“Time to arise! The sun is shining, and it’s a warm day.” Movement draws my eyes open, and I find Selma parting the floor-length drapes, allowing the light of day to spill into the room. I hide my face in the soft pillow with a groan.
“Did you not sleep well?” she asks.
“Not really.” What an understatement. After Liam escorted me to my suite last night, pressing his lips to my forehead in a brief kiss goodnight, I tossed and turned for hours, my mind galloping ahead with memories of my first day on Zodiac Island.
Liam’s confident control.
Sebastian’s casual cruelty.
“Chancellor Castle is expecting you on the main balcony in twenty minutes.”
I veer up in bed too fast, making my head woozy from the rush of blood. Selma enters the adjacent closet that’s bigger than most people’s bedrooms, and I spy my clothing hanging on racks and taking up the space on the shelves. She slides several hangers to the side, apparently searching for something specific.
“Where are my ladies? They usually help me dress.”
“The chancellor wishes not to be disturbed today. He gave them the day off from their duties.”
I slide out of bed and frown, not liking his high-handedness. Selma exits the wardrobe room, clutching a white negligee that leaves little to the imagination. That scrap of material definitely didn’t come with me to the island.
“Chancellor Castle wants you to wear this to breakfast.” She drapes it over the back of a burgundy lounge chair, the dark suede leather offering a stark contrast to the purity of white.
“And if I don’t?”
“Well, that’s your choice, but just know the chancellor doesn’t let disobedience go unpunished.”
I fist my hands, remembering the sting that disappeared overnight during my fitful sleep, though the phantom of the burn lingers.
As Selma makes my bed, I grab the piece of lingerie and escape into the bathroom.
Several minutes later, after a solitary pep talk, I stand in front of the full-length mirror with my dusty rose nipples on display in the fitted lace cups. The skirt flares down to my knees, giving a false sense of modesty because the material is sheer, and underneath I’m wearing a thong. My long hair is my only option for modesty, so I arrange it over my shoulders to cover my breasts.
When I return to the bedroom, teeth freshly brushed and bladder emptied, I find the room deserted and as clean as it was upon my arrival yesterday. The curved outer wall is a wondrous panel of oversized windows that reveal a breathtaking view of the sea, and just like in Liam’s quarters, a set of French doors opens to a balcony.
I wander to the glass, brushing my fingers against the spotless surface, and wish I could stay inside this private sanctuary all day, safe from the lustful attention of a man who makes me feel shameful things.
But a glance at the clock startles me into motion. I spent more time in the bathroom than I realized, and now I’m already ten minutes late.
This isn’t good.
It’s the only thought bouncing around my head as I rush through my private sitting room and into the main part of the penthouse. The scent of food—a mixture of cinnamon and sausage—wafts through the open doors of the balcony where I find him sitting alone at a table.
“I assume Selma told you twenty minutes?” He doesn’t look at me as he asks the question, and the nature of his nonchalant tone makes me nervous.
I’m tempted to lie, but I don’t have it in me. Not with him. “I’m sorry. I lost track of time in the bathroom.”
He finally raises his head, his brown eyes a rich caramel from the warm sunlight. A slight breeze disturbs my hair, causing my nipples to poke through the strands. His attention lowers to my chest, and a furrow forms between his brows. Scooting his chair back, he picks up a wooden serving spoon from the table, and I stiffen, assuming he’s going to use it to punish me. Instead, he uses the thin handle to secure my hair into a messy bun atop my head.
“Bend over the table,” he says, gesturing to the end free of breakfast clutter. When I don’t move to follow his command, he takes me by the elbow and leads me to where he wants me, and I feel him behind me as I splay my hands on the smooth surface. My breasts smash against the wood.
“Why are you doing this?”
“I have zero tolerance for tardiness.” His shoe nudges the inside of my foot. “Spread your legs.”
“What are you going to do to me?” I ask, voice shaking as I widen my stance.
“Not what I’d like to do.” His fingers graze the back of my thigh, and slowly he lifts the skirt, bearing my ass cheeks to the temperate spring air. “If you were mine to fuck, I’d take you right here on this table.” He pauses, and I sense the heat of his gaze on me, spreading gooseflesh down my back.
I shiver, though whether from the mild temperature or Liam’s words, I don’t know.
“If you were mine,” he says, pressing into my back as he brings his lips to my ear, “I’d get you worked up enough to beg, but I wouldn’t let you come.” He tucks the skirt around my waist, leaving my backside vulnerable to his every whim.
I swallow hard. “I won’t be late again.”
“When I say twenty minutes, I mean twenty minutes. Understand?”
“Yes.”
“Since you’re still learning your boundaries, I won’t use my belt this time, but you’re getting a swat for every minute you were late.”
The idea of his hand on my ass turns my insides to molten desire. “A total of ten?”
“Eleven, Novalee.” His warm palm settles on my right cheek, fingers squeezing the flesh there. “But I wonder, my sweet girl, will my hand punish, or will it turn you on?”
I’m already turned on, but hell will ice over before I tell him that.
His palm lifts from my ass, and a second later, he lands a sound smack. I jump, unable to hold back a yelp because his hand hurts more than I thought it would. He lands another, and another, each one escalating in force. Gnawing on my lower lip, I fist my hands against the table, hoping to find the strength to get through the last half of the spanking.
