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Knowing her door is locked from the inside, unable to be opened, she doesn’t even wait for me to be out of sight before scooting to the center of the bench seat, closer to the driver door I’ve just closed.
I’m in a playful mood, happy to test her, then come down with the paddle hand of justice, swift and stinging when I catch her.
I watch her from the corner of my eye as I gather bags from the bed. I’ve bought too much. It won’t be a one-trip haul, giving her plenty of time to try and escape as I unload the first bags, coming back for more.
Taking my time in the kitchen, I put the ice cream in the freezer, milk, butter, eggs, and veggies in the fridge. Unpack the dry goods into my cupboards.
I go back out, expecting the cab of the truck to be empty and to have to chase her. It’s not. She has scooted all the way over to the driver’s seat, though, patiently waiting for me to retrieve her. The only sound out here is the wind and the sound of the waves lapping the nearby shore.
“One more load,” I say through the closed window. She looks away, her eyes darting around like she’s planning to escape after all.
I go to her room, arranging and fluffing the bright pink pillows against the wood headboard, then folding the soft throw at the foot of the bed, smoothing it over the white down duvet cover.
Satisfied, but feeling a wee bit like I’ve crossed over some invisible line into a woman’s world, a place I neither want to be or to belong to, I clear my throat, crossing my arms over my chest to remind myself how large my biceps are. If anyone wants to say something about my shopping, I’m confident I can lay them flat on their ass.
When I go back outside, I find the cab of the truck empty.
She’s leaning against the driver’s side door, one boot crossed over the other, the shape of her legs showing off in her tight jeans. She wears the olive-green coat I made her grab before we left. Her cuffed hands hang casually in front of her.
“I told you to stay put.”
“You told me to stay here.” She gives a defiant shrug. “I’m here.” Her full lips curl into a sassy smile.
The tension of the day mounts, tightening my shoulders. If she’d just have turned Collins away and gone back inside like a good girl, I wouldn’t be home right now, a glorified prison guard babysitter for the next however long.
I’d be at the Castle discussing with the Kings how best to proceed with our next mission. I’d be sitting in the worn-out lawn chair I typically favor to the plush ones, having a pint, listening to Eamon tell me about his day, which girl fancies him now, or breaking up a fight between him and Jonjo.
I’d be waiting for Hammer to return from the Chippie with my portion of greasy white paper filled with hot food, my bottle of malt vinegar waiting on the table where I always leave it, under threat of death to anyone who dares to not put it back.
I’m starving. Borderline angry, even. Everyone but her knows you don’t antagonize a Bayne man when he’s not been fed. But she’ll learn.
Quickly.
My left hand is already mindlessly rolling up the sleeve of my shirt, one fold over the other, slowly, methodically, like my steps as I close the gap between us.
The grin falls from her pretty face, no longer so sure of her cleverness as I approach. “Just a joke.”
“I’m not in the mood for jokes.”
Chapter Ten
Bayne
I grab her cuffed wrists, pulling her arms over the hood of my truck till she’s perfectly bent over the side, her ass on display in those tight jeans of hers. Pulling my arm back, I let it fly, landing a nice solid smack on the center of her ass.
She cries out and I spank her again, loving the sound she makes when my hand lands. With each hearty spank I apply to her perfectly perched bottom, a wee bit of tension from the day leaves my shoulders.
The sight of her bent over my truck, her wrists bound together with my cuffs, it’s almost too much to take. I want to rip her jeans down and bury my cock inside her. She’s so perfectly positioned, it’d be easy enough to manage.
I wonder how she’d react if I reached around her waist, unbuttoning those jeans of her, pushing those tight jeans over her hips—the thought itself is enough temptation to make me carry out the fantasy. “Let’s get those jeans down so I can give you a proper spanking.”
My cock throbs, wondering what color panties she’ll be wearing.
“No!” Feeling my fingers dance around the waistband of her jeans, reaching for the button, she snaps her head over her shoulder, squirming. “Don’t you dare!”
I slip the button through the buttonhole, tugging down the zipper. “Don’t be shy. It’s not like I haven’t already seen every inch of this beautiful ass of yours.” Holding her wrists to keep her arms stretched out over the hood of the truck, I shove her jeans down, one side then the other.
Revealing black lace panties. Like she knew she was going to see me today.
