Page 21 of Protecting Lanie

He let go of her chin and stepped back, his presence still an undeniable force.

"We’re going to start with something simple," Archer said. "Discipline. Not because you’ve done something wrong, but because I need you to understand the difference between punishment and control."

Her pulse pounded.

“Has anyone ever spanked you before?” he asked.

Heat flooded her face.

"Not like this," she admitted.

"Then let’s change that."

Archer moved to the leather chair against the wall and sat down, his long legs stretching out as he patted his thigh.

Lanie’s stomach flipped.

"You’re going to lie over my lap, little one," Archer said, his voice firm but gentle. "I want you to feel the discipline, but I also want you to understand that you’re safe. You say ‘yellow’ if you need me to slow down. ‘Red’ if you need to stop."

Her fingers curled into fists.

"You trust me?" he asked.

She inhaled shakily. "Yes."

"Then come here."

Lanie stepped forward, her knees nearly brushing his.

Archer reached for her wrist, gently but firmly guiding her until she lay draped across his lap.

Her breathing was uneven, her heartbeat a wild drum against her ribs. She felt the heat of him through her dress, the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath her. She settled herself, finding that holding onto his ankle made her feel more secure.

"Relax," he murmured. He flipped the hem of her dress up over her back. “Since this is your first time, I’m going to let you leave your panties on. In the future, spankings will be done on the bare.”

She exhaled slowly, hoping he remained unaware of how frantically the butterflies in her stomach were fluttering, as if someone had dosed them with crack.

The first slap landed softly, more of a tease than anything.

Lanie tensed, waiting.

"Shh," Archer soothed. "You can take more than that."

The second slap came harder. A sharp sting that faded into warmth.

Her breath caught.

Again.

And again.

Each strike was deliberate, controlled, a rhythm that built heat low in her belly. It hurt—but not in the way she feared. It was grounding. Centering.

By the fifth slap, her body had melted against his, her fingers unclenching.

"That’s it," Archer murmured, his palm smoothing over the curve of her ass, easing the burn. "Good girl."

A shiver ran through her at those words.

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