Page 83 of Cinderella Is Faking It

I brushed her hair out of her face, tilting her chin up with the touch of my index finger. “How many times must I tell you not to apologize?”

“I don’t want you to think that I didn’t-” She hiccupped again, nose taking on a traitorous red tint.

“Come here,” I sighed and wrapped my hand around hers, careful not to touch her wrist. I grabbed the first aid kit from its spot on the wall and pulled her to the breakfast counter. Bathrobe untied and slipped off her shoulders, I assessed the damage.

I’d done a lot fucking worse before but considering this was the first time Del had even let me fuck her beyond fingering, I’d overdone it. It had been Julian’s fucking wink over her shoulder as he hugged her goodbye that had triggered the most possessive parts of me. I pushed the image aside and focused on the bruising that marred her body. Her wrists were the worst, closely followed by the dark hand-shaped shadows on her thighs and ass. Even her breasts had some minor yellowing marks. As much as I admired her soft, milky skin, it also seemed prone to bruising. “Can you sit?”

She shook her head.

“Just your ass?”

She shook her head again.

Shit.

I vividly remembered the primal scream she’d let out when I’d spanked her pussy. It had been fucking wild, but of course it had left its mark. “You don’t have to pretend you’re okay,” I said and popped the first aid kit open on one of the barstools, “you’re physically hurt.”

“Isn’t that just what happens when you have sex like this?”

I tilted my head from side because it was that simple, but it also wasn’t, and I wasn’t sure how much she’d read up on the things that happened after the orgasm. “Now comes the part called aftercare,” I explained as I spread cooling gel around her wrists and wrapped them in bandages, “because the pain you enjoyed last night might now be a whole lot to deal with. Physically and emotionally.”

“Mostly physically,” she sighed and closed her eyes when I let go of her wrists and spread some of the gel on the fingertip-sized splotches across her chest.

“Mostly but not totally?” I asked, guilt sinking through my chest. Maybe I should have talked her through it more. Should have taken more time. Three dozen books, and one night at a sex club didn’t make her any more sexually experienced.

Her shoulders eased as the cooling gel soaked into her skin. I knelt and continued spreading it along her thighs where I’d held her wide open for me last night even when her legs had started shaking and jerking against me. Twice.

“At Clandestine, I shook Harlan’s hand even after you told me the rule. I understand that.” Her voice was barely a whisper, but my head snapped up at the trembling breath wrecking her body. “Yesterday, your brother hugged me. You inflicted pain on me because ofhisactions. Not mine. I mean, I can’t deny that I got pleasure out of it. I’m just trying to understand how that’s a fair concept.”

“You equate pain with punishment,” I summarized and gently turned her hips, so I could spread the gel along her back. I traced a kiss along the edge of the bruise where her thigh curved into her ass.

“Isn’t that what spanking is? The whole thing about acting like a brat and getting punished for it in the bedroom?”

“For some people,” I rose back to my feet and wiped the rest of the gel off on a dish towel.

“Not for you?”

“I thought I told you what I was doing.” I raised my brows at her and shook two Advil from their bottle. I picked up her hand with careful fingers, dropping the pills into her palm. “Did I say anything along the lines ofThis is what you get for letting another man touch you? You have been a naughty girl and I have to teach you some manners? This will make you think twice before disobeying me again?” My voice had taken a gruff edge and Del shrank under the words, her hand curling into a tight fist around the two little pills.

“No,” she said after a moment of contemplation.

I got a small bottle of orange juice and an ice pack from the fridge, and handed her the former while wrapping the latter in paper towels. “For me, it’s not about punishment or discipline. I don’t care for women acting like brats to get a rise out of me.” I waited until she had taken the Advil then claimed her mouth in a kiss. She gave it willingly, melting into me. I locked her against me by the neck before I slipped the ice pack between her legs. She hissed and shoved both fists against my chest but deflated within the same moment as the cold comfort seeped through her skin. “It’ll help with the swelling,” I whispered against the corner of her mouth, holding the ice pack in place. She closed her eyes and folded into me, face buried in the crook of my collar while I held her, thumb tracing up and down the back of her neck. “For me, it’s making you feel with every fiber of your being, that you’re mine. Every muscle spasm, every sound, everything you feel, is because of me. I’m the one who touches you. I’m the one who knows every dip and curve of your body. I’m the one who gets to make you come.”

A little laugh trembled through her torso. “The only one who can, statistically speaking.”

“You must be feeling better if you’re bringing statistics into this.”

“What can I say? I’m a nerd.” She shifted and it was impossible to miss the twitch around the ice pack, but she pushed through the pain, propping her chin up against my chest and blinking up at me. “Statistically speaking, what percentage of your sex life requires medical attention afterwards?” She held up her bandaged wrists in case I didn’t get what she was saying.

I got what she was saying, but I’d clearly underestimated her readiness before.

When I didn’t answer right away, her hands slid up to cup my jawline. “Curiosity, not judgment,” she reminded me.

“Blondie, I’m not worried, you’ll judge me. I’m worried that you’ll be scared off.”

“Well, statistically speaking, 100% of my orgasms happened on the nights that you spanked me, so I might be more aligned with you than you think.”

I barked a laugh. “Alright, statistically speaking? When I’m single, 100% of my sex life requires intensive aftercare. I usually frequent Clandestine because the women there either have partners or a good enough understanding of their own needs to not require my attention the next morning.” Her eyes flashed but before the anxiety could weasel its way into her thoughts, I slipped my arm around her waist. “This doesn’t happen often, but when I agree to an exclusive arrangement with a woman,” I looked at her pointedly, “a 100% rate isn’t feasible. I would estimate 70% of the time, you’ll be perfectly fine, like when I tied you to the fridge with your shirt.” Her thighs clenched around the ice pack at the memory. “25% of the time, you’ll walk away with some bruises and a bandage here and there.” I tilted my head to press a kiss to the inside of her wrist, causing another jerk around my hand. I was beginning to think those might notjustbe painful for her, but if I acted on it, her soreness would outweigh any pleasure.

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