Page 68 of Whatever Lola Wants

He put a heavy hand between her shoulder blades, nudging her forward so her hands reached the floor and her ass was high in the air. She had no control over her body in this position; she was short enough that her legs stuck almost straight out behind her, and the only thing keeping her on his lap was his hand on her back and the arm he’d laid across her thighs.

The utter lack of control made her head spin.

“Breathe, sweetheart,” he ordered, and she realized she was holding her breath. His hand stroked over her back as she sucked in air, blew it out, then did it again, trying to quiet her mind.

Fat chance of that.

When her head had stopped revolving, she gave a short nod, and she felt his hand shift from her back to rest on her buttocks while his other arm held her in place. She struggled not to tense her muscles, knowing it would only make the coming pain worse, and concentrated on her breathing.

“I’m not going to make you count,” he told her. “Nor am I going to set a limit on the number of swats. I will continue until I think you’ve had enough. Do you understand?”

She nodded, and his fingers tightened on her hip. “I need a verbal answer, Lola.”

She swallowed audibly. “Yes, Sir. I understand.”

Her voice was barely a whisper, but he heard her. “Good girl,” he said, and the approval in his voice slid over her like a warm blanket.

Then his hand lifted, his other arm pressed down on her thighs, and his hand came down on her butt

The sharp crack filled the air even as the stinging pain stole her breath. She didn’t have time to gather it, to pull her scattered senses back in and prepare herself for the next one, because it came nearly on top of the first. And the next, and the next.

Steadily, without pause, his hand came down. Over and over, one cheek, then the other. Sometimes across the tops of her thighs, sometimes right on the split between her buttocks. He sometimes struck the same spot twice in a row, sometimes not. Her mind struggled to anticipate, but she couldn’t.

The heat was overwhelming, the pain swamping her mind until she could do nothing but feel. Her skin felt burned, bruised, and the impact of each spank jarred her whole body. She felt those blows in her belly, her chest. Her heart.

The blows never got lighter or harder. His hand came down with the same level of force, the same intensity every time. Steady and sure, with deliberateness. Not anger. Never anger.

Tears rolled down her cheeks, her breath coming in harsh sobs with each crack of his hand on her tender skin. Her fingers dug into the rug, needing something to hold on to, but the fabric was too smooth, the pile too short to cling to. She wrapped her hands around his ankle instead, feeling the worn leather of his boot and the warmth of his body beneath it. She clung, unable to do anything but take what he was giving her.

Then suddenly it was over, and his big hands were pulling her up. Dizzy with the abrupt transition, she closed her eyes, tears leaking from beneath swollen lids as he pulled her to stand between his spread knees.

“Shh. I’ve got you,” he murmured, and she pressed her face to his shoulder. Hands that had been hard and punishing now soothed, lifting her to cradle her against his chest while he stroked her back, her hair.

She cried and cried and cried some more, and through it all he simply held her.

When she’d quieted, when her breathing had slowed and her body had almost stopped trembling, he shifted her so her butt rested on his denim clad thigh. Her breath hissed out and she stiffened—her butt hurt—making him chuckle quietly. He slipped his fingers under her chin to tilt her head up, and she opened her eyes.

He stroked her cheek gently. “Tell me what you learned, Lola.”

She drew in a shuddering breath. “That I can’t play if I haven’t eaten. And if I do, I’m in big trouble.”

His lips curved. “And why are you in big trouble?”

“Because putting myself in danger is not acceptable.”

His smile deepened, his eyes warm with approval and affection. “Good girl. You did very well. I’m proud of you.”

Her chest swelled with warmth at the praise, and she gave a husky laugh. “Thank you, Sir.”

She shifted, intending to get off his lap, but he simply tightened his hold. “Stay here for a minute, will you? I like this part.”

So she stayed cradled in his arms, his big hands stroking her hair, while their eggs grew cold and sunlight streamed through the windows.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Four days later, her butt still twinged a bit when she sat down in her office chair. She grimaced and shifted, trying to find a less tender spot to settle on. There wasn’t one; he’d very generously spread his smacks around. When she’d seen how her entire backside—and the tops of her thighs—had been glowing red, she’d scowled and told him such a severe punishment ought to earn her a few ‘Get Out of Trouble Free’ cards for use on future infractions. He’d roared with laughter, smacked her butt hard enough to make her squeal with outrage, and bullied her into getting dressed.

Then he’d taken her to a baseball game. And laughed some more when she’d tried to find a comfortable seat in the Wrigley Field bleachers.

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