To her shameful horror, her skirts and petticoats were flipped up and bunched in the middle of her back.

“Hands,” Gabriel commanded darkly.

Celia faltered, her heart lodging in her throat. Her skin felt alive, a mix of apprehension and perhaps excitement prickling her like thousands of hot needles.

“What?” she mumbled around a mouth gone dry with confusion.

Gabriel sighed. “Your hands, sugarplum. Give them to me.”

This is insane. Why would I do that? Place myself completely under his control? And again, he calls me by that silly name.

“I demand you stop calling me that,” Celia snapped in the most imperious manner she could muster whilst hanging upside down across this gentle monster’s lap.

“I hope I am not forced to repeat my request,” he murmured in a voice laced with silky threats and simmering desire. “But then again, maybe I do.”

“Why do you want—”

The lazy slap to her bottom shocked Celia into silence. It didn’t really hurt, but it certainly galvanized her to take him seriously.

“Stop asking questions, my lady, and do as I say.”

Letting go of his boot, Celia quickly reached both hands behind her. An involuntary gasp choked her when he captured both in the palm of one large, gloved hand. He anchored them in the low dip of her back atop the heap of her skirts.

She was trapped. Like a lion capturing a mouse beneath one heavy paw, Gabriel now easily held her in place. And she’d willingly allowed it.

Trembling, Celia waited for whatever might come next, cursing herself for being so weak and stupid. The cool breeze of the wooded glen whispered around her thighs, curling little tendrils of air that reached the open gap of her fine linen drawers, and rushed over the heated flesh there. The sting was already fading away, but for some reason, the area was beginning to throb. And not in an unpleasant way.

Oh, God. She’d not considered the consequences of this. Had not realized what being over his lap would actually mean.

Exposure. Heat. Pleasure.

Excitement.

A sound escaped Gabriel that might have been either a groan or a curse. His hand tightened around her wrists, the leather of his glove soft and smooth on the exposed skin. Beneath her stomach and breasts and through the layers of her clothes, Celia felt him. She thought his lap and the muscles of his thighs somehow became even harder. Rigid. A vast expanse of edges and swelling flesh carved from warm stone.

“Are you ready?”

Celia startled. Ready? Of course not. But what else could she do when she was the one allowing this madness to continue? Surely, he wouldn’t strike her again.

Unsure of her ability to speak, Celia curled her fingers around his and squeezed tight.

“Tsk-tsk, my lady. Situations such as this require words. Indeed, they are an absolute necessity.” Gabriel’s voice cascaded over her like summer honey. “Tell me you are ready for your lesson.”

Perhaps it was a side effect of hanging practically upside down, but an odd, tingling sense of floating took over Celia.