*Mostly Smut?*
Katrina
Before I knew what was happening, he had me over his shoulder. I scrambled to grab the back of his shirt for support as I was slung face down, my legs in a vice-like grip.
“Put me down!” I screamed.
"So you can try to leave me again?" he snapped.
A smack reverberated through the hall, and it took me a moment to register he had hit my bare a.ss.
“What the fuc—” His palm made c.ontact again, his grip on me tightened as blood rushed to my bottom.
I was thankful, so thankful no one else was around. This scene was entirely mortifying.
He walked me back toward the other part of the packhouse. Every time I squirmed, his grip somehow tightened further.
When I sighed and succumbed to him, I felt he was wearing a satisfied smirk. I knew it somehow, even though I co
