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Gently.
Almost tenderly.
Trish wanted to whimper. She preferred when he was rougher, harsher—it made it easier to hold everything against him.
So, when he tried to press her down onto the bed, she lashed out without thinking, sudden rage surging through her.
Crack!
The sound of her palm slapping his face was so loud it echoed through the room.
Her heart started beating like a frantic bird inside her chest, and she froze, too terrified to move. The expression on his face was unreadable as he pulled back and looked at her for a long moment.
“Five minutes.”
That was all he said before Trish found herself hauled across his lap as he sat on the edge of the bed, her bottom high in the air.
Smack!Smack!Smack!Smack!
“Ow! I’m sorry! Please!” The words fell out of her, a chanting, begging, plea as his hard hand came down on her bottom again and again. The skirt to her dress was hiked up around her hips, leaving her bare and exposed, without the slightest bit of protection against his paddle-like hand.
Smack!Smack!Smack!
He ignored her pleas and spanked her hard and fast, covering as much of her bottom as he could, changing the angle and placement of each swat while she squirmed and kicked and tears sprang to her eyes. The burning sting of each slap left her gasping. Even though he wasn’t increasing the intensity of the spanking, her bottom became more sensitive and painful with each swat, which meant she felt it more, anyway.
“Please! I’m sorry! I won’t do it again!” She squealed and kicked as he swatted her sit-spots, searing the sensitive skin between her bottom and upper thighs.
Silently, he kept spanking her, not even keeping count, and Trish let out a wail — he truly meant to sit here and spank her for five minutes.
This was what she got for letting her emotions overcome her logic.
Once the tears started, they cascaded like a waterfall down her cheeks, leaving her gasping at the ache inside her chest. Strangely, her mind was less on regretting her impulsive action and more on her current situation:her anger at the people of the Moon for allowing the situation on Earth to disintegrate to the point where criminals were running the show, her fury at herself for being caught by Jordan in the first place, her shame and humiliation for enjoying some of the things he didto her, her confusion and self-disgust at wanting to reach out and find companionship with some of the others in the Wolf’s Compound…
Something today—maybe the loss of her last virginity, maybe the strangely normal dinner conversation, maybe just the length of time she’d been here—had stirred up her emotions and the spanking was causing her to lose control and they were all spilling out.
She hated Jordan’s control over her.
She shamefully savored being so protected and cossetted.
She hated her body’s sexual response to him.
She hated him for using that response.
She hated herself because she wanted what he offered.
She hated him because it had been offered in a manner she couldn’t accept.
Trish wanted community. She wanted people who understood her. She wanted a life where she felt cared for and loved and wanted. She didn’t want to be part of the Moon’s shallow, self-obsessed citizenry, with their narrow focus and their ridiculous feelings of superiority. If she’d met Jordan in another way, or someone like him, and been taken into the community of people around him and had a choice in the matter…
But she hadn’t.
And thinking “what if?” was driving her crazy.
The craving, the desire to ignore the manner in which she’d arrived at this place, made Trish disgusted with herself.
Which was why she couldn’t handle Jordan’s gentleness. Couldn’t handle the way he’d touched her as though he were making love to her. Forced pleasure was so much less threatening to her peace of mind than any real intimacy.
She hadn’t realized how much he’d started worming his way past her walls, past her indignation and anger, until thismoment. It was wrong—it was all so, so wrong, but she actually had some semblance of feelings for him.
