“Tell me something, little girl,” he said, continuing at that maddening pace. “Do you think your pride is worth more than your word?”
“No,” I said, my hips rolling back against his hand entirely without my permission.
“And what happens when you lose your temper and break a promise to me?”
“You spank my bare bottom.” My voice had dropped so low I barely recognized it. “Hard.”
“That’s right.” His fingers pressed more firmly, and my thighs began to shake. “And are you going to give me your word again knowing that?”
“Yes, Daddy.”
There was no hesitation this time. None.
“Good girl,” he said, and the words surged through me like an electric current. “Now come for me.”
I did. Hard and helplessly and with my punished bottom still burning and his fingers working me through every shuddering wave until I went limp and boneless across his knee, wrung out and warm and completely emptied of every bit of fury and pride I had walked into this room carrying.
When my orgasm finally crested, he gathered me up and pulled me into his lap, my back against his chest, his arms wrapped firmly around me. I could feel how hard he was. He made no move to do anything about it, just held me while I caught my breath.
“I’m sorry,” I said, after a while. And this time I meant it completely.
“I know,” he said against the top of my head.
I turned my face into his neck. My bottom throbbed and my heart was very full.
“I still think she had it coming,” I muttered.
His chest shook once with quiet laughter.
“I know that too, little girl,” he said. “Now hush.”
I hushed.
“You know your punishment isn’t over, don’t you?”
I hid my face in his chest and nodded.
“Now, little girl. We’re going to finish this in our bedroom.”
He carried me up the stairs the way he always did, with one arm under my knees and one at my back, as if I weighed nothing, as if carrying me was simply a thing he did and would always do. I looped my arms around his neck, pressed my face into his jaw, and let myself be carried.
I loved when he did this. I would never say that out loud though.
He knew anyway.
The bedroom was dark except for the lamp on his side of the bed, which cast everything in amber. He set me down on my feet at the foot of the mattress and stood back, and I felt his eyes move over me the way they always did, unhurried, thorough, like I was someone worth taking time over.
My bottom was still burning. The heat had settled deep into the muscle, a persistent warm ache that pulsed with every small movement. I was still wet. Embarrassingly, helplessly wet, and the cool air in the bedroom only made me more aware of it.
“Turn around,” he said quietly.
I turned. I heard the soft sounds of him undressing behind me, the slide of his shirt off his shoulders, his belt buckle, and then the light rasp of his zipper. I stood very still with my hands at my sides and my heart going at a pace I wasn’t going to examine too carefully.
His hands settled on my hips from behind.
“Bend over the bed, little girl.”
I breathed in. Breathed out.
