Page 24 of Wild Daddy

I think about it. "Questioning your methods based on theoretical applications of structural engineering principles?"

"That's a fancy way of saying you didn't listen to a damn thing I told you." His thumb traces along my jawline. "You know what happens when little girls don't listen to Daddy?"

"They get timeouts?"

He laughs, but it isn't particularly comforting. "Something like that. Turn around."

"Why?"

"Are you trying for four strikes?"

I shake my head and turn around, pressing my palms against the rough bark of the tree. Behind me, I hear him moving around, but I can't see what he's doing.

"Hands flat against the tree.” I suddenly feel his hands on my waistband, and a moment later my pants and panties are tugged down, making me gasp as cold air hits my ass. “Don't move."

"Cade, what are you—"

His hand comes down on my ass hard enough to make me gasp and arch against the tree.

"That's one," he says calmly. "Every time you questioned me gets a smack. I counted nineteen."

"Nineteen?" I try to look back at him. "That seems like an excessive tallying system—"

Another sharp slap cuts off my protest.

"Twenty. And that's for arguing with me about the count." His hand settles on my lower back, holding me in place. "Color?"

"What?"

"Green means keep going, yellow means slow down, red means stop. What color are you?"

The fact that he's checking in with me, making sure I'm okay even while disciplining me, sends a burst of heat straight to my pelvis. It takes me a moment to gather enough breath to answer. "Green."

"Good girl."

He continues with methodical precision, each swat perfectly placed to build heat without causing real pain. By the time he reaches ten, I'm breathing hard and fighting the urge to press back against his hand.

"You're not listening to save your life out here," he says, his voice steady while I try to process the strange mix of arousal and shame. "You're listening because I know what I'm doing, and you don't."

Another smack, harder this time.

"You're listening because when you question every instruction, you are setting yourself up for getting hurt.”

Three more in quick succession.

"And you're listening because this pretty little ass belongs to me, and I don't like it when what's mine doesn't behave."

The possessive statement sends heat shooting straight between my legs. By the time he finishes, I'm trembling all over and definitely not from fear.

"Turn around."

I push myself away from the tree on shaky legs, my pants and underwear around my ankles, my face burning with embarrassment and arousal and something that feels dangerously close to gratitude.

"How do you feel?" he asks.

I take inventory as I lean my tender ass against the rough bark. It’s sore in a way that will remind me of this moment every time I sit down. My breathing is unsteady but my brain feels quiet for the first time in hours.

"Focused," I say, surprising myself.

---