Page 123 of A Brat's Tale
Ugh!
I stomp over to him. “I don’t want a spanking. I won’t do it again.”
He pulls down my pants and underthings anyway, undeterred by my complaining. “If you don’t want a spanking, obey me.”
When I’m over his knee, facing the floor, I hear him take a sharp breath. He pauses to rub my bare arse, but then I’m attempting not to bite through my lip as his hand connects to my backside, painfully. “Why have you earned this spanking?”
“For disobedience, sir.”
“Indeed,” he says, as he lays down another crisp set of whacks that ring out and echo off the walls of the armory. I grimace and my jaw tenses. Alrik never messes around, his spankings are always fucking exacting from beginning to end. “What have you to say for yourself?”
“I will get a guard to bring me next time, promise. Ow!”
“Who says you’re invited for a next time, hmmmm?”
But I can’t answer that yet. I’m busy trying not to move out of the target range. Spankers hate when you squirm excessively, they add for that, but to willingly remain in front of that which is blistering your bottom is work. I grunt and wince. I wish I’d obeyed him in the first place. When he pauses, I release the breath I was holding. “Am I not invited back, sir?”
He doesn’t answer, unless you call him spanking my arse an answer. In that case, he answered for several minutes. My eyes watered through the pain and I fought the urge to struggle. Strobaviktaught me well—Alrik doesn’t like a lot of reaction, if you’ve earned a spanking from him, you take it stoically. And he’s unyielding, his hand falling over and over. I have to work to pull a breath and grip his pant leg for support. I’m probably not supposed to, but he doesn’t correct me.
I shut my eyes tight, the bright, magical lighting overstimulating as tears drop to the floor and I stifle many a groan, feeling very sorry for myself. He slows his onslaught of swats, finishing with a loud smack I know will leave a hand-sized print in dark red. “Ahhhh, sir!”
He helps me up, pulling me between his legs. “I do not negotiate with brats. I will allow the company, but you will have a guard bring you down, Tristan. I shall return you.” His eyes are blazing, and he might be thinking about slicing me in two, but he’s gentle when he helps return my clothing to rights.
His dark eyes pierce me. “Corrik said we should—”
He stands abruptly, sliding a hand to the nape of my neck, gripping the roots painfully. “I know what Corrik thinks we should do. The problem, Tristan, is I’m a lot more possessive than my brother.” He breathes like he might be aching. “I want you so badly. But I want you to bemine.”
His lips are close; they’re hot.
Our foreheads touch and he closes his eyes, collecting himself. He releases me. “Go. And if I catch you out past curfew without guard or permission again, it will be my thickest strap to your bare arse.”
That angers me. I get his position, I’m lowest in the chain of hierarchy, so I can be disciplined by anyone, but Alrik’s the only one who regularly disciplines me other than Corrik. I hate that he gets to when he’s so bloody awful. “Don’t worry, you won’t have to see me again. I’ll stay away, I’ll stayfaraway from you. The nerve. And another thing—”
I don’t get to finish my sentence, Alrik’s lips are on mine, searing and heavy. It’s fast and we break away surprised that it happened, both of us panting, me with rage, him with passion. “You see? It’s stuff like that—”
“—by the Gods. Tristan,shut up!”
He shuts me up with his mouth on mine but this time it’s not a quick thing. Our lips are secured, and his tongue is down my throat. He inhales me as he uses one of his strong hands to knock his sword, along with all his polishing equipment, off the table. He grips my thighs, lifting my arse onto the table.
I’m kind of in a lot of trouble now. I wanted to kiss him, but once you ignite the feral nature of an Elf, there’s every chance it won’t stop there. But part of me didn’t believe Corrik with all his Alrik talk. Yes, I knew there was an energy, but not this kind of energy. I thought it was purely on a Dom-sub level, this is different. There’s real passion.
And I can’t stop either.
I’m fueled by my Elven nature now too. I want him as much as he wants me. I wrap my thighs around him, squeezing his pelvis toward mine. “You are so much better when you’re pliant underneath me like this,” he breaks away to say. “You’d look awfully pretty with a large, red, ball gag in your mouth.”
Arse!“You won’t do that, not for long. I suspect you like kissing me too much.” I smirk at him.
He growls between kisses, slamming me onto my back, leaning over top of me. He knows I’m right.
“I like kissing you too, Alrik,” I say in between yet more kissing, looking up at him sweetly.
He pauses, staring down at me like I’m a wonder of the world he’s trying to figure out. “Why are you so addictive? I have tried to stop thinking about you. I can’t.” He nuzzles his face into my neck. “I didn’t mean to get excited about marrying you, but I did.”
“I can’t say I was ever thrilled about marrying you,” I get a death glare for that one, “but I like the way you protect me. It’s different. I don’t want to let it go.” I know that’s selfish, but it also says a lot—I protect myself, that’s not an honor I would bestow onto just anyone. He knows it.
“You’ll always have my sword, Tristan.” He presses another kiss to my lips, we breathe each other in and then he helps me up and off the table. I detect the smidgeon of a smile.
“So? Do you like me better now that I’m an Elf?” My legs still hangoff the table. I’m tempted to wrap them around him again, but I refrain.
