Total pages in book: 57
Estimated words: 56624 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 283(@200wpm)___ 226(@250wpm)___ 189(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56624 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 283(@200wpm)___ 226(@250wpm)___ 189(@300wpm)
Why couldn’t he see that?
And now, here I am. A full-grown woman, sitting in the dark, my heart pounding, mind spinning, and yet I’ve never felt younger. It’s like I’ve been mentally time-warped, sucked straight back into that awkward, shy girl I used to be. The one who thought she was madly in love with a boy she couldn’t have.
The same boy who’s now the sexiest goddamn man alive, and standing just feet away from me.
Owen’s voice comes from the doorway—thick with heat. “What’s your word count?”
Knowing what’s coming—that he’s going to punish me, that I want it—makes my stomach twist in confusion and need. I don’t know what I want. I don’t know what I need.
But in the very next breath, none of it matters anymore.
Because he’s in my space. Right there. Close, dominating the room. His presence is like a wall. His eyes lock onto mine, unreadable, intense.
“Did you do this on purpose, Emma?” he asks, his voice stern, his arms crossed over his chest, biceps bulging beneath his rolled sleeves.
I bite my lip as my heart rattles in my chest. I can’t answer. I glance out the window instead, watching snow spiral through the darkness. The storm has swallowed everything. We’re still snowed in.
Trapped.
There’s no running now—not from my past, not from the memories, and definitely not from the man standing in front of me.
I shake my head.
“No?” It comes out too quiet, too soft.
“Is that a question?” he asks, his voice dipping lower, thick with command.
He sits at the edge of the bed, spreading his legs slightly, and planting his boots on the floor like he owns it all—me included. His gaze holds mine, never blinking.
He pats his knee… once, firmly.
“Over,” he says.
My body freezes. I don’t know if I can. Every muscle locks. My limbs feel heavy, like I’m sinking in wet cement.
Are my fears holding me back? Is it desire? Panic? Or something else entirely? Something hotter and more dangerous.
Can he tell? Can he see how badly I want this?
I swallow hard. My tongue darts out to wet my dry lips.
“Now, Emma,” he says again, his tone grating against my nerves, deadly calm. “Or this is going to get much worse for you.”
And somehow, I move.
I throw the covers off. My laptop topples to the side, landing with a soft thud on the carpet. I stare at it for a beat, like it might offer me an escape hatch.
Was this really the right decision?
Too late.
Owen growls low in his throat when he eyes my barely there shorts clinging to my thighs.
“You’re freezing your arse off in here?” he asks, his voice all rough Irish edges.
I shrug. “Not under the blankets.”
“Aye,” he growls again, his eyes glinting. He points to his thigh. “I’ll warm you up good too. Now come here. Don’t make me say it again.”
God. The version of me from back then—the young woman who had just barely tipped into adulthood, clinging to her childhood daydreams—she’s flipping out inside. Screaming. Spinning.
I don’t know how to deal with this moment. It’s too much.
So I do the only thing that makes sense.
I put myself over his knee.
My belly presses against his thigh, and my hair falls over my face, dangling toward the floor. My hands flail until I find the edge of the bedspread and grab it, holding on tight.
And then I feel it—his arousal, hard and unmistakable beneath me. Pressed right up against me.
I squirm.
“Good girl,” he murmurs with a low growl. “That’s a good girl.”
Mmm. Say it again.
He fingers the edge of my waistband, sliding it down just enough to expose the curve of my ass.
“Owen—no!” I gasp, half-panicked.
The thought of getting spanked bare suddenly feels too real. Too vulnerable.
Why does it scare me so much? This is Owen. He would never hurt me.
But still…
“Maybe you should’ve thought of that when you decided to disobey me,” he says, a wicked lilt to his voice. And then—his hand comes down hard.
Smack.
The sound ricochets through the room. His palm covers both cheeks, heat blooming instantly across my skin.
I arch, yelping. “Ow!”
“Ow, indeed,” he says smugly, clearly pleased. He tugs my tiny shorts the rest of the way down until they dangle at my ankles, forgotten.
His warm hand settles firmly on my bare ass.
“You’re going to be a good girl now, aren’t you?”
I nod quickly, not trusting myself to speak.
“Good,” he says. “You get three more.”
I bite the blanket to keep from moaning, not from pain but from how badly I want him to do it all again.
Each smack lands harder than the last. My skin burns. My nerves spark. I’m on fire, nerves singing, every cell tuned to him.
I can’t think straight. I’m too turned on… too out of control.
My thoughts scatter, replaced by the singular, throbbing heat in my body, right where his palm connects with my skin.