AMANDA'S POV
When Donovan's first slap landed on my bare skin, I gasped.
Not because of the pain—though it stung—but because of him. His hand. His heat. The way his palm fit against the curve of me like it belonged there.
We'd roughhoused as kids. He'd joked about spanking me before. But never like this. Never with this kind of weight behind it. Dominant. Demanding. Deliberate.
This is punishment, I reminded myself. He's trying to hurt you.
But my body didn't seem to care about the message.
The second slap came down harder. I bit my lip, fighting the sound rising in my throat. My fingers curled into his sheets, knuckles white.
Don't. Don't you dare.
The third landed on the other side. Heat bloomed under his palm, spreading through my hips, my thighs, settling low
