His tongue lapped at the marks he had made by spanking her, slow and deliberate, as if savoring the memory of every sharp cry she had given him earlier. The faint sting of those spanks still lingered on her heated skin, and now the wet slide of his tongue made it worse—no, not worse, something else entirely. It was pain, yes, but softened into something heady, confusing. She whimpered, the sound breaking free without her permission, a trembling mix of agony and arousal.

Her thighs trembled under his touch, betraying her even as her mind screamed to resist. His hands—so cruel just moments before, striking her without mercy—now cradled her like she was made of fragile glass. The contradiction left her dizzy. His thumbs brushed along the soft inner flesh of her thighs, coaxing them wider, spreading her open as though he owned every secret of her body.