Page 24 of The Dragon Warlord
There isn’t anything nice-looking in here and I assume I’ve earned myself the “very bad boy” box.
Before we can get started with whatever awful thing the dragon lord has planned for me, a gorgeous man charges into the room as fiery as his long red hair, brandishing a sword.
“Tristan,” he says, and for half a heartbeat, I think he means me. Thank the fucking Gods he means my predecessor because I do not want to be under that glare.
The Tristan in question spins dramatically to face him. “What, Rayne?”
“You did this now because you knew I would be gone. I believe I was explicit when I told you to wait for me.”
Well, well, well. Things just got interesting.
“No one else agreed with you.”
“Does it look like I care? I won’t reveal our conversation just now.” His eyes gesture to me, which means they were talking about me, and he doesn’t want me to know what they said. Rude. “But I know you recall it.”
Tristan pauses, thinking and perhaps mulling over their earlier words. “All right. You’re here now, may I proceed?”
He hops arse-first onto a table, crossing his arms while keeping a firm grip on his sword. He reminds me of someone … I think he’s the Bayaden of this Tristan’s husbands. He’s at least as hot as Baya with that same gruffness.
“You may, but we’re having words after this.”
That gives me a reason to smile because I know words are never just words in these kinds of situations. In any case, the dragon lord’s scary ambiance is ruined.
Um, but not Rayne’s. He’s the scariest anyone can be. Why Tristan isn’t more contrite, I’ll never know.
“Your discipline for the next month will be simple,” the dragon lord says. “You will receive ten strokes with my cane.”
Huh. That’s a walk in the park for a guy like me. What’s the catch? “Um, yes, Alpha?” I’m confused. “Let me guess. That’s the standard and more strokes are added if I’m a belligerent brat?”
“Do you feel you need more?” He raises an imperious brow.
“Nope.” As if I’m giving him that.
“But you don’t leave here until the full ten are given.”
I’m sensing “the catch” upon me, but I still don’t know what it is. “Sounds good, Alpha.” The alpha thing suddenly isn’t so bad. It has a mocking feel to it. Only just enough that he’s not calling me on it.
I check in with River. I don’t care for the look on his face. He’s figured out what his father’s doing. I have not.
“I want you to lean over this bench with your pants and trousers down.”
Oooookay.
Wanting to get this over with, I make my way over to what looks like a standard spanking bench set up. A long leather platform on legs that stands at hip height, angled forty-five degrees. There are four other long platforms at each corner of the bench, which I assume are for forearms and knees. It’s not my first time. I could probably teach a spanking master class by this point.
Unceremoniously, I unlace my trousers and pull them down along with my underthings.
If he wants to humiliate me, the joke’s on him, I’m into that shit and I’ve been publicly punished before all of Mortouge by my—hopefully still—soon-to-be husband.
No.Nope.I’m not going to think about that just now.
“Forearms on the front pads but leave your feet on the ground.”
When I do that, placing my chest on the widest part of the bench, my torso is angled downward, my arse is high in the air and my nuts are dangling in the breeze.
“Do I need to buckle you in? Or will you behave yourself?”
He’s pushing it. I barely hold back the growl, which is a kind of discipline all its own. “The buckles won’t be necessary, Alpha.” That’s my pride speaking. I don’t know if they’ll be necessary or not.
