His words loom heavily in the air, sinking in even as every pore in your body fights to reject what you’re hearing. Still…you’re a bit surprised by the last addition.
As well as your own.
You frown. Deeply.
What…what the hell does that even mean?!
He wants to teach me to be respectful of my own time?
Is he fucking kidding me right now?
He doesn’t even know me!
Where does he get off spewing that kind of B.S.?
Who the hell does he think he is, assuming that I have no respect for my time?
Ugh! Seriously, this asshat just doesn’t know when to quit–
The feel of a large hand grabbing at the neckline of your shirt jolts you out of your internal rant, the jarring sensation startling the hell out of you. Before you can even process what’s happening, the sound of fabric ripping fills the entire room. In horror, you jerk away as Frost pulls at the front of your shirt roughly, his fingers gripping it as though he has a personal vendetta against the piece of clothing. The cotton continues to scream as it parts from itself, revealing your torso, and your efforts to withdraw do absolutely nothing to stop it from happening. Cool air hits your upper body a second later, your breasts heaving under your now exposed bra as a swarm of goosebumps attack the visible top of them.
He stops for a moment, his rough actions halting almost instantly as his piercing eyes fall on your cleavage, and you hear him inhale more sharply than you ever have.
You watch as his eyes dip to your chest, and you swear to God you can feel the blue ice in them pierce right through your body despite their current hooded appearance. Your arms tense in the air, your entire face and neck flaming at the sight of his blatant, lust-filled gaze.
And flaming turns into incinerating when you feel his thumb on your torso, just above your belly button, slowly trailing upward and leaving a trail of pure fire on your skin…until he hooks it under the front of your bra.
In one motion, he yanks your bra upward, lifting the cups over your breasts roughly. You shriek in horror, your voice echoing loudly in the darkness, your feet abandoning their designated spots without a thought as they scurry backward, seeking safety. But they don’t find any. Not even a little.
Cold breeze envelopes your chest with the most novel sensation, your breasts feeling strangely full and heavy without their armor. Your eyes slam shut impulsively, your head turning away from him on reflex, curving into your upper arm. You suck in a deep, stuttering breath at the feel of your naked skin exposed in front of him. In front of a man like this. An army of goosebumps scatters across your newly liberated flesh, and your ears burn themselves to ash as you feel your nipples harden instantly, and it has nothing to do with the low temperature in the room.
Your eyes fly open again at the sound of fabric giving, a sharp, brief tear forcing your attention back to the person clearly responsible for it. Frost hikes your bra as far up as it can go in your position, the straps digging into your shoulders with every tug and pull. You try to lean away from his less than delicate touch, your back arching almost painfully with the attempt, but it’s no use. And you’re left no option but to endure his rough-handling, utterly mortified by his unexpected, shocking actions.
You struggle to breathe normally, not in an effort to calm down—that ship has sailed far, far away already—but to stop your chest from heaving, the strained rise and fall only enhancing the nakedness of your breasts, bringing even more attention to them. But you can’t, and now your boobs have nowhere to hide, the cups of your mangled bra sitting helplessly below your neck.
Frost takes a step back, as if to get a better look at his handiwork. His eyes stay on your chest, and for the first time since you met him, you see visible tension in his jaw, his fingers closing tightly around the crop in his hand. Your eyes bulge behind your glasses when, in a seemingly involuntary, almost subconscious motion, his tongue darts out briefly, swiping over his full bottom lip before disappearing into the recesses of his sinful mouth. You just stare at him blankly, your face awash with complete disbelief even as your pussy sets itself on fire, its muscles twitching restlessly, screaming for attention. You feel a small gush of liquid leave it; shapeless, tangible heat dolloping in a slow, sticky stream from your core.
But his novel reaction only lasts so long, because now his eyes are darting up to yours again, the danger in them compounded with something new and unrecognizable.
“So, this is what’s going to happen, Ramona,” Frost says, clearly recomposed, his deep voice sending all the blood in your body to your core, which only antagonizes you even more….until he holds the crop upright again. “Every detail of your punishment will be directly proportional to your crime. There will be two aspects to this…lesson.” He says the word with a subtle grin that’s far more wicked than it is sly. “The first aspect is pretty straightforward. For however many minutes you were late by, I’m going to whip you the equivalent number of times. So, in essence, you’ll get a lash for every minute you were late.”
Your lungs seize the second the statement falls from his lips, your eyes bulging in fear until they glaze, your mouth parting silently even as you feel all the blood drain from your face. For two whole seconds, you can’t think. Can’t speak. Can’t breathe.
“You were late by an hour and eleven minutes: a total of seventy-one minutes,” Frost continues, his voice suddenly distant, as if he’s several feet away instead of right in front of you. You’re getting lightheaded, you realize, and your skull feels simultaneously compressed and weightless. You can’t even accurately describe it. Frost doesn’t seem to notice. Or, if he does, he sure as fuck doesn’t care.
“So, I’m going to give you seventy-one lashes,” he concludes, his tone matter-of-fact even when he can clearly see that you’re on the verge of an internal meltdown. “And you’re going to count each and every one of them.”