He smacks one of my ass cheeks. I bite down on my comforter to stifle my yelp of surprise. It stings but doesn’t actually hurt.

“How many swats do you deserve, sweetheart?”

“Ten?”

He chuckles, dark and devious. “It’s your first offense. I was thinking three.”

Disappointment rushes through my veins, which makes no sense whatsoever.

“If you question the way I feel about you again, though, it’ll be double that.” He smacks me again, this time harder. “Understand?”

I nod, breathing heavily against the covers. “What happens if I do something else to upset you?”

“Depends on what you did.” He pauses as though to think. “If it were bad enough, I might even take my belt to this pretty, flawless skin.”

A soft moan escapes me, giving away how I feel about that intimidating statement. I should be worried or argue. Wanting to get spanked with a belt is really messed up, right? Then how come I’m practically squirming at the idea?

He strikes me once more, the hardest of the three swats. My ass clenches, but it’s nothing I can’t handle. In fact, I feel like he went easy on me.

“Now. I want you to flip onto your back so you can see exactly how much I want you. There shouldn’t be any confusion by the time I’m done with you.”

Are we going to have sex?

My heart is throbbing out of control. I feel lightheaded and dizzy. I’m going to lose my virginity to this man. This ridiculously hot older man.

I roll onto my back, blushing hard as I meet his gaze. His intense blue eyes are cutting into me like razor blades. He pulls my shorts and panties off, tossing them to the floor. His large hand wraps around my ankle and brings my foot to his cock.

“I’m always so goddamn hard around you.”

I attempt to rub at him with my foot, but he gently pushes it away. He parts my knees for me. Cool air kisses my pussy as it waits for a whole other kind of kiss.

“Holy fucking shit,” he growls.

“What?”

“I’ve never seen anything so perfect.”

“I feel awkward like this.”

“With your pussy open and waiting?”

“Yes.”

“Nothing to feel awkward about.” He cocks his head, studying me. “How often do you pleasure yourself?”

“Sometimes,” I admit in a whisper.

“Does it feel good?”

I’ve been able to make myself come two, maybe three times tops. My fingers don’t seem to move fast enough and when I’m coming, I stop moving them, which ends my orgasm. It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell him all this, but it sounds lame.

“Sweetheart,” he says in his authoritative tone that makes me hot. “Your expressive face tells me you have a lot to say, but you’re choosing not to say it. There will be no secrets between us.”