My skin was singing with the sharp, lingering heat.
The SLAP! still echoed in the small cabin, a violation and a shock. My knees felt weak, yet my grip on the couch, where my body was still bent over and shamefully exposed, was white-knuckle tight. Every instinct screamed at me to pull away, to cover myself, to run from the man whose hand felt like a branding iron.
"Stay still, little doe," Alpha Dawn had growled.
His voice was too close, too deep, anchoring me in a paralyzing mix of terror and a confusing, sickening curiosity.
I felt his large, calloused thumb begin to rub the spot where the impact had just been. It is a slow, mesmerizing friction against the burning skin of my right cheek. It was a strange kind of comfort, one that acknowledged the sting but didn't apologize for it. It was completely unsettling.
"Don't focus on the pain, Bambi," he murmured, his breath warm against my ear.
