"You're late." The voice startles you, forcing you to search the dark living room for your girlfriend's silhouette. You set down your belongings, heart already quickening at the edge in Cynthia's tone.

"I told you I'd be staying for a couple more rounds," you explain, moving toward the faint outline on the couch. The closer you get, the clearer her features become—jaw tight, arms crossed, eyes glinting with something dangerous in the dim light.

"Three hours late," she counters, not moving to embrace you like usual. "And you wouldn't answer your phone. I thought something happened to you."

"Sienna had my phone," you say, trying to sound casual as you straddle her lap. Normally she'd wrap her arms around you immediately, but tonight she just stares up at you, anger radiating from her like heat.

"Oh, I noticed," Cynthia says flatly. "She posted quite the stories." Her fingers finally move, but not in affection—they curl tightly around your hips, holding you in place.

"Oh my god, are you really jealous?" You laugh, but it sounds nervous even to your own ears.

"Don't laugh." Her voice drops an octave, serious as a storm approaching. "Bend over."

The command sends a familiar thrill through you, despite the tension in the air. You know what this means—punishment that will leave reminders for days. "What are you going to do? Brand me?" you joke, shifting on her lap until your ass is positioned exactly as she likes, already anticipating the sting.

"I'm going to do exactly that," Cynthia growls, suddenly yanking down your sweats along with your underwear in one swift motion. "So when we're changing tomorrow and she's looking at you like she does, she'll see it." Her hand hovers just above your exposed skin, and you shiver—equal parts fear and desire—as you wait for the first strike.