Page 12 of Daddy's Rules

His arms fold around me and he pulls my back against him. His embrace is so tight I feel safer than I’ve felt in a long time—as if I’ve been coming apart at the seams and finally his grasp holds everything together.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done it,” I say, “but I’m so tired of feeling inadequate in the world my father raised me in.” Tears flow freely but instead of them pulling me apart, they cleanse me.

“Okay, sweetheart. Listen to me.” He releases me and for a moment it makes me sob harder, but then he spins me, takes my face in his hands, and lets his forehead meet mine. I open my eyes. “You are not inadequate but I think being in these social situations is a big trigger right now. One I think you should avoid until you have more control.”

I nod and sniff, feeling further embarrassed by my running nose.

“No more charity events until I give you permission.”

“Yes, Sir.”

He smooths his hand down my hair and I see Owen’s eyes, not Mr. Smith, the disciplinarian. But before I know it, he is gone and Mr. Smith is back.

“Back in position.” I lean over his desk and squeeze my eyes tightly shut as his palm smacks harshly off my already warm flesh ten more times. I blow out a breath of relief when he stops.

“Okay, Miss Jones. What else did you do that needs addressing?”

I twist my head to look at him, my eyes wide. I hate that he calls me that. I’m his Jordy.

“Nothing,” I say. His right brow cocks and I wrinkle my forehead in confusion, clamping my lip between my teeth.

“That’s not true, little one. Think of my rules.”

I shut my eyes then, remembering his rescue. Not Mr. Smith, but Owen. “I thought we weren’t bringing our personal relationship into this?” I’m not snarky but I’m a bit sharp. My bottom already hurts and I know my punishment hasn’t even begun.

“If I ask you a question I expect a respectful and truthful answer. I would have asked you regardless of knowing the answer, Miss Jones.” He gives my bottom a sharp swat. “Answer me.”

I swallow hard. “I drove into a sketchy neighborhood and ran out of gas, but that was before I even emailed you.”

He nods. “Doesn’t matter. I can’t ignore what I know and as I told you before I don’t compromise on health and safety.”

“I guess,” I reply with a frown.

“You slipped up but next week you’ll do better. I have every confidence in you, Miss Jones. I want you to call me if you feel like you might slip again and I’ll talk you through it, okay?”

I nod, but in my mind I’m freaking out. In our emails he said there would never be any phone calls. He’s making an exception for me. Hope blossoms in my chest.

“Are you ready for the consequences of your actions?”

“Yes, Sir.” But I’m not. My knees feel weak again and I’m not sure I won’t flop on the floor like a boneless blob from nerves and deep pulsing desire.

“When we’re through, we’ll sit down and discuss a plan of action on how we can get you back on track for your condo fees and expenses since your budget was damaged extensively. Understand?”

“Yes, Mr. Smith.”

“Good girl.” His beautiful blue eyes, still stern, pin mine. “It won’t be easy after I’ve strapped you to sit on that hard chair, but I think it’s a good way to learn your lesson. You’ll definitely feel the sting on your bottom during our planning session and that’ll be a good reminder of what happens should you veer off course.”

There it is again, I think, as I notice heat in his glare. I think it’s only my imagination like before until my gaze passes down his body. It’s undeniably apparent I’m not the only one aroused.

“Over the desk again, please.”

I lick my lip and obey, my heart soaring in my chest.

The strap makes a whooshing sound that has me tensing before it lands on my ass. As the burn blossoms on my skin, I shiver. I swallow the whimper that sits in my throat, wondering how I’ll take any more. But I have no time to ponder as another whoosh alerts me to the impending stripe. I grit my teeth, sucking a breath through them and tense my shoulders. I want to move. To cover my ass with my hand. To screech, holler, and bounce, but I remain in place, finding a hidden pool of strength. My eyes squeeze shut as the strap whistles through the air again and this time I launch forward onto my toes when it lands with a thwack against my tender bum, the tip nipping as a final insult. Oh, God, I think, swallowing a wet ball of emotion growing in my chest. Just breathe, Jordan, I tell myself and try to relax as the leather lands overlapping one of the previous stripes. The next comes faster and I screech. It leaves a searing stripe of pain so intense I think my knees might buckle. And that stupid little nip at the end feels as if it hits the same spot every time. I stop thinking for the last several, my mind too busy absorbing the punishment to do more than basic functions. But I think there’s been ten. Ten hard stripes with the leather strap. Ten stinging reminders to stay on track.

“You’re done,” Mr. Smith says and I happily flop limply on the desk, my breath whooshing out of me like the leather whooshed through the air...

“Thank God!” I say and wipe my watery eyes.

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