“Seeing you like this…” He shifted, leaning along my side and taking in my form. “It’s a feeling of such…relief. Like stepping into the rain after years of drought.” His gaze strolled along the length of my body, his voice deepening. “The untamed serenity in it, soft as velvet, gentle waves of perfect beauty, glistening with life. One look is a shower that washes the senses anew.”

I didn’t know if he was talking about the rain or me, but I clung to his voice, to the pledge in it. For a man who didn’t express his feelings, he could enslave a woman’s emotions through language alone.

If this was a maneuver to knock me off-balance, he wasn’t failing. Every wistful particle of my being was on its way to believing.

He straightened and removed his frock. It fell over a nearby chair. His waistcoat followed. Then the fabric on my backside slid upward, exposing me from the waist down.

His breathing altered, and I felt everything inside me accelerate. He was inspecting me, staring hard at my squirming bare arse.

“Don’t move.” His hoarse command scratched my ears, restraining me without rope or iron.

Through layers of nothing but thinning air, he rubbed his gaze against me, taking his time, stirring me up. Christ, he was a master at this—dominating a woman without so much as a touch.

Shivers of anticipation sprung from each passing second he made me wait. I delighted in the moment, pierced with the thrill of danger as I strained to hear him, see him, and feel his punishment light up my skin.

His patience shocked me with wonder. I imagined he fought battles at the helm of this ship with the same hard, enduring stillness. I fell so deeply entranced by it that I wasn’t ready when the atmosphere shifted.

His strike came like deafening thunder, his heavy, unrelenting hand crashing across my buttocks and shaking the dishes on the table. I cried out, stunned senseless, breathless, and burning from cheek to bone.

Before I could manage a gulp, he swung again, setting fire to my entire world.

And he’d only just begun.

23

Over the past seven years, I’d been beaten violently by enemies and spanked sensually by lovers. Ashley’s strikes slammed through those extremes, erased the line between pain and pleasure, and crashed straight into war.

Most of the blows landed so hard I couldn’t squeak out a breath. Others caused my body to brutally flinch beneath the agony as a ballad of vulgarity roared from the back of my throat.

Fewer were the hits that teased stings of pleasure. Those were the ones that made me hate myself for responding as though I were made for his touch.