Sloane
The doors closed behind us with a quiet click.
There was no more music, no more cameras, no more guests watching from the shadows with champagne in their hands and whispered rumors on their lips.
It was just the two of us. Alone. Together.
Nikolai had brought me to an extravagant hotel suite that night at the top of a skyscraper. Roses were strewn throughout the room and there was chilled champagne already waiting for us, freshly poured, bubbling and just waiting to be drunk.
The lights were low. The city stretched below the windows, a field of glowing embers, and in the reflection, I could see us. His jacket was already gone, his tie undone, his eyes on me, as ravenous for me as I was for him.
His gaze traveled down the length of me, studying the wedding gown I’d worn for him and only him, the diamonds at my ears, the ring on my finger. His ring.
He reached for me and didn’t speak. His hand lifted to my shoulder, fingers edging beneath the strap of the gown. He pulled it down gently, followed by the other, baring me slowly, letting the silk fall, rippling down my body. When it pooled at my feet, I stepped out of it.
His breath caught. I stood before him in nothing more than silky, lacy bra and panties, trembling with anticipation under the heat of his gaze.
“Turn around,” he said, his voice thick with desire.
I obeyed.
I heard his sharp intake of breath as he looked at me. The subtle exhale as he unclasped my bra, guiding the straps down my arms until it fell to the floor and then he peeled the lace over my hips and down my legs. I took in a long slow breath when I was entirely naked. He didn’t rush, instead taking his time to brush his fingers over every inch of me, sending fiery trails of sensation everywhere he touched.
He turned me around, stepped in close, and cupped my face in both hands. “My baby girl, I’m going to show you what it means to be mine tonight.”
“I’ve always been yours, Daddy.”
He lifted me in one fluid motion and carried me to the bed. I sank into the sheets, warm and heavy, and he came down over me with reverence in every touch. His mouth found my collarbone, then lower, kissing every inch of my body.
When his lips captured one nipple, sucking gently, then harder, I cried out with pleasure. My eyes slid shut, and the sensation rolled through my entire body.
When his fingers ventured down and parted me, slipping through the wetness already gathering between my thighs, I moaned his name.
He took his time teasing me, his thumb stroking over my clit again and again, sending ripples of pleasure through me. His touch was gentle, and my entire body pulsed with fire.
This time, though, I didn’t want gentle.
I wanted it hard.
Fast.
Rough.
Most of all, I wanted it to hurt.
“Daddy, please,” I begged.
“What do you need, baby girl?”
“I need—I need you to punish me, Daddy,” I whispered, anxious for him to give me what I asked, but a frisson of pleasure surged through me anyway. “I know I haven’t been naughty, but I want to know what it’s like when my husband punishes his bride, when my king punishes his queen.”
His eyes snapped to mine and I saw a flash of white-hot desire in them. He reached out and grabbed my chin, tilting it up and exposing the length of my throat.
A thrill raced down my spine.
“I will never deny my queen what she needs. Not ever.”
The way he said it—guttural, pulled straight from his core—made my breath stutter. My skin tingled, already anticipating what was coming. His thumb brushed over my bottom lip, slow and possessive. Then he leaned in and kissed me, hard and claiming, like he was tasting the words I’d just dared to speak.
When he pulled back, his eyes burned into mine—darker than I’d ever seen them, thick with heat, hunger, need.
“You want to know what it’s like when your king punishes his queen?” he murmured, his hand slipping down the curve of my neck to my chest.
“Yes, Daddy.”
He offered me his hand. I took it and he lifted me up off the bed to my feet.
“Then you’ll learn, baby girl. Right now. On your knees.”
I obeyed instantly. I didn’t need to be told twice—not when my whole body buzzed from the command and the air between us felt thick and hot.
He stood before me and stripped with terrifying purpose, each piece of clothing removed like a promise, one I knew he would keep. When he was bare, he moved behind me. I felt the heat of him before I felt his hands grasping mine, pulling me up, and then he was everywhere, palming my hips, gripping me hard enough to bruise, pulling me back against him until my bare ass was flush to his thighs.
