Page 65 of Saving Sophia

Oh shoot.

My cheeks burned. “I’m so sorry.” I hated the words. Their empty familiarity.

“Exactly.” He pointed for emphasis. “And you carry that guilt around like a bag of bowling balls around your neck. It’s my job to help you with that.”

It was? I turned the idea over in my head. How was that possible?

“Pull down your shorts.”

The little thrill spread through me like watercolors. Holy crickets. He was going to spank me. Just like Ruthie in my book.

Except this was really happening.

“Do as Daddy says,” he encouraged.

I unbuttoned and unzipped like I was dreaming, hyper aware of little details. The tickle of denim strings as my shorts slipped down my thighs, the smell of coffee lingering from breakfast, a bird outside warbling a happy chirp as if I weren’t standing here in my underwear about to submit to a real live spanking.

“Panties too.”

Holy Toledo.

Another detail flashed in my mind—the wetness of those panties, which would be obvious when I dropped them. Tremors ran through me, and that little rebellious little voice inside whispered a thrilling thought.

So what if he sees?

The memory of him pushing his fingers, still wet from making me come, inside my mouth … then kissing me, shimmered in my mind.

I shoved the white cotton eyelet panties down in a rush, before my courage could fail me. The air found my bareness, increasing the sensation of vulnerability and exposure.

He patted his lap once more, and I shuffled the step and a half that separated us. The restriction of my shorts and panties wrapped around my ankles heightened my arousal.

I took his hand, and in one quick movement he laid me across his thighs, my head down, hands holding his leg for support, feet crossed nervously together, panties and shorts dangling, and my butt … well, it ended up front and center on his lap.

He rested a hand on my back, which was strangely comforting. “Now, what did you do wrong?”

I recited the list again, staring at the rustic pattern on the thick rug beneath me.

His fingers traced my spine. “Don’t forget the eavesdropping.”

I shivered, suddenly aware of his hardness pressed against my belly.

“And eavesdropping,” I added, my voice barely a whisper.

“What’s the most important thing in our relationship?”

“Honesty.” I wobbled on his thighs, the word coming out choppy as I shifted and clenched my hands tighter around his calf, my heart pounding so hard it might break out of my chest.

“Good girl,” he said as he steadied me. “Now let’s clear the slate.”

I focused on the exposure of my bare behind, so vulnerable to him, so … visible. The first strike took me completely by surprise.

Bright, burning pain seared across my whole backside, and I let out a great big gasping cry. The second and third fell fast after the first.

Heat flared out, singeing my skin and making me squirm. His hand on my back secured me as his other moved around methodically, covering the entire area with stinging smacks. I couldn’t decide which was worse—repeated slaps on places he’d already visited, or new spots that only served to spread out the scalding agony.

I couldn’t suck in a breath to cry or beg, and I couldn’t stand the fire on my bottom anymore. That’s when he began to lecture.

“You kept a secret from Daddy, one that put you and your friend in danger. You kept your troubles to yourself instead of letting me help you solve them. Did that make your problems better? Or worse?”

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