Oops, There Goes a Consequence

OOPS, THERE GOES A CONSEQUENCE

LYRIC

Y ou'd think with the number of times bratting out has gotten me into trouble that I'd have learned by now, right?

Nope.

And this one takes the cake by a long shot…

Daddy

Lyric, you know that little note isn't going to fly, especially when you've turned off your location. Please let me know where you're going and what time you anticipate returning. Your safety is paramount. I won't be able to sleep otherwise.

I'm not going to ask you again. I expect an answer within the next five minutes.

What game are you playing? I can assure you it's not one I find amusing…

Lyric… This is uncalled for and so far beyond treading the line, you couldn't find it if you tried. Call me. NOW.

8:09 PM: Missed call

8:15 PM: Missed call

8:37 PM: Missed call

8:50 PM: Missed call

9:01 PM: Missed call

9:10 PM: Missed call

9:28 PM: Missed call

9:41 PM: Missed call

9:45 PM: Missed call

9:56: New voicemail (00:45)

I haven't even brought myself to listen to whatever was recorded in those forty-five seconds. My stomach churns uncomfortably as regret washes over me in a suffocating wave. What started off as an innocent joke quickly spiraled into more than I was bargaining for when I agreed to girls' night out, no boys allowed edition. I knew allowing Carlie to shut off my phone wasn't the greatest idea, but it's not like I had a choice. She quite literally took it from me, shoved it between her tits, and refused to return the damned thing until the night was over.

Now, hours later, we're pulling up to the house and what undoubtedly awaits me is a fuming soon-to-be husband with an insatiably dominant personality, and a plethora of items at his disposal to subdue me and even the score. On a regular day, I'd be brimming with excitement, eager to see what delicious type of punishment he has up his sleeve, but this is different. Remember the great Sybian ride of 2022? Yeah… this is about to be twenty times worse than that.

With a wicked smirk, Carlie slaps a big wet kiss on my cheek and all but shoves me out of the car. "Have funnn," she sing-songs.

Fun? I think to myself as I trot up the steps to the ebony iron doors. Not at first, it won't be…

On a deep breath, I force myself into the house and wave a quick goodbye to my sadist of a best friend before quietly shutting the door. Perhaps he is asleep, and I'll live to see another day. Ten steps in and I stop short just before the stairs, though, gasping softly as the sweltering heat of his presence emanates from somewhere beside me.

Perhaps not.

I crane my head to the left, revealing a pointed stare honed in on me from one of the wingback chairs situated across the length of the sitting room.

"Hi." The word is a whisper, yet somehow it seems to echo within the foyer.

He doesn't return my greeting, remaining completely silent for what feels like a century. My heart rate goes full throttle, mind racing with every scenario possible. The longer he denies me a word, the more flustered I become.

Until, finally, he unleashes a calm yet equally unnervingly growled, "Upstairs, Lyric. Now."

It's only then I notice the whip coiled in his grip.

Yeah, I'm so fucked.

Throat bobbing, I offer a nod of understanding and slip out of my Manolo Blahniks in an effort to move faster. I don't make it but a few steps before I'm hyper aware of the fact he's on my tail. The desire to spin around, jump in his arms, and apologize profusely for disrespecting not only him but our dynamic is nearly impossible to ignore, but it's not that simple. I flew far too close to the sun, and now the burn will serve as a lesson.

A lesson I'm apparently going to learn in our newly finished playroom, I note when Grayson's footfalls stop a ways behind me. Sure enough, a glance over my shoulder confirms my suspicion, prompting me to turn on my heel and pad back down the hallway. As I meet his stare, anger is the predominant emotion, but I don't miss the whirl of betrayal swimming in those mossy depths, too.

Betrayal I put there.

I can't bear it for another second, ripping my gaze away and turning my attention to the now open door with burning guilt racing through my veins. I love Carlie dearly, and I know her shenanigans were all meant in good fun, but she also knows Grayson doesn't play when it comes to me, my whereabouts, and most of all, my well-being. After the whole Leland/REVENGEHUB debacle, how could he not? The papz didn't exactly ease off after we came out as a couple, either, much less after the news of our engagement spread like wildfire. We're still heavily speculated about and followed on a daily basis.

So why would I do it? Why did I let her talk me into—

"Lyric…" The deep baritone of his voice sucks me out of my head and refocuses my attention on him and the fact that he's now in the all-black room, standing by the chaise.

