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Chapter Six
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First of all, no onespanked her. No one had ever spanked her before, and no one ever would.
She decided to ignore his question, mostly because he could just be messing with her. She had done enough stupid things to go and fall for that now.
“Well... I... err got lost,” she stammered while staring point blank at the considerable bulge outlined clearly by the silk of his sleeping pants. He looked huge. She couldn’t seem to look away. Why was she behaving this way?
Jagger McCoy dropped his head, hiding the expression on his face as he broke out into a chuckle which made her damn clit; the little thing that had been happy with only Finley’s company for years, sizzle with the need for him to touch her there.
Okay. No. Focus, Finley.
“You got lost, little kitten?” His voice dropped, and her pussy started to pulse again.
Little kitten?
“What’s your name?”
“Finley... Finley Marsh.”
Okay, there were a host of emotions and responses running rampant all around her, but could she have imagined the tick in his jaw when she gave him her name? Almost as if he were disappointed she was who she said she was.
“Trespassing, breaking and entering, killing a bug on my bathroom floor... all serious offenses. Ordinarily, I’d be within my right to shoot you. Or take you down to Sheriff Motif and let him handle this.”
Oh shit. Shit. Shit.
He strolled toward her. She gulped down a breath and then backed away. Did he have to be so big? Tall, she meant tall.
“So tell me again, and this time, tell the truth. What are you doing here on my land, in my home, Finley Marsh?”
“Okay, so this wasn’t supposed to happen, and that’s why I can’t come up with something else that might solidly explain my presence here, so I’m going to tell you the truth. Yes, I wanted to see if the legend was true. It was an innocent attempt to prove something; I don’t know, funny.”
He didn’t laugh.
“Yes, it was a silly challenge. A childish prank, if you will, easily forgiven and forgotten. So, I’ll just be on my way. Nice meeting you, Jagger McCoy. I’m sorry I didn’t get to meet your... umm... the umm... the legend in your pants, but maybe next time.”
“There is nothing funny about the size of my cock,” he growled softly.
“Well, according to facts,” she said as she quickly gathered up her boots and the scraps that had once been her bodysuit, “an eight-inch penis guarantees orgasms at a rate of 44%. Nine inches comes in at a 42% success rate. So I guess you can see the pattern there. I’ll definitely send you back your sheet.” She gave him an awkward wave. “Okay, bye.”
