Oh, yeah . . . whoops.
“I didn’t want to drive with no underwear on,” she told him, looking over her shoulder at him. “What if I’d been in an accident? What would the paramedics think?”
“I’d hope they’d be thinking about helping you, not worrying about what the fuck you’re wearing.” He had an offended look on his face, and she sighed. She guessed if the paramedics could get past the short, black skirt and yellow corset she was wearing, having no underwear on wouldn’t come as much of a shock.
Sloan gave her a hard slap on the ass. “Wait here.”
Like she was going anywhere. But she wisely kept that quip to herself. She had a healthy sense of self-preservation, after all.
She turned her head to watch him walk behind the small bar. When he returned, he held a small knife in his hand.
“Sloan, I’ll take them off,” she said hastily.
He’d never insisted she call him Sir. He didn’t sweat the small stuff. Although, he did seem to have an unnatural dislike of underwear. On her.
“No, you had that chance. You know my rule; no panties when we’re playing.”
He moved behind her.
She groaned. “But these are my good panties.” He paused with the knife pressing coldly against her flushed skin.
“You have good panties?”
He was such a man. Of course, she had good underwear. These ones didn’t have holes or pulls and they were a pretty lace, not plain cotton.
“Yes. And these are them. Please, can they be saved?”
He sighed. A long, drawn out sound that made her smile, though she didn’t let him see it.
But instead of slicing them, he pulled her panties down off her legs.
“I’d have bought you more.”
“You would come to a lingerie shop with me?” she questioned.
“Of course not.” He rubbed one hand over her bare cheek “I’d have given you my card.”
She rolled her eyes. And wouldn’t that have made her feel like a kept woman. And a bit ridiculous.
Both hands were now rubbing her ass, pausing every so often to squeeze the full globes. Damn, she loved a good ass massage. Made her go all gooey inside. A hot, melting sort of gooey. Her clit throbbed, her nipples pressing against the tight corset she wore.
He suddenly smacked his hand down on her right cheek. Then the left. She let out a low moan as he rubbed the heat in. Just as the pain was morphing into something more pleasurable, he struck again. Four smacks this time, one after the other. They weren’t overly harsh, but Kinley didn’t have a high tolerance for pain. Already her butt was stinging, her skin almost too sensitive for the massage he gave her after. Besides, now she knew to be wary. The seductive touch of his hands would soon be followed by—
Smack!
Six spanks this time, and tears flooded her eyes. She could feel his displeasure in each tap of his palm against her ass. Her cheeks throbbed, and one of those tears slipped free. More because she was disappointed in herself than anything else. Disappointed and scared.
Scared to lose him. To lose the best thing in her life. Oh, she’d survive it. Of course, she would. Kinley was a survivor. She was tough. She could get over Sloan if she had to. But she didn’t want to.
“I’m sorry,” she sobbed. “I’m sorry.”
He paused while rubbing her ass. Then stepped back. The bereft feeling that filled her only made more tears flow. He lifted her off the couch and onto her feet, holding onto her forearms to steady her when she wobbled.
“You shouldn’t do that.”
“Do what? Spank your ass?” he asked with a hint of humor.
She snorted. “That too. I meant you shouldn’t be lifting me around like that. You need to take care of your back.” She bit her lip the minute she said it. Drat.