I’m not sure I remember, but smile regardless. “I’m sure Laine would enjoy that,” I tell him.
“Excellent,” he says. “I look forward to meeting the future Mrs Lynch.”
I raise my eyebrows. “That’s quite a statement.”
“She must be quite a woman,” he says again. “Any woman that can catch your heart after all these years has got to be one to keep hold of.” He tips his head at me. “I’ll get Barbara to pick out a hat ready for the big day.”
“You do that,” I say.
He thinks I’m joking, I’m sure, and on some level I am. Making polite conversation for the sake of appearances. But it’s more than that.
She’s becoming a part of my life.
It feels beautiful, and that only makes me worry all the more.
I try her phone again.LaineI rush out through the college gates, sighing in relief to find his car in the usual spot. I throw myself into the passenger seat, full of sorry explanations.
I’m an idiot! I forgot my phone! I rushed out and left it there, right there by the bedside table! I’m so sorry. I’m an idiot. I’m an idiot. I’m an idiot.
He doesn’t say a word, just reverses the Mercedes out of the space and heads for home.
I don’t know what else I can say, so I say nothing, just tap my fingers on my lunchbox.
I wish he’d go crazy and tell me how angry he is, just to get it over with, but he doesn’t.
“I was worried,” he says, so simply.
“I know,” I tell him. “I get it. I get how worried you’d be. I’m really sorry.”
“Rushing is a fool’s errand, Laine. Carelessness leads nowhere good.”
I tell him I know that, too. Tell him I’m sorry again.
He says nothing else, just stares at the road ahead.
I hate how it feels to disappoint him.
He pulls onto our driveway and parks up as usual. He opens the front door and steps inside as usual. Hangs his jacket up as usual.
And then he heads through to the sitting room. I follow him, hoping that maybe he’ll break the ice and tell me about his day, but he doesn’t.
He unfastens his cufflinks as I watch, and rolls his cuffs back.
My heart races, and I’m not even sure why. I just know that something’s brewing.
That tickle between my legs again, but it’s faint under the nerves.
“Naughty girls need discipline, sweetheart. I told you what happens when you disregard the rules.”
“Yes, Daddy,” I whisper. “I’m sorry, Daddy.”
“I’m sure you are,” he tells me and his voice is stern again, like it was when I was late this morning. “But sorry alone isn’t enough to learn your lesson, Laine. The rules are there for a reason, to keep you safe.”
“I know, Daddy…” I feel so young again. Young and ditzy and awkward, barely like the horny little cow who took his cock all weekend.
“You know that I have to do this.”
I nod, because I do know, at least I think I do. It’s part of being taken care of, discipline. I’ve never had discipline, because I’ve never had anyone who cared enough. Not like he cares.
Discipline means caring.
The feeling in my heart makes more sense than the words sound in my head.
He beckons me closer. I step forward so slowly. “Take off your jeans,” he says.
My heart thumps. “Okay, Daddy.”
My fingers fumble because they’re so shaky. I shimmy my jeans down my legs and step out of them, feeling so naughty as Daddy Nick stares at me in just my knickers. He’s not smiling, not even a bit. His brows are so firm and serious.
He takes a seat in the armchair, his back upright and knees rigid. He pats his lap, and my legs are wobbly as I step over to join him. “Over my knee,” he says.
I’ve never been over someone’s knee before. I lower myself so tentatively, but he grabs me and hauls me into position, my ass raised so vulnerably on his lap. The shame makes me burn.
I squeak as he tugs my knickers down. They bunch around my knees, and it feels so naughty I screw my eyes shut.
“I’m doing this for your own good,” he tells me, and his palm brushes my bare thigh. “Your own good, and mine, too.” I manage another nod. “This is going to hurt,” he says, but I already know that.
The first slap takes me by surprise even though it shouldn’t. I jolt forward on his lap, but he’s got me. His arm presses onto my back to hold me steady while his other hand spanks me, and it hurts. It really hurts.
Daddy Nick hits hard.
“Ow!” I squeak. “Ow, ow, ow...”
My little shrieks don’t do anything to put him off his stride. If anything it only makes him hit harder. It burns hot. Stings, too. Until the warmth begins to glow and tingle and my breathing slows from ragged gulps into long slow breaths.