All he does is crook a beckoning finger, pointing to the empty space in front of him, and I'm moving. He's got that darkened glint to his eyes, the one that warns my inner brat from emerging while simultaneously promising I'll be left a breathless, shaking mess when he's done with me. I nearly swallow my tongue at the sight of it.

"I'm sorry," tumbles from my lips as I clench the soft material of his white t-shirt, tugging him into my breathing space.

He comes willingly, but rather than verbally acknowledge my apology, nestles the whip under my chin and claims my mouth.

It's okay. I can feel the words in the way he kisses me. Daddy will always love you even on your worst days…

"Actions have consequences, Princess." His teeth latch onto my bottom lip, yanking until it slips free. "And this is one of them. Now… strip."

Every last hair on my body rises at attention, a shiver rolling down my spine. It's not fear, per se, more so anticipation with a tinge of nerves. Can you blame me? We've never used the whip before. Until now, it's been nothing more than a wall ornament.

"Can't I just use my points for a Princess Brat Switch Day instead?" I question, apprehension clear in my voice.

That decadent chuckle rents the air as he stalks around me and towers over me from behind, gathering all my hair to one side. "It's cute you still think you have any," he husks out, his breath hot on my ear. "That little stunt you pulled tonight cost you every last one."

"But that's not fair!" The way I don't even realize I've whined it until the pressure of his hand around my throat silences me…

"No, what wasn't fair was vanishing with Carlie and leaving me completely in the dark. Do you have any idea how worried I've been?"

Yes, but I don't relay as much.

My lack of a reply earns me a squeeze, his grip tightening enough to cut off my air supply. "You will never do that again; do you understand me?" he grits.

I nod, and within seconds he releases me, sheds me of my silver mini dress, and bends me over the arm of the chaise. Minutes later, I'm completely restrained and bound at his mercy. That familiar silky black rope binds my wrists together, each end secured to one set of the chaise's legs, outstretching my arms. The handcuffs around my ankles are attached to the other set, ensuring my legs remain spread.

I couldn't move if I tried.

"So, here's how this is going to go," he starts, falling to his haunches beside me to look me in the eye. "We're going to count, one for each time you decided to ignore my calls. Do you know how many times that is?"

"No," I whisper honestly, though I know it's quite a few, which means I'm definitely walking out of here with a sore ass.

If I can walk at all.

"Ten," he informs. As that one little word sinks in, revealing the gravity of my fate, he rises to full height and makes his way behind me. A tender hand glides over the globes of my ass, massaging gently first one, then the other. "What are your safe words, Lyric?"

Gulping, I ball my hands in preparation, squeezing my eyes shut. "Reaching and maximum."

Grayson

The next time I see that red-headed little fox, we're going to have some words. Don't get me wrong, I'm grateful Lyric has friends who both understand and live our lifestyle but encouraging her to do something so senseless is not okay by any means. They should all know better—Carlie especially.

Tightening my grip on the whip, I drag the tip along the floor and steady my hand. Focus sharp, I crack the first strike, making contact with her right cheek. Lyric shifts slightly as expected but doesn't make a peep.

"One," I start, waiting to hear her say it right along with me…but she doesn't, reigniting the fire in my blood that raged not long ago. "I said count, Lyric."

She does and immediately after, I unleash the second strike on the opposite side. This time, we count in tandem as the crack echoes off the walls. Each strike thereafter comes harder and harder, luring whimper after whimper from the little brat who forced this on herself. Three, four, five… I feed on it. I won't even lie; the way the leather slaps against her pert, blushing ass, how the thick handle feels in my hand…I wouldn't say I'm losing control, but there's a moment where anger and worry resurface with a vengeance, replaying every second of the evening to the point my teeth grind almost painfully.

"Six!" Lyric whines, jolting in place as the sting undoubtedly explodes through her body like gunfire.

"I'd been calling you for almost an hour at that point," I grit, steadying myself for the next one. "I was out of my mind, Lyric. Out of my fucking mind with worry."

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry, okay? It was supposed to be a joke!"

"Jokes are supposed to be funny!"

Twack!

I'm about to count off when I hear it loud and fucking clear, halting my every move and bringing me back to reality like I've been doused with a bucket of ice-cold water.

"Maximum! Max…maximum!"

