Rush groans and slants his lips over mine and thrusts his hips against me. I can feel his cock pressing against my clit through my underwear.
“There’s a condom in your pocket, isn’t there?” I whisper against his mouth.
“You know it, babygirl.”
While I dig it out, he grabs the back of my underwear in his fist and pulls them up till they’re wedged tightly in my ass.
“You know what I want?” he asks, his voice hot and heavy as he squeezes my ass. “To spank you even though you’ve been a very good fucking girl for me.”
“Then do—”
Before I can even finish the sentence, he pulls his hand away and smacks my ass, and then on the other side as well.
“Take your clothes off,” he orders, and I strip my top and skirt off up over my head while he continues to spank me. My whole ass is burning by the time I’ve manage to slip out of my bra. As I wriggle, I grind my clit against his erection.
“Daddy that’s—ah—so good,” I whimper.
His mismatched eyes are gleaming in the dim light. “I love how you look when you give into me, babygirl,” he growls, squeezing me in his hands and then spanking again. “It’s even better than when you come.”
Come. I want to come, and I remember I’m still holding the condom. I wriggle back so I can get at his zipper and Rush goes on spanking me, and I’m moaning and gasping and laughing as I’m trying to wrestle with his jeans and then the condom over his cock. Finally, I grasp the base of his length and sink down onto him.
“Hah. Got you.”
But if I thought he was going to stop, I was wrong. As I move back and forth on him, he goes on spanking my ass at regular intervals, and as my pleasure grows so does the tingling heat until I don’t know where one begins and the other ends.
I rest my forearms on his shoulders as I roll my hips back and forth. “That’s just so good, Daddy.”
Rush sucks on my nipples, one after the other, and then bites down. “Who’s Daddy’s good girl?”
I smile as I arch my back. “Me.”
“Yeah? It’s you?”
I close my eyes and nod, my head falling back as I feel my orgasm bearing down on me.
Rush reaches up and grips my throat. “Who’s my good girl?”
“Ah—me.” And then I can’t speak anymore, only come.
He grasps my hips and thrusts up into me, hard and fast, and I have to bury my face in his shoulder or wake the whole damn house. As he comes, his arms wrap around me and hold on tight.
I slump against his chest, breathing hard. He’s still deep inside me and I don’t want to let go. I sit up and push the tangled hair off both our faces. “Did we throw you the best after-jail party ever, Daddy?”
Rush smiles a lazy, contented smile. “Mm, baby. Best party ever.”
Two days later, the party is definitely over.
Rush, Wes, Ulf, Anders and I sit around the bare dining room table, watching Gary Melling, Ryman’s solicitor, talk Rush through his charge sheet and his impending court date. He’s brisk and efficient, and has the air of someone who can’t wait to brush this whole awful mess under the rug and move on.
“It’s a summary offence, which means there’ll be a hearing in a magistrate’s court in a few days’ time. You’ll plead guilty to common assault, and with any luck, you’ll receive a fine and maybe some community service.”
My eyes snap to Rush. That sounds like a good deal, but I can feel animosity rolling off him in waves.
“Plead guilty to common assault for punching that piece of shit? Will I get to say anything?”
Mr. Melling pushes his spectacles up his nose. His gray suit and short hair make him seem stuffy and uptight among so much denim, grungy T-shirts and silver jewelry.
“Of course,” he enunciates. “You’re going to throw yourself on the judge’s mercy by telling them how very sorry you are for what you did. We’re looking at a suspended sentence as the worst-case scenario. Mr. Jones has been complaining about cracked teeth and a nearly-broken jaw on social media, but the medical report only details a split lip and a bruise.”
Mr. Melling gives Rush a thin smile, but he doesn’t smile back.
“Are you joking? Tell the judge I’m sorry for punching that asshole?”
The smile is wiped from Mr. Melling’s face. “You need to show remorse, otherwise your punishment could be jail time.”
“I was provoked. I’m not saying sorry for any of it. I wasn’t drunk. I wasn’t on drugs. I hit him once, and he fucking deserved it.”
Mr. Melling passes his hand across his brow. “Mr. Osman, you called him a…you denigrated Mr. Jones in front of hundreds of thousands of people. Provocation isn’t a defense. It’s a mitigating factor.”