An alpha knows the scent of his mate.
I thought I could defy the most powerful mafia boss in the city, but as Lawson Clearwater rips off my nightgown and pins me to the bed I’m certain he can smell more than just my fear.
This beast isn’t just here to punish me. He’s here to mount me, rut me, and mark me as his.
Author: Sara Fields
eBook Price: Kindle Unlimited/$4.95
Length: 64,000 words
Roughly, he flipped me over on my stomach and I yelped when he placed one hand in the middle of my back and the other on top of my bare bottom.
I’m not sure why, but him looking at my naked backside was the most embarrassing part of this whole ordeal. I could feel myself blushing hard and his palm smoothed over the surface of my skin. He cupped each cheek, and I was left with the harrowing thought of how his hand dwarfed each side of my ass. His hands were so very big. I found myself pressing back into the hard plane of his palm and just when I thought maybe he was being gentle before he fucked me, he spanked me hard.
I whimpered out loud and a second cruel smack followed.
I was getting the first real spanking of my life. I soon lost count of how many times his palm connected with my bare cheeks. His smacks were relentless and quick and far harder than I was ready for.
I was in so far over my head.
“Stop! You have no right to spank me!” I shrieked.
It hurt so much that I was beginning to fear that I was losing grip of the very last semblances of my control, of my sanity, of everything that made me who I am.
“I do, pretty human. I want this little bottom bright red before I force every last inch of my cock into that tight virgin pussy,” he smirked with amusement.
“It makes me very hard when you beg for mercy, sweet girl, but it’s not going to rescue you from the thorough spanking you’ve had coming since you first refused me,” he countered.
I cried out, feeling helpless.
With his hand in the center of my back, I couldn’t roll to the side. I couldn’t avoid even a single one. His hand was relentless and the longer my spanking continued, the more I convinced myself that his palm must be made of wood. He punished the upper curves of my cheeks, all the way down to the middle of my thighs.
I was his prisoner. His to do with as he wished. His to hurt. His to fuck.
“Please stop,” I pleaded. My voice broke and he started spanking the backs of my thighs exclusively. “Please, alpha. Please,” I begged. Over and over, I tried to appeal to his sympathy. There had been a glimmer of it when he’d cleaned off my face, but it was nowhere to be seen now.
He intended to punish me, and he wanted it to hurt.
It did. So much.
My mind edged at a dark place, teetering on that thin border and I squeezed my eyes shut, just trying to survive before I fell apart.
My entire focus was centered on his hand spanking my backside. It was as if he was branding me with fire with every strike and it was only that much more intense when he punished the backs of my thighs. My hips arched back and forth, and my cries grew louder. Was he going to make me cry? Was that what he wanted? I was terrified that I would.
Would my tears be enough to set me free?
“Your spanking will end when you lift that pretty bottom for me. Present me with that soaking wet little pussy so that I can fuck it,” he demanded.