His hand comes down again, and I can’t help but cry out. “You’re hurting me.”
“Yes. That is the idea behind a corporal punishment.”
“But it was only ten minutes!”
“It was eleven.”
Whack!
A pitiful whimper escapes my lips. I never knew a spanking could be so painful, could humiliate to this degree. My face burns, undoubtedly as red as my ass.
He issues the last strike—an especially harsh blow of his hand—and then he makes me sit on my hands at the table.
“Now you’ll wait eleven minutes before you eat.” He reclaims his seat and casually lifts his coffee cup to his lips.
“Why are you so cruel?” He’s better than this, better than Sebastian and his caustic personality. I’ve seen it.
Liam meets my angry gaze, and I think I detect an apology there; one he doesn’t want to give voice to.
“What you call cruelty, I call consistency. As the first in this tower to spend time with you, it’s my job to make sure you know your boundaries.” He pauses, and a beat passes, laden with importance. “I’m not being cruel, Novalee. I’m arming you against those who will take discipline and control to Draconian levels.”
Fear flourishes in my gut, unstoppable. It’s a weed I can’t control. An invasive sickness I can’t cure.
“You’re scaring me,” I whisper past the aching lump in my throat.
“I’m scared for you.”
“Why?” I ask, running through the events of the previous day, and the introductions at dinner. “Is it Sebastian? Is he dangerous?”
“Sebastian should be the least of your worries, my sweet girl.”
“Then who should I be worried about?”
“Truthfully? All of us, myself included.” He blinks, and something close to hesitation crosses his face. “I’ll do my best to prepare you, but I can’t protect you after you leave my house.”
“Why not? Aren’t you the chancellor?”
“My power only goes so far. Every man in this tower will have authority over you until the auction.”
“But I get no say in who I marry, isn’t that right, Chancellor?” The title slips out, as does the testy note in my tone. I don’t apologize for it, or take it back—I’m too angry at the situation that’s been forced upon me.
He grips me by the arm and hoists me out of the chair. “Is your ass not red enough, my queen?”
His threat does little to put me in my place, which is where he wants me. I’m too busy recalling the warmth of his hand on my backside. His punishment was painful, but the memory of it doesn’t overshadow the way this man makes me feel when he puts his hands on me.
“You don’t scare me, Liam Castle.”
“That makes one of us.” He releases my arm, and the warmth in his eyes deepens as he pulls the impromptu hair stick from my bun. My blond locks cascade around my shoulders, free for the tangle of his fingers.
“How do I scare you?” It’s a preposterous concept that this strong, confident man fears me.
“You behold more power than you realize.” His breath dances on my lips, suddenly quick and shallow. Three eternal seconds pass, heavy with mutual yearning.
Then he slams his mouth on mine with a groan. A gasp escapes me as I part my lips for his insistent tongue. His kiss, deep and consuming, sears me to my soul. I whimper into his mouth, fingers clutching his suit jacket as heat ignites between my legs.
I’ve never been kissed until now. Have never known what it means to burn for a man until Liam lit the match.
He groans again, and I reciprocate his vow of surrender. He lifts me onto the table amid rattling china and settles between my thighs. His hands are in my hair, his hot, open mouth devouring the column of my throat, cock hard and snug against the wet center of my innocence.
I don’t feel innocent anymore. I’m wanton with sin, wrecked by lust. An accusing pang attacks my heart because I’m not being honest with myself.
Lust could turn into more.
I could grow to love him, and that scares me more than anything he could do to me on a physical level.
He yanks the sheer cups of the negligee down, and his thumbs brush over my nipples. “Touch yourself like you did in the tub yesterday.”
“You’re giving me permission?”
“To touch, yes.” He veers back and holds me captive in his stare. “Not to come.” He pushes my hand between us, urging me to dip my fingers beneath the barrier of scant panties.
A moan slips free, and our eyes lock as I grip his shoulder. His are beautiful, sensual and deep, surrounded by thick lashes. The way he watches me makes my breath stall.
“Are you wet for me?” His hand covers mine, adding pressure to that magical spot I found yesterday, alone in the tub.
“Yes.”
Our hands move in tandem, creating an exquisite fire-inducing friction. The kind of friction that has me breathless and unable to stop.
“Liam.” His name fights its way through the vise around my throat.
“Say it again,” he whispers.
I groan his name as I graze the pinnacle, and that’s when he yanks my hand out of my panties, leaving me throbbing as blood rushes toward the dam.
“Please,” I beg, delirious and floating in a foreign headspace. I try returning my hand back to the center of all that pressure and heat, but he won’t let me. I’m breathing too hard as he brings each of my fingers into his mouth.
He’s tasting me.
Making me whimper with each dart of his tongue.
Shooting pulsating need to every nerve ending in my body.
“Please,” I say again, voice a quivering sigh.
“Begging won’t get you what you want.”
“Then what will?”
“Patience.” His answer splashes ice on my flushed skin.
“Do you enjoy torturing me?”
“If it makes you ache for my cock, then yes. I enjoy torturing you.” He steps back, and I slide to my feet. “Hurry and eat your cold breakfast. We can’t be late for your medical examination.”