Page 44 of Lesson In Forgiveness

“Bad girl,” he ground out, his voice ominous and dangerously dark even to his own ears. Catching her wrists, he pinned them at the base of her spine in one hand and used his leg to immobilize hers. “Very. Bad. Girl.”

“Get off me, you fuckwit.”

Flipping up the hem of his shirt over her backside, he was immensely satisfied to discover no panties. The pale globes of her buttocks weren’t as full as they should be, in his opinion, but then she hadn’t been taking care of herself.

He flexed his hand, squeezing his fingers into a fist, stretching them wide. “Given your circumstances and the fact I’m trying to build trust with you, not destroy it,” he said in a cold, disappointed tone, “this goes against my instincts. But you will fucking learn how to control yourself, Tabitha, and you will learn the hard fucking way.”

“Touch me and I will take you apa—”

Smack. Grit hissed through his teeth as his palm connected with her right cheek sharply. Her flesh rippled under the force, though he hadn’t used undue power. “Threats. Throwing knives. Trying to fucking stab me.” Smack. Smack. Smack. “Bad language. Being rude. Dislocating your goddamn thumb to get out of restraints put in place for your fucking safety.”

Smack. Smack. Smack.

Tabitha held her silence remarkably well, though it wasn’t what he wanted from her. She was rigid, her muscles trembling in a way that told him she was no longer revving for a fight, but trying to shut herself down away from the pain.

“Do you think I like punishing you this way, knowing what your father did to you? Do you think hurting you makes me happy?” He injected ice into his voice, dropping an octave so the words seemed to resonate like thunder, when he felt the first sob seize her chest. “I don’t. I don’t fucking enjoy it one damn bit, Tabitha, because part of me knows you don’t deserve it.”

Flesh connected against flesh again and again, turning her bottom a rosy shade of pink. When pink began to edge toward red, he kept the spanks coming, lessening the impact so he wouldn’t bruise her.

Finally, she went limp, her pain erupting in a cacophony of broken sobs.

Everything in him yearned to comfort her. Pull that shuddering body against him and let her cry until she fell asleep. Soothe the sting of her first spanking with aloe gel and a light touch. Show her that despite the punishment and the reasons for it, he still cared for her.

But it was a punishment, and he wasn’t done yet.

Releasing her hands, Grit dragged the backs of his fingers down her damp spine lightly, only a fraction of the reassurance he wanted to give. “Stand up, little tiger, go to the bathroom, and clean up. When you come back, be ready to apologize for your behavior.”

For several long seconds, she didn’t move. She remained exactly where she was, choking on tears, until she damn near broke his heart and shattered his resolve to be a hardass.

When she finally clambered unsteadily to her feet, he fought the urge to reach out and take her arm. Those big blue eyes met his for the briefest moment, dull and haunted and full of misery so deep, he felt the wound in his own chest.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, hardly more than a breath.

“I know. We’ll talk, Tabby, after you clean up.” Relenting slightly, he cupped her cheek, running his thumb over the tears leaving tracks from her pale eyelashes to the subtle point of her chin. He couldn’t care less about the snot or the tears; she was a beautiful, wrecked mess. “Don’t be long.”

Wearily, she shuffled away without argument, warning him he’d pushed her very close to her limit. Perhaps too close. Running his hand over his face, he sighed heavily.

“Here I was, thinking Elias was the strictest Dom I know.”

Shit. Grit jerked his head up, focusing on Evander. The giant Dom leaned his back against the door, the knife Tabitha had launched in his hand. He looked strangely at ease, amused even, as he regarded the minor chaos left behind from the short battle.

“I’m not that strict,” Grit muttered. “She pushed my goddamn buttons.”

“So I noticed. Yet the spanking you gave her wasn’t half as brutal as I expected—the expression on your face was eerily foreboding.” Evander straightened, holding out the knife by the blade. “Then again, neither is she. I was anticipating someone more… brutish, if I’m honest.”

Walking over, Grit took the knife. “Sometimes I’m convinced she’s an elf.”

Evander laughed. “Indeed. She definitely has that ethereal look about her, especially when she’s trying to rip out your throat.” He tapped a finger against his neck. “You have a little blood here.”

“Guess this didn’t weigh on the right side of the playdate scales.” Shaking his head, Grit went back and retrieved the other knife, taking both to the room safe tucked behind a false air vent in the wall and securing them.

“On the contrary.”

Snorting, Grit gave him a disbelieving look. “Tabitha’s just shown you part of what makes her certifiably crazy, and you shrug it off? She’s a hellcat, Evander, a fucking tiger with a firecracker taped to her tail when she gets in a mood.”

“Callie turns into something similar when she’s on her period. The important thing I learned from this is that you can handle Tabitha, quite admirably, even when she’s hellbent on killing you. A lot of men would have retaliated, you know that, right? Impotent pride demanding they prove they were the bigger, stronger element.” Brown eyes thoughtful, he cocked his head. “Never gave beating her a thought, did you?”

“What would that accomplish?” She was already afraid of physical contact, of things that a woman should never be fearful of experiencing. Acting like her father, using pain beyond her limits to control her, wouldn’t achieve anything.

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