The Knight's Prisoner by Renee Rose Read Free Book Online Page A

dimly realized he had stopped because he muttered the warning, “I'm not finished yet.”
    She simultaneously hated him for not being finished and loved him for giving her the warning so she might try to stay in the zone she was in. “Go on,” she sobbed, not really wanting a break.
    “Aye?” he asked, surprised. He picked up one of her legs and pulled it up over the log, spinning her so she was now lying parallel to the log, straddling it, her bottom open and presented to him in the most humiliating way imaginable. The change of position had jerked her rudely back to reality, and she started to panic, searching for the place in her head where she had just been floating.
    “Wait!” she croaked, reaching back again as if to shield her bottom from his switch.
    “Aye,” he grunted.
    Pain was surging through her in waves, making her sweat and shiver at the same time. Her bottom was literally ablaze, and as she ran her hand over her swollen cheeks, it felt like the skin was raised in places. She wept into Ferrum's cloak, biting the scratchy wool in her anguish. Ferrum took hold of her hand again, and she tensed up and tried to pull it away. He grasped the wrist instead and bent the arm behind her back and she immediately wished for his hand. She twisted her wrist and reached with her fingers to touch his hand, and he slid his grasp to her palm, understanding. He gave it a quick squeeze and then struck her again.
    She jumped at the change in sensation—he had abandoned the third switch and was using his belt this time. Mayhap he was showing mercy. It was still agonizing on her already smarted flesh, yet somehow the dull slap of leather was a relief after the sharp bite of the switch. She started into her full sobs again, jumping and flinching as he worked his way up and down one side. The vulnerable position he'd placed her in made it easy for him to catch her thighs and she screamed at the pain and humiliation of it. He moved to the other side and gave it the same treatment. Fear started getting the best of her, and because it was hard for her to wriggle or even tighten her bottom in the position she was in, she pulled her hand away and covered both her ears with her hands, rubbing her face on the cloak, desperately seeking the void she'd found before.
    The strapping continued steadily and she let out one loud, unending scream, trying to drown out the pain. When her breath ended, the scream tailed off, and she realized the spanking had stopped. Ironically, she had just found the floaty space in her mind. She rested her cheek on Sir Ferrum's cloak and wept, closing her eyes and remaining in the place of no thought.
    She had no idea how long she was there. When reality drifted back to her, she realized Sir Ferrum was sitting below her, whittling a piece of wood with his back resting against the log. She felt empty—completely devoid of any fear or anger or resentment. She thought of all the whippings she'd received at the hand of her mother or whatever man had taken on the role of father that day, and though this was had been the worst, she felt almost content now that it was over. Her body was heavy and relaxed and her mind still had that floaty quality. She ought to be angry at Sir Ferrum for both the pain and humiliation of the punishment, but she was not. The care he'd given her, even as he'd punished her, had somehow felt more tender than any touch she'd ever been offered. But she'd sensed that about him from the start. In a surge of warmth, her hand trailed down from her log perch, and she wound her fingers in his long shaggy brown hair. He looked up, surprised. He reached for the skein of wine next to him and handed it up to her.
    She drank deeply from her prone position and passed it back. She couldn't even think about moving. The idea of peeling herself off the log seemed impossible. Sir Ferrum got to his feet and seemed to realize it, because he picked up one of her knees and slowly swung it to meet her other