Kian’s hand is on my throat.
I’ve never seen someone move so fast. The scent and smooth texture of leather hit me before I
realize I’m face first in a couch cushion. Kian’s hard thighs are stone underneath me, my breasts
are shoved up to my chin thanks to my stupid corset, and my tulled ass waves like a white flag of
surrender in the air.
His large hand yanks my dress up and I gasp at the cold air wafting over my naked backside. The
chill is short-lived though as his palm grabs a fistful of my right butt cheek.
“Kian,” I huff. “What’re you—”
Before I can fight him, his hand moves in my periphery and a sharp crack rings in the air. The
slap on my ass is nowhere near as hard as I hit him, but I still yelp at the sting.
“Kian!”
“Never…” he smacks me again, making me howl. “Hit…”
Smack!
“Me…”
Smack!
“Again, wife.”
Smack!
It’s only five spankings, one after the other, delivered almost too swiftly for my body to
comprehend. But my mind knows full well what’s happening. A flood of shame rushes through
my veins and emerges as white hot tears that warp my vision. I refuse to let them spill down my
cheeks, even as my bottom lip trembles. I clench my teeth to keep from crying out and ball my
fists against the couch cushion, vibrating with rage.
This is fucking humiliating.
My so-called husband is spanking me.

As great as the Garde is at secrets, the worst-kept one is how the men treat their wives. They
don’t hold back when it comes to physically punishing their women. If the abuse ever gets out of
hand, the Garde just covers it up. My father was an anomaly. He would yell, but I never saw him
raise a fist toward my mom. The Baron, though, has promised to rule me with a firm hand.
I guess Kian is just like all the other Garde men.
I don’t know why that realization hurts the most. The thought makes me sniffle and my body
overheats with embarrassment until… until I realize the warmth has become something… else.
His palm caresses where it dealt the stinging blows. Strong fingers knead gently over the
sensitive skin, heightened from his confusing torment. When I try to get up on my knees, he
firmly pushes me back down with his hand on the back of my neck. I’m baffled by my body
when it listens and silently lies across his thighs again. He squeezes my nape in approval and the
sensual pressure both there and my glutes elicits a mortifying whimper from my lips.
“It feels good, doesn’t it? This is what punishment should feel like between a man and his wife.”
God, if this is how he’s going to ‘punish’ me, I can’t wait to be bad again.

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