I custom fit the eye holes so I could wear my glasses.”

Adorable.

She wrinkles her nose and rolls her eyes.

“I hate the smell of cigars.”

I shake my head. “Don’t lie to me, McKenna. That will only get you in worse trouble. You told me you loved the smell of cigars.”

“Changed my mind, then.”

“Fair enough.”

I puff out another ring of smoke. The tobacco stokes me as I prepare to punish her.

“Now, lass. Why are you so late?”

“Oh,” she says, looking away, her voice a little low and seductive. “Just… lost track of time, is all.”

Right. I don’t buy it.

I shake my head. “I think you’re lying,” I say, taking another pull.

She blinks, then swallows, giving herself away. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I think you’ve missed me.”

She tosses her head.

“As if.”

“More than that, I think you’ve missed your punishments.”

That strikes a nerve. A quick intake of breath, and I’d swear I can almost feel the quickening of her pulse from here.

“Who misses punishments? The very thought’s an oxymoron,” she scoffs, but her voice wavers.

I puff on the cigar again. “You, love. You like it when I punish you.”

She huffs out. “Only fools would enjoy punishment.”

A beat passes between us, and I grin at her.

“If that’s what you have to tell yourself, then.”

I finish the cigar in silence, snuffing it out and rising. It’s the largest room in the place, with a king-sized bed, massive windows with heavy drapes, and a private loo.