think you still deserve to be punished.” “Oh,” she murmurs, gulping low in her throat. Without another word, she pushes up from the couch, bolting down the hallway. It’s difficult not to smile as I watch her run, her poorly concealed laughter echoing around the apartment. I easily catch up to her in the bedroom, tackling her onto the bed and pinning her to the mattress, shoving both hands above her head. “You’re not getting away that easily,” I say, grinning down at her. “Please, no,” she says, still laughing. This time, it’s full, unbridled, a small symphony of giggles that escape her until
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