“Oh!” Her hands clutched his T-shirt but didn’t push him away, she dragged herself a little closer. Her mouth was dropped open, her eyes wide and curious. She liked it. It was written all over her face.
“Told you.” He waited for sass, but instead, she emitted a brief sound that was half whimper and all permission. On the next drumbeat, he spanked her again.
She sucked in a breath this time and kept her gaze locked on his. “Why”—she had to clear her throat to finish—“do I like this?”
He was grinning now and damned if he could help it. “Because you trust me not to hurt you.” He rubbed his palm over her backside, silky panties and equally silky skin. “Because you’re a kick-ass, take-charge woman who secretly wants to be taken care of. Because you’re safe and this is fun.”
“Oh.” She darted her eyes away.
“Now let’s try it with you over my knee.”
“What? No.” But she was smiling. Curious.
He led her to the couch. She walked with him. Great sign.
“I didn’t know this thing we were doing involved me over your knee.”
“You want to talk terms, Sarge?”
She rolled those beautiful eyes.
“I’ll talk terms,” he said. “My terms are you by my side every spare moment you have. My terms are no matter what we spent the day doing—dealing with Jordan’s shit, or Hawk being impossible, or you being grouchy—that we always, always make time to be us.”
Her lips parted.
“There’s nothing more ‘us’ than me pushing your boundaries.” He sat and rubbed his palms over his denim-clad knees. “Bend over, beautiful.”
*
Strong, tough, independent women did not bend over a man’s knee for a spanking.
Right?
Asher leaned back on the slim leather sofa and propped his arms on the back, a crooked tilt to his mouth, fire in his expression and the promise of satisfaction—the really good kind—in his dark eyes.
Right???
Her bottom still stung the slightest bit from that last slap, and it had the by-product of sending a flood of warmth through her stomach and between her legs. Beyond her hectic heart, the keyboard ticked off the steady beat of a drum.
Asher stretched his arms toward the light switch over his head, his black T-shirt riding high and exposing an army of hard abs. He flipped the switch and the room fell into blackness. Outside, she could see the dock, the lake beyond, and a fat, pale moon—full—lighting the beach below. Inside the dark studio, she could make out the outline of a fantastically talented rock star who wanted to use his hands to turn her inside out.
She squirmed with anticipation. He offered a palm.
She took it.
“We’re going to leave your dress and shoes on,” he murmured in her ear as she bent over him. “But lose the panties.”
Her breath caught when his hand slid under her skirt, wound around the scrap of silk, and tugged her underpants to her feet. She dragged them off and laid over him, elbows on the couch, anticipation and nervousness switching places to the beat echoing in the room.
He ran his hand through her hair, moving it over one of her shoulders.
“Asher.”
“Shh-shh. No talking.” He rubbed his palm over her bare backside, moving in slow, sensual swirls.
“Of course I can talk.”
Snap! One sharp slap landed on her butt cheek before he started that rotating movement of his hand again. She gasped, unable to hide her shock…or how much he’d just turned her on.
“I say you can’t.” His voice was low and playfully sinister. “Right now, Sarge, you’re not the one giving orders. Embrace it. You’re going to lie here, and I’m going to do what I want to you. When I’m done—and only then—you can speak. Although,” he added, and she heard the humor in his voice—the smile around his words, “if you’d like to answer with ‘yes, sir,’ I could completely get into that.”
“Don’t push it,” she said, followed by shocked, “Oh!” when he slapped her ass again.
“What was that?” And now he was rubbing again.
“Yes, sir,” she said with a smile of her own. She clasped her hands and bit down on her thumb.
“Fuck. I like that, Sarge,” he said reverently.
So did she, but she didn’t say so. Instead she did what she hoped would turn him on even more. She wiggled her bottom and purred, “Yes, sir.”
His hips lifted, and she felt the hard ridge of his erection bump into her belly where she lay over him. Both of them were enjoying this, and quite a bit of her enjoyment was coming from the fact that for once in her day, she didn’t have to be in charge of anything. Even her own needs. He was taking care of them for her.
He drew back and delivered the hardest crack yet.
“Ow!”
She felt his stomach move with laughter. Then that laughter stopped when he ran his fingers along the seam of her and found her wet and ready. He slipped over her folds, spreading her wetness and making her squirm. His touch—his attention—was only making her hotter. Wetter.