Page 63 of Unbroken

I sink onto the couch, and she looks back at me.

“You should change into something more comfortable too,” she says.

She’s right. We put Luka to bed and walk to the guest room together, pretending it’s not intimate. Pretending we’re not thinking about what it feels like to be close. To touch.

“Luka’s asleep,” I tell her quietly. “And you… you’re in trouble.”

“We don’t have that kind of relationship,” she says, but the look in her eyes betrays her. She wants to. God, she wants to. “You think you can tell me what to do?”

“All right,” I say, low and deliberate, as I cross the room. “You get dressed. I’ll go change too. Then you’re going to lay yourself over my lap and take what’s been coming to you.”

She just stands there.

Challenging. Smiling that wicked little smile that says she’s not scared of me—no, she wants me to lose control. Wants to see how far I’ll go.

Dangerous little thing.

“Ruthie,” I warn.

She turns, slow as sin, and bends over the dresser. On purpose. Her ass tilts up—taunting me. Daring me.

That’s when I see it. The way her breath catches. The way her thighs part just slightly. The way her hands tighten around the edge of the wood like she’s bracing.

She’s not resisting. She’sofferingherself.

The warning slap I meant to give her turns into something else the moment my palm lands. The sound cracks loud—flesh to flesh. She gasps, then moans.

Fuck.

I’m hard instantly.

I watch the ripple of heat across her skin, the way her spine arches, pushing back for more. So I give her more. Another smack. Then another.

By the fourth, she’s panting. Her legs spread wider, shameless now, her hips rocking forward like she needs the friction. My restraint slips. I can’t stop.

“You think this is a game?” I rasp, my voice rough against her ear as I lean in close. I breathe her in—heat, sweat, need. “You like pushing me, baby?”

She nods, breathless, shameless. “Yeah,” she whispers. “I want you to.”

Fucking hell.

My hand comes down again, harder this time, angled to the crease where her ass meets her thigh. Her whole body jolts—then melts into it. She moans again, and it sounds like a prayer.

“Now tell me,” I murmur, lips against her jaw, “are you going to behave yourself?”

“For now,” she says. Still defiant. Still smiling.

I grin. Dark. Dangerous. “Little brat.”

“If I don’t… will you do that again?” she asks, her voice a tease but trembling at the edges.

I grip her hip, fingers digging in. “You do that again,” I growl, “and I’ll take my belt to your ass.”

She shudders—visibly. Not in fear.

Inwant.

She scrambles to gather her clothes, but her hands are shaking.

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