Free Belong to Me by Shayla Black

bitch, so he could only imagine how poor Cherry felt.
    “Count,” he choked out.
    “One.” Her voice wobbled.
    Ruthlessly, he squelched his guilt. “Ready for more?”
    Under him, she tensed, clearly bracing for more pain. “Yes.”
    She wasn’t, but she’d never admit it. As much as he admired tenacity, not curbing her stubbornness could get her killed on this mission.
    As he lifted his hand again, he saw the clear red print of his hand on her ass. His cock jerked. He’d love to put his stamp all over her. No doubt, she would think that made him a sick fuck, but Logan knew that ship had sailed long ago.
    He gave her another harsh slap on her left cheek. Tara cried out, her body jolting, as she took the blow. Her nails dug into his calf as she tried to process the pain.
    “Get your nails out of my skin and count,” he demanded.
    Tara’s back stiffened, and she shuddered, panted. “Two.”
    She’d silently punctuated the statement with you asshole . He could hear it hanging in the air. When he saw her struggling to accept his blows, he felt like an asshole.
    Logan drew his arm up to deliver another swift blow to her upper thigh. She tensed, every line in her body screeching with anger. He hesitated. This wasn’t scaring her, just reinforcing her low opinion. She expected pain from him. In fact, she was holding her breath expectantly, like she was waiting . . .
    What the hell was she up to? What would a novice sub trying to control a scene do?
    Immediately, Logan knew he was playing right into Tara’s hand. Shit . He lowered his arm.
    “On your feet,” he ordered.
    Tara froze. “Wh-what about the rest of the spankings?”
    Fully capable of math—she’d kicked his ass in algebra, too—she knew they hadn’t completed fifteen swats. Nor had she been looking forward to the rest of such a brutal spanking. She’d merely been looking for an excuse to scream her safe word.
    Logan gave her credit; she’d always been clever.
    “The rest of your punishment will wait. When we’re together, I want you to look at me. Always at me.”
    That chocolate gaze zipped up to his—hard, resolved. No fucking way was she backing down. And cutting her off before she could credibly use her safe word had pissed her off. If she’d succeeded, how quickly would Thorpe hustle her out the door? PDQ, no doubt. Likely, Logan would never see her again.
    He needed another tactic. How would Tara respond to his genuine desire for her? She might hate what he’d done to her in high school. But as he admired her body, Logan saw that didn’t stop her from wanting him. Hard pink nipples stood up and beckoned. The plump lips of her pussy glistened. Something about this—about him—was getting to her. Mentally, she’d write off his spanking as abuse and cast him in the villain role. But what if he gave her what he ached to? What he’d bet that her body, deep down, wanted as well? How long would those walls she’d erected between them last? Maybe then they could get to something honest so they could sort this mission out—and he could heal himself.
    Logan gripped his thighs through his leathers. “Take my shirt off, Cherry.”
    Her gaze went saucer wide, locking with his. That look sizzled him, settling down in his throbbing cock. He vowed to drink in the arousal burning through him. For as long as he had her, he was going to gorge on her every reaction—and anything else she gave him.
    Tara pressed her lips together, clearly reluctant. He watched her steel herself, then lift her hands to the hem of his T-shirt. She trembled as she did her best to lift up the cotton knit with an impersonal thumb and forefinger, and he thanked God for the tight garment. It forced her to lay her palms against his abdomen and shove the shirt up his torso, dragging across his skin, over muscle, so near his nipples. She brushed fire everywhere she touched. He repressed a shiver. When the shirt bunched under his arms, she stopped.
    “What’s the problem,