Georgia's Daddy (3 page)

Georgia didn’t make a sound. He counted a few seconds in his head before swatting the other cheek equally as hard. Still, she was silent as a church mouse.

Strike three was delivered quickly and finally, he heard a small mewl of protest from her. But she didn’t try to turn around and she didn’t tell him to stop. He found her obedience to be a pleasant surprise. He was hoping that she’d learn a lesson about behaving more responsibly, but he also found her earning his respect with each spank she took.

Another swat, the hardest yet, had her going up on her tiptoes. It was a few seconds before she let out a soft cry. When he placed the fifth and final smack on her other cheek, she whimpered.

When Georgia turned to him, sniffling, he was caught off guard by the sheen of tears in her eyes. His heartstrings pulled far more than they should have after handing out much-deserved discipline.

“I’ll be going,” she told him, waiting for his nod before she walked toward him and scooped up the items he’d put on the counter. “Thank you,” she offered through stiff lips.

“You’re welcome.” He reached behind him and ran a hand through his dirty hair, watching as she walked away. It had to be done.

Before she reached the door, Georgia turned to look at him. A tear had fallen onto her beautiful, perfect cheek. “I knew who you were, too. My dad told me all about you—he speaks very highly of you.” Then she turned back around and left without giving him so much as a backwards glance.

Ouch. She really knew how to deliver a hard, fast punch and get out.

He hadn’t wanted her to see him as a monster, which must be what she now thought. He’d found her charming, if a bit flighty, and wouldn’t have minded getting to know her, though he’d ruined that now. It wasn’t meant to be—she was too young for him, anyway. It was for the best, he told himself again as he headed for his bedroom. But that didn’t mean it didn’t suck.

Chapter Two

Georgia flounced out the door and off the porch, fuming. Who did he think he was, to lecture her like she was a child? What gave him the
right
to assume he knew anything about her based off one conversation? He thought she was a moron, and he was, what? Some father figure handing out righteous whacks meant to teach her a lesson? Ridiculous.

Her bottom burned as though she had gone to a nude beach and brought back a sunburned ass for a souvenir. She couldn’t believe the
nerve
, the absolute arrogance of that guy to spank her without even offering his name first! She knew it, of course, but a gentleman would have at least introduced himself before ordering her to bend over the table so that he could sting the back of her shorts with his paddle-like hand.

She was trembling with indignation—that, and something else, too.

Her sex was quivering, hotter than her spanked ass, hard as that was to believe. But she couldn’t think about her slick, aching folds. She couldn’t think about the musky essence pooling on the gusset of her panties. If she thought about any of that, she began to lose her righteous indignation and she intended to hold onto it with the tenacity of a terrier.

How
dare
he!

She yanked the door open to her house—if she hadn’t been so angry, she would have been impressed with the time she’d made furiously retracing her steps—and slammed it shut so hard that the pictures on the walls rattled.

“Hey! What the heck happened to you, Peach?”

Any other time, she would have jumped to see him standing in the kitchen and feel caught out. She
was
carrying borrowed groceries instead of ones purchased at the store, after all. But she was too angry to care about that, too disgusted to be softened by his nickname for her. As if to prove it, she plunked the Ziploc bags, the box of pasta, and the jar of sauce right down on the counter in front of him.

“I thought you said you were going to meet the neighbor.”

“I
did
,” she bit out, giving him a hard, quelling look—one she would have loved to have given Mr. Samuel Taylor. “I’m going to my room. I’ll cook dinner in a little while,” she announced before stomping past the kitchen, down the hall, and into her bedroom. She didn’t slam the door quite so hard this time, but only because she didn’t want to knock anything over.

She couldn’t be around anyone right now, not even her dad. Once she’d cooled off, once the blaze he’d left in her nether cheeks and the subsequent fire in her sex had quieted, then she’d cook dinner. But she didn’t think she could stand near a stove right now without wondering if the heat in her face was from steam or the memory of how he had looked at her just before he’d brought his hand smacking down on her awaiting ass.

And the way he’d ordered her to bend over in the first place! What a pompous, assuming ass!

And yet… that had been when the molten heat of her pussy had ignited. That moment when he’d locked his eyes on hers and given that quiet, authoritative order had been the one when her tummy had knotted into a mass of tingling nerves full of apprehension and breath-hitching anticipation, all in one. She hadn’t been able to disobey. She hadn’t even considered it.

Which was why, as she stared up at the sunburst design stamped in the plaster of her ceiling, she didn’t know who she was angrier at. Her fingers reached for and found the button at the top of her shorts. She freed it with one impatient tug and began to slide the thick denim down her legs, then put a tentative finger on the crotch of her panties. She felt the heat and liquid that had pooled there, and she had never been more embarrassed. It made no sense, why she should get wet at a stern look, why that deep, scolding voice should make her breath hitch.

What was
wrong
with her? She’d never been one to let a man tell her what to do! In fact, she considered herself quite the feminist, but one look from the handsome rancher, one command, and she’d been his to do what he wanted with. It just didn’t make any sense.

And he didn’t remember her. That much was clear from the way he’d interacted with her. The whole time she’d been in his house, she’d expected recognition to light his features, but it never had. But she would certainly never forget the first time they’d met; hadn’t, in fact, forgotten a single detail in all this time.

