Page 42 of Toy Shop

“Daddy, my ass. Some adult you are.” Yup, that’s how I do mature.

I slack back in my chair, my heart twisting in my chest.

“I was going to say that I see you’re upset and that you’re upset about being upset.” He covers my knee again, sliding his hand higher. “Am I right?”

“Ugh.”

“I’ll take that as a yes.” He chuckles. “What I wanted to say is I don’t mind. That I like that about you.”

“I’m sorry.” I sigh, tracing a finger from his manicured fingernail down to his wrist. “But you still owe me some explana—”

Alistair doesn’t answer, swerving the car to the nearest exit. He slams the brakes on, cutting into a nearby deserted rest stop, his humor nowhere in sight. There’s an ominous air about how he walks around the hood of the SUV to my side of the car, a cold, detached look on his face when he opens the passenger door.

“Out.”

My eyes nearly boggle out of their sockets. The worst-case scenario and my fears creep up my throat, choking me. I told him what I’d been through. How can he do this to me?

“You’re leaving me here?” My voice is a leaf in the wind, the tears a rising tide behind my eyes.

“The hell I am.” He cups my jaw, harsh and familiar, the man I ached for the past two weeks as though I was missing a limb. “I made the mistake of leaving you twice. I’m not about to repeat it. Now, out.”

The meaning sinks in as I hop to the asphalt, to unclench the evil claws of anxiety and the past off me. The red veil of panic subsides, clearing my view of what truly stands behind his glowering tone.

He’s not angry. He’s intense and ferocious, powered by his intention to show me he’s mine.

“Walk back.” The click of his belt buckle snaps in the night air, following me to the gray and dirty stucco exterior of the rest stop.

I’m so close I can smell the old cement, see the cracks marked on it by age and nature. But I don’t want to look at what’s in front of me.

I twist my head to Alistair. Less than a foot away, he looms behind, his belt rolled in his right hand.

“Turn toward me.” He makes a gesture with his head to be quick about it, like I bore him. And I comply. “Lean your back on the wall.” And I do.

It makes no difference that I washed my hair this morning, that I spent time and effort to make it look pretty this morning. That doing what he told me would ruin it.

Having Alistair on me, physically and emotionally, far outweighs anything else.

“Skirt up, let me see your pretty little pussy.” He glares at me, his next words excavate their way straight into my heart. “My pussy.”

“Yes, Daddy.” My fingers clench the bottom of my dress, rushing to lift it.

The night breeze flutters at my bare legs, whipping at the wet patch in the center of my underwear. I’m absorbed by Alistair’s gaze, the heat and ice mingling in it as one, the passion pouring out of it.

So much so, that it’s no wonder I miss what’s coming.

Alistair lifts his arm, landing a strike of his belt on my thigh. Air whooshes out of me, my lungs emptying. The striking pain doesn’t last, though. A sweet sensation of flowers blossoming where he hit me begins, a caress reaching up to my pussy where I’m already wet.

Not like he’ll let me revel in it.

The second smack lands on the same thigh. The third too.

“I mean to spank you seven times, Nola. Gonna round it up to ten for your attitude.” He lifts his hand, holds up in the air, the weight of his belt landing on me.

The turbulence of emotions skyrockets through me. Searing pain switches to an unraveled pleasure. They’re interchanging, interconnected. I’m lost on which is which, on who am I anymore.

Alistair, however, is still my Alistair. In his unrelenting demeanor, he continues while I suffocate my grunts and screams to keep from being overheard.

“Ten,” he whispers, breathing hard while he rolls the belt back into his hand.

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