Page 120 of Bottle Shock
The following morning we left Wallula Lake and made our way back to Red Mountain.
As soon as Gavin pulls up to the house, my shoulders settle. We were only gone two nights, but it feels good to be back.
It’s funny how quickly this place has become more than somewhere I’m staying.
Even my parents’ condo never felt like a home—just a place to sleep. But here?
This is the closest I’ve felt to home since I was a kid.
Gavin hesitates after he turns off the ignition. Instead of exiting the car he stays seated.
“Are we camping out in the car?” I ask slowly.
He turns in his seat to face me with a spark in his eyes. “Lily won’t be home until the weekend.”
I’m not sure what he’s trying to say so I stay quiet, letting him fill in the blanks.
“What would you think about spending the night with me? In my bed.”
When I don’t answer right away, he continues, backpedaling this time. “Only if you want to. You probably need a little space and some time to yourself after all that?—”
“You’re very handsome when you ramble,” I tease.
“Is that a yes?” There’s so much hope in his voice it warms something in my chest.
I lean over the console and kiss him—soft, slow, like the only thing that matters in this moment is him. Because it’s true.
“Yes,” I whisper against his mouth. “I would love to sleep with you.”
He exhales a laugh. “That smart mouth of yours is going to get you in trouble one of these days.”
“You going to punish me for it?”
He swallows, his eyes flaring like he’s imagining it. “Your ass would look pretty great with a red hand mark on it. That fair skin of yours marked red.”
Just thinking about him bending me over his knee and spanking me has my thighs squeezing, pussy clenching.
I’ve come to realize I’d let this man do just about anything he pleases to me.
“You can spank me,” I say around a giggle. “You’ll have to catch me first.” I run out of the car toward the front door, but he’s already on my tail.
It was silly to think I even had a chance.
Gavin reaches me in two strides and throws me over his shoulder like I’m a sack of potatoes, giving my ass a smack as he walks inside.
I squeal and pound my fists against his back—not because I want him to stop, but because it feels good to pretend I’m not already completely at his mercy.
“Put me down!” I half-laugh, half-yelp as he carries me through the entryway.
“Not a chance,” he says, like it’s a promise and a threat all in one.
He kicks the door shut behind us and strides straight up the stairs, not even winded. Show-off. He tosses me onto his bed and I bounce once on the mattress, hair fanning across the pillow.
He stands at the foot of the bed, chest rising and falling, eyes locked on me like he’s deciding whether he wants to kiss me soft or ruin me again.
The air inflates. That warm, buzzing, charged kind of silence hums between us.
I sit up slowly, sliding to my knees at the center of his bed.
