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Summary
“So what I’m hearing is that my wonderful little brat needs to turn around and bend over with his hands against the wall and his dress around his waist. And I need to undo my belt and make good use of it by ensuring my adored cannot sit comfortably at dinner tonight.” Alastor spoke so steadily and sure of himself that it almost didn’t sound like a threat. It wasn’t puffed full of intimidation, it was smooth and calm. A promise, a clarification. “Is that right, darling?”
“No, Sir,” Angel answered, now fully sounding as breathless as he felt. “I’ll be good,” he promised, his desperation seeping into his voice.
Alastor gave his a disbelieving look. “Somehow I doubt that.”