“You’re not being punished for being naughty,” he said, his voice a dark caress against my ear. “You’re being punished because you asked for it. You need to remember who owns every part of you—even the parts that beg to be broken.”
A shiver rippled through me.
“Yes, Daddy,” I breathed.
He bent me forward over the edge of the bed, one hand pressing between my shoulder blades, pinning me with nothing more than his strength and the force of his presence. The other hand slid down to my ass, kneading it, claiming it, before he lifted his palm and spanked me.
Crack.
The first smack echoed through the room, sharp and sudden. It stung—God, it stung—but it was exactly what I’d asked for. A whimper caught in my throat as the burn bloomed hot and raw across my skin.
The second blow landed harder, and then the third and fourth came fast after that. I bit into the sheets, hips arching, my body straining against him—not to get away, but to get closer. To take more. My skin blazed with the sweet, aching fire of his hand. Every strike drew another gasp, another moan, another wave of slick heat between my thighs that had nothing to do with pain and everything to do with the pleasure burning in my core.
“Look at you,” he rasped, his fingers sliding between my legs, finding me dripping and needy. “Already soaked and I’ve barely even started.”
“Please,” I whimpered.
“Not yet, baby girl. You need to be punished, don’t you? Daddy needs to break you, doesn’t he?”
“Yes, Daddy,” I whimpered, trembling.
“Then Daddy needs to take off his belt, doesn’t he?”
Oh, fuck.
My heart pounded faster.
He stepped back and my whole body went hot with anticipation. I didn’t dare look over my shoulder, but I didn’t need to. I heard him pick up his discarded pants, then the clink of the buckle, the slide of leather, and the quiet rasp of the strap as he folded it in his hand.
A moment later, his free hand settled on the small of my back—warm, strong, and commanding. That simple touch grounded me even as my body trembled beneath it. My breath came faster, shallow and uneven, every inch of my skin prickling with heat and fear and want so strong I could barely stand it.
I didn’t look back. I trusted him.
The leather hissed as Nikolai swung the belt, whispering its promise through the air and I tensed, anticipating that very first lash.
Then it landed.
It wasn’t light.
It cracked across the swell of my ass with a sting so fierce I cried out. My hips jolted forward, the pain blooming like fire and settling deep. I barely had time to breathe before the next one followed, angled slightly lower, the burn deeper this time, layering over the first.
I whimpered, but I didn’t pull away.
I didn’t ask him to stop. I wanted this.
Every sound, every hit, every breathless pause between.
“Good girl,” he praised above me, his voice thick with desire. “Arch that pretty bottom for me. Show me what a good girl you can be.”
I arched my back. The belt whipped the tops of my thighs, and I keened from the burning sting.
He belted me hard and fast. I quickly lost count as my world centered on each burning lash. I could feel each welt rising, each line of fire branding me as his own.
The belt marked me in even, deliberate strokes, each one precise and layered with control.
I was panting, my legs shaking, tears hot at the corners of my eyes, not so much from pain, but from everything it unwrapped inside me. All the tension. All the noise. All the walls I hadn’t known I was still holding onto.
“You’re doing so well,” he praised, his hand soothing over the heat of my skin, “Look at you. Taking your punishment so perfectly.”
“Please, Daddy. It hurts,” I whined.
“I know,” he said. “It’s supposed to. But you can take it, can’t you?”
“Yes, Daddy. I can take it if you want me to,” I breathed, the words falling out of me like a confession.
Another lash landed, harder now, across both cheeks. Again and again until I cried out, and sobbed into the sheets.
And then, I truly started to cry.
Big fat tears rolled down my cheeks as the belt whipped my bare ass over and over again until full-throated sobs tore out of me. Yet his belt continued to fall.
I didn’t beg him to stop, though, because I wanted to be truly punished by Nikolai, and somewhere between the pain and the praise, something inside me broke.
Not in a way that made me feel small.
In a way that made me feel free.
I went quiet then, and it was the quiet of true surrender to my husband. My body limp, my breath uneven, my skin blazing under his belt that still hovered in the air behind me.
Then the belt finally stopped falling, though my ass didn’t stop burning. His fingers caressed my sore, welted backside, dipping between my thighs.
