Page 43 of Balthazar's Fire
“Number it, please.”
He sounded so in control, and though she didn’t dare to turn around and see him, Cherie imagined him there with his arms folded across his strapping chest.
“Five, sir.” Her reply was husky, conveying how she really felt about submitting to Balthazar’s spanking.
“That’s right,” he answered, coming to stand in her peripheral vision. “We’re halfway, pet.”
Pet? Did Balthazar just refer to her as his pet?
She risked a glance in his direction; his steely gaze confirming that she hadn’t misheard him.
What the hell is that supposed to mean?
Did he see her as some small animal he could keep and punish, and if he did, why did that sound so bloody hedonistic to Cherie?
“Something to say, pet?”
There was the strange term again, yet this time his knowing eyes told her it was meant as an endearment.
“No, sir,” she replied hastily, hanging onto the counter for dear life.
“Good,” he continued, moving closer. “These next few are coming hard and fast. Make sure you keep count.”
That was all the warning he gave her. With one stride he was back into position, his huge hand smacking against her defenseless ass, but this time, just as he’d vowed, the onslaught didn’t pause. Instead, Balthazar’s palm rained down on her another three times in fast succession, igniting the ache in her punished skin until all she could think about was its stinging intensity.
She panted at the sudden ordeal, thankful they had nearly reached the agreed-upon limit of ten swats. Goodness only knew how she would have dealt with more than that.
“How many? He barked, rubbing his palm over the afflicted area as he waited for her answer.
‘Six, seven, eight, and nine, sir.”
She reeled off the numbers breathlessly, conflicted between the rising pain his strikes had inflicted, and her primal yearning to push back against the same palm that had struck her and seek pleasure.
“Very good.” Balthazar squeezed her cheek, eliciting another unsuspecting whimper from her throat. “So, to your last swat, pet.”
Her brows knitted at the disconcerting term, her mind still trapped in the frenzy between how tempting he made it sound and the rational conclusion that she was nothing of the sort.
“Yes, sir.”
“I’m not going to hold back with this one,” his fingers skimmed a line across her swollen lips en route to massage her other cheek.
Hold back? He had to be kidding, right? Those last few blows had been anything but restrained.
“Are you ready?”
Well, am I?
“Yes, sir.”
Consciously rolling back her shoulders as much as her position permitted, Cherie was resolved to her fate. Gritting her teeth, she focused on her hands. It was only one strike. Whatever he could hand out, she could take.
“Good, pet.”
She shivered at his admiration, both thrilled and disgusted in equal measure. It was awful enough that he should want to call her by such a belittling term, but that she should find it so sexy was downright debilitating.
Her complaints splintered as his palm landed on her backside one final time, touching down with such power that she had no choice but to expel the air in her lungs.
“Fuck, Balthazar!”