THE DON'S CAPTIVE MISTRESS

I Shouldn't

HAZEL

I went still.

Not because I obeyed....at least that’s what I told myself. But because my body didn’t know what to do anymore.

Couldn’t fight.

Couldn’t run.

Could only feel..... And Axel made sure I felt everything.

I probably got lost in my own head as the pain got worse, sharp and hot across my skin, building and building until everything felt blurred at the edges. But then, suddenly.... I felt air on my behind.

Cold air. And that shocked me back into myself.

For a moment I couldn’t understand.

My head hung down toward the floor, my hair brushing the carpet, my legs pinned on the other side of his thighs. I was wearing a dress. I knew I was wearing a dress. So why… why could I feel the air?

It took me a few seconds to register the soft, humiliating drag of fabric bunched at my waist.

And then another second to realise my panties were around my ankles.

My panties. On my ankles.

My stomach dropped. I sucked in a breath, the position making it shaky. When had he done that? How fast had he moved? Why hadn’t I felt him lifting the dress? Pulling the panties down? How long had I been so overwhelmed that I couldn’t even feel what was happening to my own body?

I was just about to fight him, twist, kick, something, when I felt it.... A breath.

A soft, warm blow against my already-burning skin.

I froze. Not from fear. Not from pain.

From shock.

From confusion.

His breath ghosted over the sore flesh, and a shiver ran down the entire length of my spine. And then.... God help me, his hand followed. Not hitting me this time. Just… touching.

Slow, gentle contact. Too gentle. His palm cupped the aching heat of my skin, and because I was already so raw and sensitive, the smallest touch tore a sound from my throat, a broken, embarrassingly soft cry I didn’t mean to make.

He heard it.... I felt the way his breath paused for a single controlled moment before he exhaled again, slower this time, like he was deliberately soothing the sting he’d just created.

I believed him then. I believed every vicious little promise he’d made, and I wasn’t going to be able to sit for weeks. My ass was on fire. It throbbed. It pulsed. Every inch of me felt stretched thin and trembling.

But then… Then his blows stopped entirely.

He kept blowing. He kept touching.

Soft. Tender. Almost careful.

And that, that was worse than anything else he’d done to me tonight. Because my body didn’t know what to do with it. Couldn’t understand how Axel Morelli could go from punishing to soft, from violent to gentle in a switch so smooth it felt like a trick.

But it wasn’t a trick. Not when my skin felt every delicate brush of his fingers like electricity. Not when the warmth of his breath made my thighs tighten involuntarily. Not when the tenderness made something low in my stomach twist and tighten and heat until I could barely think.

I shouldn’t feel this.

I shouldn’t want anything in this moment except to get away, to fight, to scream.

But my body…

My body felt hot all over. My pulse beat between my legs..,..

I didn’t understand what he was doing to me or what I was doing to myself.

All I knew was that every slow, deliberate touch was unravelling me completely, and I was too lost in him to stop it. My back arched into the contact, pushing my weight down onto his now noticeable erection, a thick, insistent pressure that was somehow both searingly painful and unbearably, wonderfully good.

His hand was heavy and warm on my ass, round and plump beneath his touch. I bit back the immediate response, focusing on the thrumming, stinging heat spreading across my ass cheek. He was silent for a beat, savouring the impact, before the thwack landed on one side.

I said nothing his time, though a deep, needy wriggle started in my hips, grinding me against the delicious, throbbing proof of his arousal pinned beneath me.

“What do you have to say for yourself?” His voice was a low, demanding rumble as he leaned down.

I mumbled a string of incoherent defiant words, desperate to hide the sudden, traitorous moisture gathering between my legs. The sudden sharp pinch on my ass cheek, made me lift my head with a jolt.

“I didn’t quite catch that apology, brat.” The sneer was audible in his voice, familiar and infuriating.

“I said f**k you, Martino. You can go to hell. ” I snarled back, the words tumbling out in a rush of bitter adrenaline and heat.

He tutted loudly, a sound that always grated on my nerves, and his hand struck again. My hips bucked automatically, in response to the sting and the motion.

“That’s not very good manners for a well-bred brat” he tutted.

Again, his hand connected, and I arched my back, a sharper, more ragged gasp escaping me this time.

“I’ll never apologise to you,” I challenged, twisting my body just enough to look up at him, my eyes blazing with genuine fury.

“Is that right? Maybe we need to try something else,” he suggested, and the low, dangerous tone in his voice sent a shiver of dread and excitement through me. I was absolutely stuck there, immobilised, leaving me trapped in an exquisite and terrifying tension, waiting for his next move.

The sharp hiss that escaped my throat was involuntary, as he touched my burning ass cheek. I jerked just enough for my core to press exquisitely against the thick, hard heat of his c**k trapped underneath me. He responded immediately, his fingers beginning a circular motion on the still-stinging curve of my buttock, soothing the burn but drawing dangerously close to the intense, aching heat between my legs.

He mirrored the motion on the other side, and a tiny, involuntary gasp broke from me. I hated the thought that he would know just how much this sick act affected me.