Page 142 of Renard's Deliverance

But she’d never claimed to be that smart.

“You are.”

“That’s right.”

“But don’t you want?—”

“You need another spanking, Gem?” he asked.

Uh-oh.

No, she did not.

Her poor bottom was already hot and sore.

“No.”

“No, what?”

“No, Renard.”

“That’s better. Now, you stay the fuck here while I clean up, hear me?”

“Yes, Sir.” She thought about saluting but her poor bottom couldn’t handle cashing in the check her mouth might make.

Huh. Maybe she was getting smarter.

* * *

Opal was curledup in his lap, getting treated like a fucking princess when the sub approached.

He was nervous.

She could tell that by the way he shuffled his feet and cleared his throat several times before he could speak.

“Um, Sir?” he asked as no one said anything.

She lifted her head up to look at him.

Well, she tried to. Renard shoved her head back into his chest.

Then he grunted. “Yeah?”

“Um, Sir, are you going to . . . will you . . . be using your whip on any other subs tonight?” the sub asked with hope clear in his voice.

“Nope.”

“Oh.” The poor guy’s shoulders slumped and the sadness in his face was killing her. “Are you sure?”

“Yep. Here with my girl. I’m only performing with her.”

“Oh, yes, of course. I just thought you might still, uh, want to, well . . . anyway . . . sorry.”

Shit. This was painful. As the guy turned, she called out. “Hey, wait.”

He spun back. He was young, with dark hair and pale skin. She’d never seen him before but that didn’t mean he was new to the club or scene.

“Baby,” Renard warned, tightening his arms around her. “Hush. We’re having aftercare and you weren’t given permission to talk freely.”

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