Beth dried herself with a soft towel. She felt Grover’s gaze raking her body from the other side of the room. She felt warm all over, yet she shivered with anticipation and desire. She felt sure that he would have his way with her, and she hoped that he would. She wanted to feel his touch again. She already missed it. Finished drying, she wrapped the towel around her and met his eyes.
“Come here, Missy.”
She padded to him, her bare feet leaving small, damp tracks across the hardwood floor. He opened his legs slightly and guided her to stand between his knees. “I think you’re beautiful, you know.” He ran the back of his hand down the side of her face. “I should’ve said that before, but I’m not used to having a woman here with me. I find myself a bit balled up by it, truth be told.”
He settled his hands on her hips. “Now, darlin’, I told you about me. I expect the same in return. I’m fond of you already, if you can’t tell, and I want to help you. But I can’t do that if you’re not honest with me.”
Beth stared at him, awed over him saying she was beautiful and calling her darling and confessing he was fond of her. She wondered if maybe he liked her in particular, more than he liked other women. She mentally shook herself. She couldn’t allow herself such vain luxuries. She considered his words about being honest with him and determined she couldn’t do that either. She eyed the front door, feeling about as far away from it as the ocean.
“No, darlin’. Look at me, nowhere else.” His tone remained gentle, but some of the sternness returned. She felt her butterflies return with it. She wanted to obey him. She wanted to be honest with him, but she had no way to know how he would react to hearing her story. She had to think of Lou and how best to protect her. Lou wouldn’t fare well if her mother was ditched and left to rot in prison.
Beth looked him in the eyes and said with as much grit as she could muster, “I have been honest with you, Grover.”
“No, Missy. You haven’t.” His face darkened into a frown, and his next words were spoken with all the sternness she'd heard in his tone before. “Tell me the truth about you. This is your last chance before I teach you a lesson about lying.”
She shifted her weight to one foot and looked down. “I’ve told you most everything important already. My name is Beth Jones. I’m a poor woman with no kin except for my daughter. My husband was killed last year, and ever since I’ve been struggling to make it on my own.”
About half of that was true, and she hoped it would satisfy the marshal. It didn’t. Before Beth knew what was happening, she found herself stripped of the towel and lying naked across his hard thighs, positioned for a spanking. She gasped when she understood his intent.
With one hand he held her body against his. His other hand smacked her bare bottom, her skin still soft and damp from the bath. The swat sent a resounding crack into the air, and the force of it took her breath away. She wasn’t able to recover her breath before he landed another. And another. He spanked her ten times before he stopped. She panted when she was finally able to breathe.
“What’s your name again, Missy? The truth this time.”
I’m an avid reader and writer of spanking romance novels, usually involving a cowboy, always involving a firm hand and a scorched ass. If you were to peek inside my Kindle, you’d find plenty of spanking romances as well as books by John Steinbeck, Margaret Atwood, Gillian Flynn, and other authors from disparate genres. What all of my favorite stories share are complex characters who draw me into their struggles and successes.
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