Beyond Measure (Ruthless Doms 2)

“Is there something else you need besides a good spanking?” he asks.

I shrug. “Well… you know…” My voice trails off. I’ll die if I have to tell him.

“Not every spanking will end with orgasm,” he says firmly. “Though it pleases me to know you’re aroused with punishment, arousal isn’t my only purpose.” Grasping my hips from behind, he grinds his crotch against my throbbing backside. I smile to myself when I feel his erection. He likes this as much as I do.

There’s a world of possibilities, really.

“Be a good girl for the rest of the afternoon,” he says, stepping back. “I have a few things to show you. If you behave, I’ll grant you that pleasure you want when we get back to our place. Understood?”

I sigh but do as he says, even though I want to stomp my foot. I know that won’t get me anywhere. Plus, I’m curious what he wants to show me.

I pause at his chuckle. “Are you laughing at me?” I ask incredulously.

“Laughing at you? No, sweetheart,” he says. “You’re just adorable when you pout.”

I furrow my brow and let my lower lip stick out, not even bothering to hide my pout. “Am I?” I actually like how it feels to let myself relax like this. To not have to put on a brave face and be all grown up about it. He punished me, and it hurt. I want to come, and he won’t let me yet. I just told the men here about what happened to me, and we’re all on the cusp of war. My emotions are many and varied.

Turning me to face his chest, he laces his arms about my back and pulls me to him. I didn’t expect this tenderness after my punishment. “So adorable it makes me want to punish you all over again just to see that pouty lip.”

I make a little mewl of protest.

“Sir,” I say. “I’m good now.” I lay my head on his chest. “I’m your good little girl.”

I don’t understand why I’m acting this way, all coy and playful, but there’s freedom in submission. When I let myself give way to him, despite his stern demeanor and heavy hand, I feel lighter somehow. As if the responsibility of even my thoughts can rest for a while, in the knowledge that he’s the one in charge. But I accept this. I grant him this authority.

“Such a good little girl,” he says, allowing me to burrow onto his chest. Tipping a finger under my chin, he lifts my gaze to his. There’s nothing but tenderness in his look, and kindness in his eyes. “I can’t help but want to kiss those pretty lips of yours,” he whispers, brushing his thumb over my lower lip.

In response, I let my lips part ever-so-slightly. He’s holding me upright, pressed to his chest, my body humming with need so intense I’m damn near dizzy from it, when his lips meet mine. At first, the kiss is tentative. Gentle. But as I sink lower into this, he deepens the kiss. I moan into him when his tongue finds mine, sending tingles of bliss through my body.

Groaning, he pulls away from me. “Beautiful,” he tells me.

I love you.

I’m shocked at the intensity of the words that come to me so quickly, so powerfully, I’m mute. I can’t possibly love someone I just met. But what is it about knowing that I’m his very special girl? That he’s literally just commanded his men to go to war for me, to avenge the wrong done to me? It’s somehow accelerated everything I feel, everything I need, right here in this moment.

I have to push it away, and I’m so intent on doing so I literally shake my head.

“What is it?” he asks. “What are you saying ‘no’ to?”

But how can I tell him I’m denying the feelings he evokes in me? That I’m a silly, wounded girl, who’s falling for him like a house of cards. One breath of air, and I’ll be completely at his mercy. Levelled.

“Nothing,” I lie, and I think it might be the first lie I’ve actually told him. “It was just a knee-jerk reaction.” I smile shyly and look down. “Honestly, sir, I love when you kiss me.”

I love him.

I love this fierce, unyielding, jealous man who acts as if I’m his most treasured possession. I love how powerful he is, how stern. Even watching him command his men made me love him that much more.

Oh, God.

I love him.

And then he does the very thing that will seal my devotion to him. My inner voice warns me not to fall so hard, to heed the warning of my vulnerable, wounded heart.

He takes me by the hand, his much larger hand completely engulfing mine. My body’s on fire, my mind is at war, and then I quiet a little when he says, “Okay, little detka. I’ve changed my mind for now. Let’s take you to the kitchen for just a little while.”