Page 23 of Impressing Brett

“Yep.”

Wow. Just wow. I lean against the shelves and fiddle with the hem of my T-shirt. “So, she spends all her time at home playing?”

“I suspect she spends part of her time standing in a corner with her red bottom on display.”

I gasp. It’s impossible for me to picture Eve playing with toys and even more ridiculous to imagine her getting spanked. Granted, I can’t picture myself getting spanked, either.

Suddenly, I really need to know what it’s like. What if I hate it? Brett said it’s not a deal breaker. If I don’t like it, he won’t do it. And what the hell am I even thinking? He’s got me so flustered that I’m actually believing we’re an item of some sort. We’ve never even been on a date. How could I possibly be his?

But man-oh-man, the way he insists I’m his is so hot the temperature in the room is elevated.

I step closer. “Show me.”

“Show you what, Little lamb?”

“Spank me. I want to know what it feels like.”

“Okay.” He pushes to standing and heads for the rocking chair. He holds out a hand. “Come here, Little girl.”

I shuffle forward. I’ve never been more nervous in my life. What if I hate this?

He takes my hips when I reach him and pulls me closer. “You are far more worried about this than necessary. I need you to know it’s not a deal breaker. Do you understand that?”

I shrug. “Seems pretty important to you.”

“Well, it’s not. Not nearly as important to me as your welfare and happiness.”

“Okay,” I murmur.

He guides me to one side of him. “When and if I spank you, I will usually take you over my knees. The closeness and intimacy of being in such a vulnerable position will help you feel very Little.”

I nod, twisting my fingers together. I do that a lot when I’m nervous. And Little. I don’t do it when I’m at work. I’m a totally different person at work. A fake person.

A thought suddenly comes to mind. I’ve known for a long time that I force myself to be a fun, friendly, happy extrovert at work. Confident. Knowledgeable. Professional. But that’s not me. That’s a fake version of me. This is me.

I didn’t realize the real me was Little. I didn’t have the vocabulary for it. Nor could I have imagined this was a thing anyone did. I would have been too mortified to even marginally practice some sort of age play out of fear of getting caught.

That’s because you have gotten caught. It was ugly. Horrible. Messy. Embarrassing.

I realize now that I’ve tamped down my inner Little for more than a decade because I thought I was a freak. This morning, even faced with mounting incoming messages from two men I abhor and God-only-knows what damage to my apartment, I’m in my proper skin. I feel more capable of facing the world, or I realize I would if I had a chance to spend some time carefree and worry-free every day.

“And one more thing,” Brett continues. His hand comes to my butt. “When I spank you, it will always be on your bare bottom.”

I flinch.

He nods. “I need to be able to see your skin to know I’m striking you just the right amount and not too hard. I never want to injure you. Your skin should feel warm and tingly and possibly even sting or make you wince to sit down, but I don’t want to see bruises the next day, and I would never break the skin.”

I purse my lips as I listen to him. It’s surreal. All of this is surreal.

Can I do this?

Can I not?

His hand slides to the backs of my thighs. “I will see you naked, Little lamb. Often. It’s part of being your Daddy. I will bathe you and dress you and spank your bare bottom. That doesn’t mean I will rush you to have sex. We’ll take our time getting to that stage. As I said earlier, you need to fully understand your Little and her needs before we add sex to the equation.”

I shiver. My sex is throbbing. His words do that to me. And yet he’s telling me nothing sexual is going to happen between us? He’s planning to pull my pants down, touch my bottom, and he doesn’t think I’ll start moaning?

Shit. What if I really do? I’m sex deprived. It’s been so long that I fear I will literally moan out loud if he touches me.

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