Illicit Temptation (Astoria Royals #3)

CHAPTER TWENTY

Shea

M y center twinges hearing he wants to punish me. I read and listen to enough smut to know he doesn’t mean giving me a time-out.

Lord knows I deserve to be punished for locking him in his room.

In a tight black T-shirt that looks molded to his muscular torso, the sleeves showcasing sculpted, veiny biceps, Trace moves next to the stove, putting my marble kitchen island between us.

“Unless you’re not feeling well and can’t handle me right now.”

I scoff. “Back down? Never. My last name is O’Rourke. Don’t let the tits and pussy confuse you.”

Darkness takes over his golden eyes. “You asked for it.”

“Asked for what?” I start to think he’s just a growly flirt and no bite.

“Run, princess,” he says, his voice deep, but smooth. “If I catch you, I spank you.”

Sparks of electricity shoot through my veins. This isn’t the same Trace who ran my shower and made my breakfast. This is a virile alpha who wants to claim superiority and taking me over his knee is part of that.

“And if you don’t catch me?” I start to back away, but he doesn’t move.

“You’re bleedin’ adorable. I will catch you. The question is how riled up I’ll be when I’ve got you held down, your bare ass quivering waiting for the blows.” His heated gaze watches my every move.

I keep expecting him to pounce, jut out in one direction or the other from behind the kitchen island. But he stays eerily still .

Anchoring one bare foot onto the ceramic floor, I take off for the stairs. Blood rushing through my ears, I can’t hear if he’s following me. I climb, my feet slipping on the carpet, but I get up, not looking behind me.

I still can’t hear anything.

I get to my bedroom to slam the door shut. I fumble for the lock, the metal nub slipping through my fingers. It doesn’t latch and a second later, the door is pushed open.

I jump back so it doesn’t smack me in the head.

Trace stands in the doorway. Caught between the lit sconces in the hallway and the natural sunlight shining into my bedroom, his face is temporarily shadowed. Yet, the sharp angle of his jaw and his chiseled cheekbones stand out.

He’s a god. And sometimes gods are furious. It takes a moment for my eyes to focus on something other than that face. Those veins in his arms I noticed earlier are positively throbbing. He’s charged up. One hand swings gently against his leg.

In that hand is a belt.

What? How?

“You didn’t catch me!” I back up, my heart pounding.

“Looks like I did.” He stands there, slapping the belt against his hand. “Have any appointments tomorrow?”

“N... No,” I stutter at the odd question. “How long do you intend to punish me?”

“As long as it takes.” Trace moves achingly slow toward me, every step measured. “I hope you plan on being on your feet a lot for the next couple of days.”

“Why?” I ask, a shudder snaking down my spine.

“After I’m done with your ass, you won’t be able to sit.”