The whip slips from my grip in a sheer nanosecond, clattering unceremoniously onto the dark hardwood floor. Lyric rarely safewords. Hell, she's maxed out on me less than a handful of times. She knows the rules we've meticulously laid out and agreed to, yet breaks them for the sake of being punished. She loves it just as much as I do, revels in the high the same way I do. It's part of the reason she has my ring on her finger, why she vowed to take my last name and live the life we never thought we'd have. Lyric Elizabeth Taylor owns every last piece of my heart and then some, so seeing her like this, so torn down after a session, rips me to shreds.

Hand diving into my pocket, I retrieve the key for the cuffs and make quick work of undoing them, first one, then the other. No sooner do they fall by her bare feet before I'm flying around the chaise to remove the rope. Feels like I can't move fast enough, though, the desperation to get to her suddenly the only thing I can think about. Rather than undoing the tangle of knots, I pull a switchblade from my back pocket and slice it clean, yanking the bindings free in one fell swoop. I have her thrown over my shoulder a mere breath later and race down the hallway to our bedroom, where I carefully set her onto our bed.

"Talk to me, Princess. Tell me how you're feeling," I demand, hastily reaching for the bottle of aloe in my nightstand.

"I'm fine," comes meekly as I roll her onto her stomach. "Sore, but fine."

I can work with sore.

Shaking the bottle, I squeeze a blob onto each globe and some into my palm for good measure while examining my handiwork for the first time. Despite the strength behind the whip, they're all superficial and shouldn't bruise terribly. She might be uncomfortable for the next day or two, but well, it'll serve as a reminder that bratting out comes with a clear warning label.

Gingerly, I spread the aloe around her ass, taking my time around the seven different strike marks. Lyric hisses softly, flinching whenever I graze one and work the cooling gel into it. Not going to lie, I kind of wince, too, tracking her reactions with a fixed eye. As soon as I'm done, I wordlessly crawl onto the bed beside her and pull her into my embrace. She comes willingly, but the fact she instantly tucks her face into the crook of my neck doesn't sit well with me.

Threading my fingers into the back of those platinum tresses, I tug gently, forcing her stare on mine. It's only then I notice the thin wet trail painting her cheek. My heart drops instantly. "Talk to me," I urge her.

"I'm fine, I promise. I mean, my ass hurts like hell, but I'm fine."

"You're crying, though. You never cry."

"I'm not crying," she chuckles, running a thumb along my cheek. "I was squeezing my eyes so damn hard toward the end, they started leaking from the force."

Genuine enough or so it seems, but something rooted deep inside me doesn't buy it. My mind rolls back the footage, and I begin wondering if I overreacted, if perhaps I was too harsh in my choice of punishment and should've waited until I wasn't so upset before delivering a consequence. I mean, for fuck's sake, I didn't even give her a chance to explain, just jumped down her throat the moment she walked through the door. I didn't check to make sure she was okay, didn't—

"Stop it." The temperate sound of her voice pulls me out of my introspection. "Don't do that."

"Don't do what?"

"That." She smooths out my now cinched brows as she says this. "I smell the beginnings of Dom drop, and I don't like it. There's no need for it. I'm fine, Daddy, really."

"I was too harsh," I rasp, reeling her in closer. "I should've gone for the flogger or the belt. The whip was too much when we'd never used it before. I should've eased you into that under completely different circumstances."

Lyric shifts enough to take my face in her hands and plant a kiss to my lips. "You weren't too harsh. I know the rules, my love, and yet I chose to be a brat and break them. I disrespected you, our dynamic. That's not okay. I earned my punishment fair and square, knew it from the moment I devilishly signed that note and walked out the door. Do not question yourself, do you hear me?"

My head bobs, but much like me, she's not buying it, either.

"Grayson, I'm serious. I love you. A tough session in the playroom will never change that. It's part of the reason why I love you. You're not just my soon-to-be husband, you're my Daddy, the only man who would not only be able to handle me but give me exactly what I need—whether it be pleasure or pain, and everything else in between."

My heart swells with such ferocity, I can't help but roll her on top of me and claim her mouth all over again. "I love you," I mumble against her lips. "I love you; I love you; I fucking love you."

I can feel her smile as she kisses me back and wastes absolutely no time taking advantage of our positioning, undulating her hips in that way that drives me mad. "And I you. So how about we finish what you started and get to the good part? I can go for an orgasm or two or three right about now."

"Mmm, with pleasure, Mrs. Kane. Now be a good girl and sit on my face. Let your soon-to-be husband feast."