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The shirt falls and my guilt returns with a vengeance. Sweat drips down his face. He looks truly miserable.
I finally get my ass up and run into the house. I find what I need in the fridge and race back to Lucas, who is panting and moaning piteously.
“Drink this.”
I push the half-gallon jug of milk into his hands. He gulps and gulps, milk seeping from the corners of his mouth to drip down his chest. When he finally takes a breath, his red-rimmed eyes lift to me.
“Ten out of ten, Peapod. But you’re in such deep shit.”
My stomach clenches. I take a few steps backward. “I’m sorry. Really. Bad idea. Out of practice.”
“What was it?” he growls.
“Carolina Reaper powder.” I laugh nervously, glancing over my shoulder to see how far the door is. “I, uh, found some in the spice cabinet. Split-second decision. Please don’t?—”
He lunges. A squeal escapes me as I spin and run to the stairs. He catches me right as I cross into the house. I’m suddenly airborne, then my midsection lands with force on one broad shoulder. The air whooshes out of me and I fist the shirt on his back to stay steady.
“Lucas, please, let’s talk?—”
He slaps my butt so hard I squeak. There’s nothing remotely playful about it; I’m one hundred percent being punished.
“Where are you?—”
“No talking unless you want to be spanked again.”
This time, the low timbre of the words elicits a different reaction in my body, and I become painfully aware that his fingers are gripping right beneath my jean-clad ass.
The trip isn’t long. Up some more stairs, through a shadowed bedroom, and into a large bathroom. Lucas strides into the walk-in shower.
When I realize what’s coming, I start to squirm in earnest, pushing at his shoulders and shifting my weight back hard. To my surprise, he doesn’t fight it, allowing me to slide down the front of him. For a moment, we’re caught chest to chest, his arms holding me an inch from the floor.
My heart races, making my words breathy. “I swear, it was just a tiny bit. I didn’t know it would be that bad. I’m really sor?—”
Before I can finish, he drops me, my feet slapping loudly on the tile. I stumble back. Lucas darts out of the shower, his hand cranking the dial as he goes.
I screech as freezing water hits me from three angles—overhead, back, and front. Freaking rich people and their showers. I fumble for the dial, cranking it off. But the damage is done. I’m soaked, my jeans heavy on my waist, my hair plastered to my head. Spitting water, I glare at a smug Lucas, safe outside the glass enclosure.
“Okay, we’re even,” I grumble, reaching for the door. When I try to tug it open, he holds it closed.
He smiles cheerfully. “Nope. My mouth still feels like the sun died in it.”
“I said I was sorry, okay? It’s cold in here!”
“I noticed.”
I glance down and gasp, then cover my chest with my arms. “Creep.”
“Tease.”
“Ass.”
“Degenerate.”
I snap my mouth closed, electing to glare. Lucas grins at my discomfort. My stare sharpens.
“How’s your mouth feeling?”
His grin morphs into a glower. “Suck it.”
