Page 175 of Daddy, Sir

“Ow, Daddy, it hurts! I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’ll be good!”

To her surprise and relief, he swatted her one more time before stopping to rub the sting from her bottom. “When Daddy asks you what’s wrong, what is the correct answer?”

Go fuck yourself. Nope, definitely not the right answer. Not unless she really did want him to use his belt the way he’d been threatening since last night. “Um, to tell you what’s wrong?”

“Or you can say you aren’t ready to talk about it. You do not lie and say it’s nothing when something has upset you. Am I understood, little girl?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

“Good girl. Ten more and we’re done.”

“Oh, Daddy, no!”

But her pleas went unanswered as another ten swats covered her ass, adding to the burn. Until she was very much the picture of a sore, sorry little girl, draped over her Daddy’s knee.

“All done, little siren.” His voice softened as he gathered her up in his arms, perching her on his knee as he cuddled and soothed her. “No more ugly lies from my little girl’s pretty mouth?”

Sniffling dramatically, she peeked up at him through her wet lashes. “You think I’m pretty?”

“Francesca.”

“Sorry,” she said with a sigh at the clear warning in his tone. “Yes, Daddy. No more lies.”

“Good girl.” Helping her balance on her knees beside him, he pulled her underwear back up, which added a layer of humiliation she hadn’t been expecting. When she was dressed again, he guided her out of the car and opened the passenger door again, a smirk tugging at his lips. “By the way, it’s lucky for you I promised myself I wouldn’t fuck you again until after our talk at the club.”

“Oh? Why is that?”

Yanking her close, he pressed a hot, hard kiss to her mouth. “Because. We never would have made it out of your parents’ driveway with your pretty little panties still intact otherwise. That dress should be fucking outlawed. Now get back in the truck.”

With her ass burning beneath her dress, she climbed back into her seat and buckled in.

And grinned the rest of the drive to the club.

Holden

He was beginning to wonder if he wasn’t more of a masochist than he’d realized.

Watching Frankie wander around in that tight little dress that practically made her skin glow was bad enough. Knowing her ass was likely still pink and sore beneath the dress was downright torture.

“Sorry, Master Holden.” Vivian, her hair a vivid blue tonight, sent him an apologetic smile as she returned her phone to its cradle on the reception desk. “I called Martin, but he said Master Braden has to review all the new guest passes and it’s gumming up the works a bit.”

Dammit. What the hell was Braden up to? “I understand. Anything we can do to speed up the process?”

“No, Sir. I’m really sorry.”

“Apologies not needed. You’re just doing your job. I don’t suppose we could have a couple glasses of wine brought down from the bar while we wait?”

Vivian’s smile brightened considerably. “I’ll see what I can do!”

“Thanks, Vivian.”

Leaving her to make another call, he crossed the room to where Frankie was standing, her head tilted to the side as she studied a series of erotic paintings decorating the lobby. “These are gorgeous. Do you know who painted them?”

“Ah… a local artist, I believe. I can see if I can get the name for you, if you’d like.”

“I would like that, very much.” When she looked over at him, mischief danced in her dark eyes. “My mother will hate them.”

Interesting. “Do you make it a point to antagonize your mother?”

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