Page 70 of Cinderella Is Faking It

“Who’s allowed to touch you tonight?” he asked, his voice gruff against my ear as he leaned into me. His hands were on my dress, pulling it up to bunch around my waist. My bared lower half was backed into him, his thigh pressing hard against me.

“Is this about the handshake?” I asked, voice barely more than a breath.

For a moment all heat of his body left me. Then his hand connected with my ass in a sharp slap, pain shooting through my flesh. I let out a pierced cry and barely caught my breath before another slap shattered against my other cheek. This time, the heat of the pain shot straight to the space between my legs. Oh God. My muscles pulsed, aching for more. I’d never gotten turned on this fast.

“Who’s allowed to touch you tonight, Del?” Beck asked again, aligning his body with mine. The denim of his jeans was too rough against my sore skin, and I whimpered on impact.

“You,” I replied, voice clogged, “just you.”

“That’s right,” he rasped and slipped a hand around me and between my legs. I squirmed as his finger slipped into me easily, heat prickling low in my stomach. “Two slaps and you’re already soaking wet for me.”

Two slaps. I’d let himslapme. I’d let him lay a hand on me for shaking another man’s hand. And he was right, it had made me wet. Despite the last weeks of research, knowing something so violent couldtheoreticallybe a turn-on, andexperiencingit, were two entirely different things and my heart started hammering too fast and my breathing shallowed, black dots dancing in front of my eyes.

“Look at me, look at me.” Somehow, I’d gotten turned around and Beck’s eyes were frantically searching mine as he clutched my face in both hands. “There you are. What’s happening?”

“Anxiety,” I mouthed, his face swimming before my eyes.

“Tell me what you’re thinking, sweetheart,” he whispered, smoothing my hair away from my face.

“You were right.”

“I often am, but I need you to elaborate. And breathe, Del, breathe.”

I inhaled deeply. Once. Twice. The air cleared some of the jitters. “Just now,” I stammered, “youhurtme, and I liked it.” He didn’t get it. I saw it in his eyes. This was so normal to him. He lived in a world where people were okay with being tied up and gagged and slapped before being fucked. “I know that’s the whole point, right? I’ve read your books, but they’reyourbooks. Why doIget turned on from being slapped? I mean, that’s violent. That’s- that’s- it makes no sense.”

He hummed a low note, understanding dawning on his features. “Does thewhymatter? If you tell me, you want me to spank your ass until it’s raw, I will. If you tell me to choke you, I will wrap my hand around your throat and squeeze. If you tell me to lay you on a bed of rose petals and make sweet love to you, I will. And if you tell me that the one thing that turns you on is getting fucked in a burning building, I will lay the world to ashes just to please you.”

I took a stuttering breath, then another, blinking up at him. The conviction in his eyes charged the space between us. “I am scared,” I whispered, afraid the truth behind these three words would shatter if I spoke them too loudly.

“Of what?”

“I’m scared of figuring out that the things that turn me on are things I logically shouldn’t be turned on by. Like getting spanked. What if the reason I’ve not had an orgasm is that I… you know… am too different.”

“First of all, there’s no such thing as too different. There are so many kinks in the world, sweetheart, and plenty of people who enjoy them. Second of all, if you have a partner you trust, you should be able to experiment with them. They shouldn’t make you feel weird about the things you want to try. Because third and last, as long as it’s consensual, sex doesn’t have to be logical. It just has to feel good.”

I winced even though I knew his words were right. I just didn’t like illogical. I could work with the experimentation part though. Experiments led to results. So even if the experiment seemed illogical itself, the outcome could be life-changing, right? That’s how an old Petri dish led to Penicillin after all. “Actually… there’s one thing I might want to try.” He just raised his brows, so I told him.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea. At least not here.”

“Oh.” So much for experimenting.

“I have a lot of self-restraint, but nine square feet would be pushing my limits, Blondie.”

So when he saidheredid he meanin here? “What about out there?”

“Will you spread your legs for me?”

“I’m not having sex with you out there.”

“I never said anything about sex.”

His words replayed in my head. Spread my legs for him. Well, I’d just done that at the bar without much of a second thought, so that wasn’t an outrageous request. “Okay.”

Five minutes later, I leaned against the cushions of anisland.

The island room was dark, dotted with round beds, draped in gossamer curtains. There were lights right above the islands, but the rest of the room was covered in shadows. Watchers stayed anonymous, while the people occupying the beds barely registered anyone outside their gauzy private island. Only half the beds were taken, the room filled with soft moans and quiet nondescript background music.

I sat pushed against the pillows on the bed, dress pushed up to my hips, legs spread just enough for Beck to have an unobstructed view. Even if someone watched us, there were enough cushions to keep my privacy intact.

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