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And now it was in need of repair—preferably before he missed it.
After Locke gave me a onceover to make sure I wasn’t hurt, his look of concern had turned to one of anger.
“Have you been drinking?” he had asked.
Shit. Of course he’d know. There wasn’t a thing that got past that man.
“Yes, but I’m not drunk. I swear. Just one.” I hadn’t been lying. I wasn’t drunk, and I was pretty sure I was still legally under the limit to be able to drive, but regardless… I shouldn’t have driven in his eyes.
Coming to him for refuge had been a grave mistake. My father’s wrath would have been nothing in comparison to Locke’s.
I barely made it through the door before he had my pants and panties down. He put his foot up on the seat of a tapestried chair he had in the foyer and hauled me over his knee. I was hanging there, over his leg. My feet didn’t touch the floor, and neither could my hands.
I worried the whole time I was going to overbalance and end up falling on my head, but I should have known better. I wasn’t going anywhere until he let me go, which was when my butt was about the color of the red paint I had used earlier for a sunset picture.
He stopped—eventually—and tugged me into the living room, and I could see my ass in the tri-fold mirror over a narrow table before he dropped onto the couch, pulled me over his lap, and started up again.
He spanked me so hard and long, and I worried it would never end.
I think the only reason he stopped was because his hand started to hurt rather than him having mercy on me. I had to then go home and deal with the lecture from my father with a sore behind.
I never told him or anyone that I had been disciplined by Locke Hartwell.
An incident that had only fueled my fantasies and obsession with the man.
I was shifting as if I could feel the spanking even now, though it had happened years ago.
“Storee? Storee, are you alright?” Locke waved his hand in front of my face, trying to get me to come back to him. It wasn’t like me to space out like that, at least not unless I was painting.
“I’m here, sorry.” I wrestled my mind away from the vivid memories of the man who was currently sitting less than two feet away from me and when he had spanked my bare ass.
I crossed my legs delicately under the table, but it was really just to see if I could alleviate the ache those thoughts created in several places at once—in my heart, in my mind.
But clenching my legs together only served to help me realize my trip down memory lane had caused my pussy to leak, soaking my panties.
“You were miles away. What were you thinking?” Locke asked.
I racked my brain to come up with an answer that was not provocative or related in any way to what I’d been rolling around in my mind. “That I can’t afford Ghost Pines. I’ll meet you here again in two weeks.”
I started to scoot across the maroon vinyl bench, but his hand over mine stopped me dead. His touch felt as if he were an ER doctor laying a live paddle on my hand. Locke had never touched me at lunch, and I was surprised by the warmth of his fingertips on my skin.
“You’re not listening to me.” That voice was like a swatch of rich velvet being pulled over a chunk of rough granite. It was soft, but it commanded obedience. My nipples loved it, begging with tight, aching peaks for just a little of his attention. “Two weeks, on the fifth, at Ghost Pines. I’ll pick you up at seven.”
I only got the ‘n’ sound of ‘no’ out before he cut in.
“Not one word. And while we are on the topic of money. You have a trust fund. It’s time you use it instead of working parties like last night.”
“It’s honest work.”
“The people youserve… can be dangerous.”
I rolled my eyes. “I’m just a waitress. I’m not doing anything dangerous.”
“And I told you that you have access to money. Your father left you money.”
“And I know that is a lie. My father didn’t have money, and when he did, it didn’t last long. You set this up for me, and though I appreciate your kindness, I’m a grown woman. I’m not accepting a handout.”
“Storee…”
