Page 15 of Daddy's Naughty Author

The wind slams the door closed behind us.

“KC, I?—”

“Not. A. Word.”

His voice is rough silk, sending a shiver down my spine that has nothing to do with the cold.

Before I can protest, he’s sitting on my couch, and I’m suddenly, effortlessly, draped over his lap, my hands catching on the cushions as he secures me in place.

Oh. Oh.

“You knew better.” His voice is low, almost calm, which somehow makes it worse. “I warned you.”

“I was just?—”

The first swat lands before I can finish. A sharp, hot sting against the curve of my backside that steals the breath from my lungs.

I freeze.

A second swat, firmer this time, sends a rush of warmth flooding through me.

My heart pounds with a relentless rhythm, echoing through my chest like a drum in a silent room. My skin tingles, a cascade of shivers racing down my spine like a thousand tiny sparks igniting at once. I should be protesting—demanding he release me—but instead, I find myself melting into his embrace, into the way he commands me without a single ounce of hesitation. The sensation is electric, my clit throbs insistently, and my nipples tighten into aching peaks.

Oh my god!

He’s spanking me.

Literally, spanking me.

And..I like it.

His hand comes down again and again, each swat firm and deliberate. My ass burns beneath the strength of his hand, a delicious heat spreading through my body. I squirm under his touch, as the need within me intensifies, growing with every strike. “I told you I would warm another part of you if you went out in the cold undressed again,” he murmurs, his voice a low, intoxicating promise.

He rubs the sting with his palm, a soothing caress before delivering another firm smack that sends a ripple of pleasure through me. My toes curl in response, a reflexive reaction to the mix of pain and pleasure.

“This,” he murmurs, his fingers tracing a languid path up my spine, “is what happens when you push me.” His words are a soft growl, resonating with unspoken desire.

A whimper escapes my lips before I can stop it. I grind my hips against his knee, seeking some form of release from the pressure building inside me. KC lets out a quiet curse. “Fuck, Rebecca,” he breathes, his voice rich with restrained passion.

I shift in his lap, and that’s when I feel it—him.

Hard. Thick. Pressing against my stomach.

Need coils hot and desperate in my core.

I turn my head, meeting his gaze, and what I see there and what I see there takes my breath away. Lust. Possession. A hunger so deep it threatens to consume me whole.

“KC…” His name is a whispered plea on my lips. I need him.

And then his lips are on mine with a searing kiss of fire and fury, all the restraint he’s been holding onto snapping like a frayed rope. His hands grip my waist, pulling me onto his lap until I can feel all of him.

“I told you things would change,” he rasps against my lips.

I nod, breathless. “Good.”

His control fractures.

Clothes disappear in a blur of movement and need. He lays me on the couch and his hands explore every inch of my skin, his mouth claiming, worshipping, devouring me whole.

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