That psychopath. He was unhinged. He’d broken into my goddamn house, after ignoring me for a year. He’d spanked me. The memory of his hand landing on my behind again and again had blood rushing to my face. When it came down to it, all my snappy comebacks and mean-girl zingers had disappeared, and everything had left my head except for one maddening reality. I hadn’t hated it. As soon as I’d realized how good it felt, to be helpless in his arms, under his control, struggling to no avail and just forced to take it, I’d been too horrified to say anything. I couldn’t ask him to stop. He’d have
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