Madly Yours (Nora Reed) novel Chapter 293

The paddle was made of solid oak, two inches thick and a hand's width across. It struck flesh with a muffled, bone-rattling thud.

Olive O'Neil lay over the wooden bench, her jaw clamped shut, refusing to make a sound.

Arthur Knight delivered the punishment himself.

When the first strike landed, Olive's body went completely rigid. Her fingers dug into the bench's legs, the veins in her forehead bulging from the strain.

But she stubbornly held back her screams.

By the time the twentieth strike fell, she lay draped over the bench like a broken ragdoll. Sweat had completely soaked through her shirt, clinging tightly to her slender back.

Pushing against the wood, she slowly forced herself to stand. Her forehead was slick with sweat, but her eyes remained remarkably bright.

"Are we done?"

Arthur tossed the oak board onto the floor, his face completely impassive. "We're done. Go to The Cooler. You are not to step foot outside for three days."

Olive flashed a strained grin and took a tentative step forward. The movement tugged at her wounded flesh, causing her to wince sharply.

However, after testing her mobility, she realized the twenty lashes had only looked brutal. Her muscles and bones were perfectly intact. Arthur had obviously held back.

Understanding exactly what had just happened, Olive gave Arthur a big thumbs-up. "Artie, you're a badass."

Arthur waved her off impatiently.

"Heh!" Olive didn't mind his cold attitude in the slightest, limping her way down toward the basement.

Arthur watched her retreating figure for a long moment before letting out a soft chuckle. He kicked the wooden board aside, revealing the deep, strained indentations pressed into the webbing of his own hand.

...

The Cooler in the basement was small, barely a hundred square feet. It held nothing but a single cot, a desk, and a chair.

The air was thick with the damp, musty scent of mildew.

Olive lay face-down on the cot, her backside burning with fiery pain.

After twenty strikes, her skin was swollen high enough that she could feel the angry welts through her clothes.

But she knew Artie had gone easy on her.

If he had genuinely wanted to punish her, ten strikes would have been enough to cripple a grown man.

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