Total pages in book: 248
Estimated words: 236036 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1180(@200wpm)___ 944(@250wpm)___ 787(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 236036 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1180(@200wpm)___ 944(@250wpm)___ 787(@300wpm)
Quinn
I stewed against the table, my ass arched upward as if I couldn’t feel the weight of Callum’s stare against my back. No, I felt his eyes watching me like a heavy presence without touching me. When he asked me if I thought he was planning to fuck me over the hay bale in the stable, I felt myself unravel. It wasn’t fully, but enough that I had nothing worthwhile to say.
“Okay, point’s been driven home. Are we done now?” I tried to pepper irritation into my question despite my annoying arousal. “There’s animals to feed and tasks to be handled,” I muttered as if I had any semblance of self-control left.
“You’ll have plenty of time to do what needs to be done, but you’ll do it wearing my handprints on your ass. Unless you say ‘red’ like a stoplight, we’re going to continue.”
Red? Like a stoplight. I knew what he was referring to, at least from the kinky romance books I read. I wasn’t experienced in any sort of relationship where spanking was the way to air out grievances, or whatever this was. But I could handle one spanking. I’d certainly started my morning off under worse conditions.
“So, then why are you stalling?”
Damn it.
My mouth really was writing checks it couldn’t cash.
“I’m aware you’ve been running this place by yourself,” he said, landing several measured smacks on my sit-spots.
I was thankful that I’d selected my thicker cotton pjs though they didn’t diminish the sting completely. I didn’t give him the satisfaction of reacting. “As I’ve said it’s been just fine.”
“I’m not telling you otherwise, I’m simply improving the infrastructure. Rotting fence posts, some financial concerns, and those types of issues.”
Callum slapped his palm against my upper thighs. My cotton pants provided very little cushion there. I peddled my feet in place. “Ow! Those stung.”
“Yeah, sweetheart. I bet they did. A spanking is supposed to leave a reminder. You don’t have to trust me yet, that will come in time. But you will respect me and the role I’ve been given. Starting now.”
“And if I don’t?” I was hardly in a position to argue, but the question flew out of my mouth anyway as if I wasn’t feeling the warmth on my bottom that his palm left there.
“Then I suppose we are going to start our mornings this way,” he said infuriatingly unbothered.
“We most certainly are not!”
“I think adding a small change to your routine will benefit you. Listen carefully,” he said calmly and speaking low against my ear as if he wasn’t peppering my bottom with slaps while he disciplined me.
“I promise that’s about all I can do.”
“You aren’t being corrected for having opinions. This isn’t about beating you into submission because I disagree with you. You’ve decided I’m not worth listening to before I even told you the plan.”
Callum straightened so his weight wasn’t on me any longer. His assessment wasn’t wrong. Something told me with certainty that he would drive the lesson home whenever I forgot to show the same respect he’d given me. Even with the stipulation, he could have bulldozed his way onto the ranch and dismantled its very foundation. Which was a terrible but accurate analogy for what he was doing to me. I should have allowed his words to marinate but I couldn’t resist.
“It feels like that’s exactly what you are doing, Versace. Making me prostrate myself in front of you while you demand an apology for your eavesdropping on my private conversation.”
“Drop the condescending nickname, short-stack. You say that like I’m a spoiled, presumptuous jerk and nothing more.”
“I’ll stop when you do the same,” I snapped.
“Still so fiery. What would you like me to call you? Hm? Princess? Pixie? Dandelion? Muffin?” He slapped my ass several times in a row without pause.
Once I caught my breath I managed to reply. “I don’t like those nicknames.”
“Mmm. Wait, I know. Spitfire. Must have forgotten that one.”
Callum kneaded his fingers into my sit-spots, and I groaned from the pressure.
“I can live with you calling me ‘spitfire’.” I glanced over my shoulder as Callum leaned across my back, pressing his mouth to the shell of my ear. Goosebumps raised along my skin. I hated how much he turned me on.
“Good. We’ve settled one debate. It’s so much easier to have a conversation when you’re open-minded.”
I didn’t say anything about the ease in which the topics flowed. For reasons I didn’t understand, him keeping me bent over the table with one sinful-looking forearm pressed into the small of my back kept me grounded. “Fine, Callum. Consider it settled. What shall I refer to you as?”
“I prefer you call me ‘Sir’ or ‘Daddy’.”
“In your dreams, Versace.”
He hummed in satisfaction, which didn’t logically click until he traced his fingers down my back, stopping at my hip. Before I could process what he was doing, Callum yanked my pajamas to my thighs along with my unfashionable but sensible granny-panties. I hadn’t been thinking about him seeing them this early in our connection. If I had, the sexy pink thong in the back of my drawer would have been my first choice.