Page 61 of Altered By Lead (Undercover Sinners 2)
Hawke grits his teeth while Mace comes around the bed to stand beside me, grabbing my wrist and using it to tease the paddle along the length of his cock, licking his lips as he makes eye contact with me.
"Spank me, Talia, I'm not afraid of a little paddling." The sound of his Lucullan smooth voice rumbles through me as he slips the priest robe over his head and then turns, leaving me to lift the fabric up to get a nice view of his muscular backside. He flexes his muscles, and my breath catches.
Hot damn.
"You could bounce a quarter off this ass," I say, licking my lower lip and then correcting myself. "Or a leather paddle." Pulling the paddle back, I line up a perfect shot, and swing with all my might. Mace has a hard ass; he can take it. The leather cracks against his muscular cheeks, and he shudders, turning to look at me over his massive shoulder with eyes the color of midnight.
"Feel better now?" he asks me as his skin turns slightly pink, and I feel an electric current tingle up from my fingers, wrapped tightly around the paddle, and up into my shoulders. When I move to swing the paddle again, Mace grabs it and stops it in mid-air, as easily as one might swat a fly. "You said no spanking, no sex. Well, you've spanked, so sex is the next logical conclusion." He turns around and releases the paddle, pausing to glance over at Hawke as he lets his priestly robes fall back into place. "And what about you? Are you going to continue to be a stubborn ass and ruin the best thing that's ever happened to you?"
"What?" Hawke chokes out, like he's drowning on his own desperate need for control. He swipes a hand over his short brunette hair and grits his teeth. It's physically painful for him to give into the demands of others, isn't it? It's doubtful he's ever taken a submissive position in his entire life. Speaking of ... what sort of lives did these guys live before they got here? Who were they? I suddenly find myself desperate to know everything.
Instead of letting the emotion show on my face, I bring the paddle close to my chest and smack my left palm with it, my gaze focused on Hawke.
"Boss, you know I'd die for you, but seriously?" Mace gestures in my general direction. "You have a naked girl willing and ready to do whatever you want, if only you'll just show her that you give a shit by making one, small sacrifice." Mace glances back my way, and I smile, nodding and shrugging my shoulders.
He nailed it.
For such a closed-off, tight-lipped asshole, he gets it.
"Bend over for me, Hawke," I say again, and the look he throws my way is pure murder. "You admitted you loved me, so now bend over, and we can move on. I'll even let you put me in a school girl uniform if that floats your boat. A nice Catholic school girl to play submissive to her favorite priests."
"I did not admit my love," he grinds out, nostrils flaring, hands flexing and unflexing at his sides. This shouldn't be so hard for him, right? To take one single spanking. But he's sweating now, and he looks like he's about to break. "When I do, you'll know it."
"When you do, huh?" I ask, sauntering around Mace to stand in front of Hawke. He stares down at me with this odd sort of expression on his face, like he wants to give in for me, but doesn't know how. Or ... is afraid to? It's hard for me to imagine Hawke being afraid of anything. But that's the vibe I'm getting. The more I think about it, the more obvious it seems to become.
"I love you, Natalia," he says, lids hooded as he steps toward me, reaches out, and takes the paddle away. He tosses it aside and then wraps his hands around my neck on either side, tilting my chin up with his thumbs. His expression is impossible to read, lost somewhere between fear, loathing, and lust. If I squint hard enough, I can see it, a tenderness buried deep down. Hawke is afraid to acknowledge it, afraid to let himself be vulnerable—and he hates himself for it.
His lips crash into mine, knocking away any thoughts of spanking or submission. How can I make him do it when he's clearly so afraid of it? Submission during sex makes me feel good, like I can relax and leave the decisions up to someone else. For Hawke, it seems like it might quite literally be a form of torture.
He walks me backward, until my bare back and ass hit the dresser.
"School girl uniform, huh?" he asks, pushing me slightly to one side and opening the top drawer. When he draws out a second set of robes, my heart stutters in my chest, and I feel myself melting into the moment. I want to submit; I like it.
