Page 28 of T is for…

“I could add a little catholic schoolgirl play to my plan,” he murmured. “T for teacher.”

“I thought you were going to be the headmaster.”

“Hmm, you’re right. Then again, nothing about the game says we can only do what’s on our list.”

“What is on our list?” she asked, lips twitching up into a smile of relief that their friendly moment hadn’t derailed what was to come.

“What’s on our list isn’t the same as what’s on the checklist for our letter.”

“Because you’re adding things like schoolgirl spankings.”

“I like the alliteration.”

“Thank you, I try.”

Nathan’s laugh rumbled through her. He had a wonderful laugh, and she’d once wondered what it would feel like to lean against him as his body vibrated with mirth. She’d never imagined she’d get to feel it like this, her nearly naked body flush against his chest.

“I love your laugh,” she said without thinking.

Nathan’s chuckle faded into a quizzical smile. “You do? I know I laugh too loud.”

“No. Not too loud.”

“I love making you laugh,” he countered. “Hard to do, so it makes it worth it when I finally manage.”

Somehow those words made her feel both special and anxious. She tried to cover it with an arched brow. “Are you saying that I’m humorless?”

“No, I’m saying that you don’t suffer fools, and don’t fake laugh at stupid programming jokes.”

“I have actually laughed a few times when you told that joke,” she said, then paused meaningfully. “But it’s usually because I’m laughing at how excited you look to tell your stupid joke.”

He spanked her ass cheek with two hard swats. “For someone who’s not a brat, you sure have a sassy mouth.” His head cocked to the side as if he were considering something. “No, not brat. Troublemaker.”

Tara couldn’t stop the small chuckle that escaped.

Nathan’s eyes narrowed. “Are you laughing at my joke, or laughing at me for telling the joke?”

“Not laughing at you. Laughing at your expression. You look very pleased with yourself for having thought of a T word that you can use in place of brat.”

“We can’t all be fancy with the alliteration. Some of us keep it simple.”

“Because alliteration is the height of sophistication.”

When Nathan abruptly sat down on the couch, his hands sliding off her, Tara wobbled on her feet, the loss of contact and body heat almost shocking. Regret inched up her throat and she opened her mouth to take back her comments.

They had, once again, started friendly teasing. They’d pushed past it the first time, but if they froze or retreated—even temporarily—every time one of them slipped into well-worn conversational patterns, they’d never make it through the scene.

It might have been fine to banter with him like this as friends, but they weren’t here as friends. She was supposed to be submitting to him.

The odd thing was, it didn’t feel like they slipped out of the scene, out of the moment. Low-level arousal thrummed through her like a persistent drum beat.

This time, she’d pushed the plate off the counter, and it looked like this time, it broke.

She swallowed against the feeling of loss, trying to figure out the most graceful way to walk away.

Nathan grabbed her by the thighs and tugged her onto the couch so she straddled him, her knees tucked by his hips, her ass resting on his legs.

Nathan’s gaze drifted down her body and the mood shifted. It was a seamless, easy transition between familiar, comfortable dynamic to something new that was thick with sexual tension.

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