In what felt like a single fluid movement, he unbuckled both our safety belts, slid to the center of the backseat, and bent me over his lap so that my face was pressed to the leather. He pulled my dress up and my panties down, exposing my ass to the air.
The first slap was a shock to the senses, like an upward gunshot or the crash of a gavel. It hurt. It burned. It stopped my thoughts in their tracks.
“You’ve been a bad girl, Jetty.” He held me tightly as I squirmed, the bulge of his erection demanding my attention through his slacks. He was enjoying this, and to my utter amazement, so was I. “A very bad girl.”
The little hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. He hit me again on the opposite side, then again where he’d spanked me first. My pussy fluttered with every slap. He spanked me twelve times in all, six firm smacks on each rounded cheek.
Tears flowed freely down my face, not from the pain, but from release.
I couldn’t believe how easily his touch had disarmed me, or the speed with which he had reduced me to a sorry little girl. In a way, the spanking had simplified things. I was no longer a spiteful teenager seething with jealousy. I was a brat in desperate need of punishment.
Somehow, he had known that what I really needed was a taste of Daddy’s discipline.
“Now,” he said, “what do you have to say for yourself?”
He caressed my tender flesh. I sniffled.
“I’m sorry.”
“Sorry for what?”
“Sorry for being a brat—and telling everyone about the painting.” I let out a sob. Mason shushed me gently, his fingers gliding between my legs from behind to caress my mound. His touch was both sexual and not, the way a hug or a kiss or a slap could go either way depending on who was giving it.
“It’s all right, sweetheart. I forgive you.” He righted my clothes as we pulled up to his building, then raised me up to kiss me. That was all it took to rekindle my desire for him. I laid one hand on his cock and wrapped the other around his neck as he slid his tongue into my mouth.
The car slowed and then stopped. I didn’t want to leave the warmth and privacy of the backseat, but the driver was waiting.
“Come on,” Mason rasped, taking my hand. “I need to get you naked.”
We hurried through the lobby toward the private penthouse elevator, ignoring the front-desk attendant who tried to snag our attention. Nothing was going to stand between us and where we wanted to be: pressed against each other, skin to skin.
Before the elevator doors slid shut, Mason had me pinned against the mirrored wall with his hand between my thighs. He tugged my panties to the side and slipped two fingers inside me.
“You are the most important thing in my life,” he said between kisses. “I need you to trust that I know what’s best for you.”
“I trust you, Daddy.”
He fucked into me with his fingers, using his thumb to stroke my clit. My pulse raced as he whispered in detail all the ways he was going to make me come tonight—
All the ways except the one I was dying to hear.
The elevator doors slid open onto our floor. Distraught and out of my mind with desire, I reached for the only leverage I had left.
“If you don’t fuck me now,” I said, “I’ll take this elevator back down and you’ll never see me again.”
His hands left my body in an instant. He took a giant step back, then another, all the way into the hall.
“Well,” he said, “what are you waiting for?”
Regret squatted in the back of my throat. I tried to swallow it down, but the lump refused to budge.
“Shall I book your flight?” he asked. “Hell, I’ll even help you pack your bags if that’s what you want—”
“You know that’s not what I want.”
“I know you’re not going to get anything by trying to manipulate me.”
The gravity in his stare made me feel three feet tall. I moved toward him, out of the elevator, just as his phone began to buzz in his pocket.