“You’re even more soaked than before, baby girl,” he observed, and I nodded, tears still streaming down my cheeks.
“Yes, Daddy,” I said, my voice broken. I looked back over my shoulder, my glassy eyes meeting his almost black ones. He cleared his throat and then said the words I both wanted to hear and feared he would say.
“Your punishment isn’t over, baby girl, but you knew that already. You know what needs to happen next, don’t you?”
A surge of fear flashed through me and my clit pulsed.
He pulled me up then and turned me to face him. The look in his eyes nearly undid me. It was unhinged and feral.
He grasped my jaw again, squeezing it a little. “Beg, my queen. Beg Daddy to break you with his cock.”
I met his gaze, breathless and shaking, every inch of me on fire with need and fear and everything in between.
“Please, fuck me, Daddy,” I whispered.
He didn’t make me say it again.
His mouth was on mine in an instant, hard, consuming, as if he needed to kiss the breath from my lungs just to remind me who I belonged to. His hand cupped the back of my head, holding me still, while the other gripped my waist, hauling me flush against his chest. I could feel every inch of him, his heat, his hardness, the wildness of him that he was holding back by the thinnest thread.
His cock was so hard that my pussy clenched just thinking about it slamming inside of me, punishing me with every hard thrust.
He guided me to the bed with an unfaltering grip. The backs of my knees hit the edge, and then he was pressing me down, crawling over me with all the silent dominance of a storm breaking open. His body pinned mine to the mattress, his weight delicious, grounding, inescapable. I arched into him as he kissed down my throat, my collarbone, lower. He bit at the swell of my breast, sucked a mark there, and pain blossomed across my chest.
He bit my nipple next, and a scream tore out of my throat. There was no tenderness in that bite and when he moved to do the same to my opposite nipple, I begged and pleaded for mercy, but he gave me none.
“I’m going to punish you now,” he growled into my skin. “Not gently. Not sweetly. I’m going to give you what you need.”
I trembled beneath him, body flushed, thighs slick and parted.
“I don’t want gentle,” I whispered.
“I know, baby girl. Brace yourself. Daddy’s going to break you on his cock.”
I tried to do what he said, but there was no preparing myself for what came next.
His hands gripped my hips, and in one breathless, perfect movement, he entered me.
I cried out, the stretch and burn so immediate, so overwhelming, I felt it everywhere. He didn’t give me time to think, to catch my breath. He pulled back and slammed in again, deeper, harder. I cried out, one hand clutching at the sheets beneath me, the other caught in his hair as he drove into me like a man possessed.
Every thrust was a punishment in and of itself.
His name fell from my lips in broken syllables, over and over, until my voice gave out. He pressed his forehead to mine, eyes locked on mine even as he wrecked me from the inside out, his mouth whispering words only I would ever hear.
“My queen,” he murmured. “You were made for me. Look at how well you take my cock. Such a good fucking girl.”
I came with a sob, back arching, body convulsing as waves of pleasure crashed through me so hard I forgot everything but him.
He didn’t stop at one orgasm though, nor two or three. I lost count after that, each climax tearing through me like a hurricane.
I begged.
I pleaded.
He fucked me into full brutal surrender and then he fucked me some more. He fucked me until fresh tears were streaming down my cheeks, I was sobbing with every thrust, and I was a raw desperate broken thing.
“Come for Daddy. Don’t you dare stop, baby girl. You keep coming for me until I tell you to stop,” he demanded.
“Yes, Dadddddddyyyyyy,” I wailed.
Another orgasm tore through me and my world edged with black. My entire body went rigid, my pussy clamped around his cock like a vise, and my world tore to pieces.
I screamed.
He followed with a groan, burying his cock so deep inside me, his body trembling as he spilled his seed into me, holding me tight as if I might disappear if he let go.
When the world settled again, when the storm eased, he didn’t pull away. He lay over me, one hand stroking my hair, the other still wrapped around my waist, his lips pressing slow kisses into my damp skin.
He didn’t speak.
Neither did I.
We didn’t need to.
In that moment, in the quiet aftermath of everything we’d survived, nothing else mattered.
We were husband and wife.
King and queen.
And no one would ever come between us again.
