Page 2 of Mismatched

“H-how?” I stutter.

He reaches my hip and rocks me toward him, onto my side, fingers scorching through my nightgown until they dip low enough to sneak beneath the hem.

“I have some thoughts,” he says, laying his palm gently on the bare skin of my ass. He kneads my flesh in his firm grip, heating it under his fingers, then charting wide circles around the perimeter of my backside, bringing every inch of my skin to life. “But I think I like your suggestion best...”

I draw my brows together, unsure what he’s talking about, though I’m having trouble thinking about anything other than the pattern he’s tracing on my skin.

He brings his lips close, whispering low and salacious next to my ear, “You said you wanted to try spanking, remember?”

My eyelids flutter. Suddenly, I’m hyperaware of his hand on my backside, the reverent way he’s kneading and caressing my flesh. And I want to put a stop to this—wrap the sheets around my body, shield myself from the very idea—except.

There’s the faintest ache blooming between my legs.

Anton continues, hand circling warm and scorching against my ass, and I thrust back involuntarily, trying to imagine his palm coming down hard on the right side, or the left. What would it feel like—sound like? God. Would it sting?

A noise escapes my throat. Possibly a whimper. And with every circle of his palm, my core tightens until it’s nearly throbbing.

“We could try it,” he says, low and gravelly.

My face is so hot, I can’t bring myself to look up at him. I shake my head. “It—it just seems?—”

“Exciting?” he asks.

I bite my lip, unwilling to answer.

He whispers in my ear, “It’s okay, Lydia. I won’t make you call me Daddy.”

I rear back to look at him, one hundred percent mortified, before I realize he’s stifling a laugh.

He shakes his head, releasing my arms so he can trace his other finger over my nipple, leaving it hard beneath the fabric of my nightgown. “I told you the first time you brought it up, I’m not into that. I didn’t think I’d like to spank you at all... until I did some reading.”

I relax my arms, but his hands keep exploring. And while I can’t ignore the way my body’s coming alive, I wish we were talking about anything else.

“As it turns out,” Anton continues, entering full Professor Google mode. “Spanking can relieve stress and anxiety, heighten intimacy, and provide pleasure.” His one hand ministers to my nipples while the other continues fondling my backside. “When used as a consensual sexual act, it can cause the brain to release endorphins, oxytocin, and dopamine. And because it increases blood flow to the genitals, it can lead to heightened arousal.”

“Did you actually memorize all that?”

“Just doing my homework,” he says, and I wrinkle my brow until I remember our therapist saying Anton’s job is to help me focus.

Well, I guess it’s working. Because when I squeeze my legs together, all I can think about is his touch and the tension in my thighs. My hands had gone still, but now I glide my fingers over his arms, tracing the outlines of muscle he works hard for at the gym, needing to touch him back.

“So, Mrs. Richie,” he mutters, rounding my ass cheeks again with his palm. “It actually makes sense for you to want to be spanked. There’s nothing to feel ashamed about.”

His voice is hot and breathy against my ear, and I sink into the sound, unable to think of anything anymore except what it might feel like if he raised his palm and brought it down where it is right now—and how maddeningly I want him to. Then his hand does disappear from my flesh, and my core tightens. I squeeze my eyes shut.

But instead of coming down on my ass, his fingers trace purposefully between my thighs.

“Lydia.” I open my eyes in the moment we both realize I am very wet. “You understood the assignment.”

My face floods with heat. My breath hitches, but I don’t shy away. “I—I think so.”

His hand continues, exploring beneath my nightgown, gently parting my thighs. He locks eyes with me as his fingers stroke up my center, until his thumb makes contact with my clit and I gasp. But he doesn’t pause there, dipping his fingers down again, then up, repeating the motion until I’m totally slick with my own juices.

“Seems we got you quite ready,” he whispers. “What should we do next?”

Vaguely, I realize I no longer care what time it is as the ache between my legs resurges. I rise up, pushing my husband onto his back. Then I reach for the hem of my nightgown, pulling it up and over my head until I’m sitting on top of him, fully exposed. I don’t look away when his eyes darken, taking me in—more homework I’ve been assigned. Instead, I hold his gaze and tune in to his arousal, letting it further awaken mine.

As the air heats between us, I reach back and find his cock stiff and ready. His thumb finds my center again, gliding over it in tight circles as his other hand reaches to tug lightly on my nipples. The ache inside me blossoms into a thrum. I pivot back with intention, running my slick folds over his shaft until I feel him harden to steel against me, and I guide him into my awaiting center.

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