Hillary
I gasp, my shock only growing wider when he slaps me again, this time harder. I want to yell, to hit him back, but I stay still, the knot in my stomach loosening, my heart pounding against my chest.
“What did I say when I gave you permission to leave?” he finally speaks.
I remain quiet, but when his hand spanks my butt again, I speak. “That I shouldn’t be late,” I whine.
“Now what happens when you misbehave, Clarke?” he growls. His fingers touch the hem of my skirt, hiking it up. I should stop him. I should get up and leave. But I don’t. My body feels weak, and my eyes are still dizzy from the alcohol I chugged at Georgia’s.
“I get punished,” I murmur. Now my skirt is bunched up around my waist, my pantyhose still on, but it’s see-through—he can see me.
His palm collides with