It had been just over four years ago, right after she’d graduated high school. She’d known that her family would be moving to Clay in the coming months and she’d wanted to get a feel for the place, even though she’d soon be going off to college. At least, that was what she’d told her dad. It had only been half a lie. She
did
want to check it out—because she would be visiting there during breaks, but also because it was forty-plus minutes away and as good a place as any to smoke the forbidden cigarettes that she had burning a hole in her pocket. Not literally, of course.

It was a quiet, small town. She could see that right off, as she strolled the streets, the cigarette lit between her lips. She had been looking at the dark sky, marveling at the large number of stars that sparkled in the wide, velvet abyss. She’d been puffing away contentedly, letting her feet carry her wherever they would, and marveling at the fact that she’d just closed the chapter on her high school career. College lay ahead and with it, a mixture of sickening apprehension. She couldn’t believe it. She had no idea what she would study, what she wanted to do with the rest of her life—would she even
like
college?

Realizing that there wasn’t much more than embers left of her cigarette, she took one last puff before dropping it and grinding it in the dirt with the heel of her shoe. Then and only then did she take a look at her surroundings. It seemed she’d managed to wander to a nearly deserted group of buildings. A lone street lamp shone, and underneath it she saw a guy working on his car. As though he felt her eyes on him, he looked up from the hood of the car and waved.

Not quite ready to go home yet, Georgia had wandered over. She couldn’t help but notice that he was cute, and the closer she got to him, the more attractive he became. Broad shoulders and a taut, muscular form were enough to make the man easy on the eyes, and she couldn’t help but notice his dark hair and square jaw.

“Evenin’,” he called out as he watched her approach.

“Hello.”

“It’s late,” he’d stated, his voice filled with mild rebuke. “What are you doing out here?”

“It’s not that late,” she’d responded, startled by his stern tone. “Besides,
you’re
out.”

He clearly hadn’t liked that one bit. She could see it by the way his brow furrowed as he looked at her. “Well,
I’m
old enough to have a license, little girl. And my car needs fixin’. This is the only time I could do it. But
you
should be home.”

“I have a license,” she protested with a spluttering laugh.

“Maybe.” His eyes raked her, considering. “But you’re not old enough for that cigarette you were smoking.”

Her eyes widened in surprise. Had he been watching her the whole time and she hadn’t noticed?

“I can smell it all over you,” he said by way of explanation.

“Oh. Well, it’s not that bad. It’s just a cigarette.”

“Cigarettes,” he’d said, measuring it out as though he was choosing his words carefully, “kill people.”

“Lots of things kill people.” She’d said it with a shrug and a dismissive little laugh, expecting to see him smile in agreement. He didn’t. In fact, the way he was looking at her—like she was a child talking about things she couldn’t possibly understand—made her feel defensive.

“A life isn’t something to gamble with. How old are you?”

“Seven—I mean, eighteen,” she’d said. At first, she was annoyed with him, but that quickly became annoyance with herself. “I had a birthday last week. I’m still getting used to it.”

“Happy birthday. Now, why don’t you stop puffing on those cancer sticks, to ensure you see many, many more of them?”

“You know what, you’re right,” she’d bit out, clearly frustrated. “I
should
be getting back home.”

“Did you get your birthday spanking?”

She’d been about to turn around and stomp off angrily, but his words stopped her. “What?”

“Your birthday spanking. I could give it to you now, if you like, but it might be a touch harder than you’re used to.”

He was laughing at her. She could see it in his eyes, in the twitching of her lips. God, he was insufferable! Threatening to spank her simply because he didn’t like her smoking a cigarette!

Except he hadn’t exactly threatened her. And despite the absurd rudeness of the entire encounter, she felt her heart pounding in her chest in a way she’d never felt before. It was odd, the way her blood suddenly felt hot as it coursed through her veins. Worst of all, when she should have felt offended—she
was
offended—there was a part of her that, for some strange reason she couldn’t name, wanted to say yes.

Her eyes drifted to his hands. He had large hands. They were stained with oil, and one casually held a wrench. The sight of them in correlation with her startlingly naughty thoughts made her ass begin to tingle. The thought of taking a spanking from him was a daunting one indeed.

“I… I think I’ll pass.” Her voice was as cool as she could make it as she tried to hide her apprehension at the thought of one of those humungous hands colliding with her bottom.

But something of what she felt must have shown on her face, because he’d thrown back his head and begun to laugh. Laughing—at her! Of all the nerve.

So she’d spun on her heel and stalked off, not bothering to stop even when he’d called after her.

“Wait! Wait, I didn’t mean to make you mad. Come back, let me introduce myself! The name’s Sam.”

But she hadn’t been mad—not exactly. And he’d seen it all over her face. And she’d never forgotten the name.

Apparently, she hadn’t been nearly as memorable. She’d even tossed out that line as she was leaving, about her dad telling her about him. She’d thought that would jog his memory, but it hadn’t done the trick. Somehow, that made the embarrassment she felt at being wet even worse. But maybe the man liked to spank and forget. Maybe that was his style. Who was she to judge?

Besides, she’d finally gotten the spanking he’d mentioned, even if it had come four years later. Even though she’d known it was silly, she hadn’t been able to forget his words even in all the time she’d been away. Some nights, when she found herself unable to sleep, she’d lie awake and wonder what it would have felt like, if she’d agreed to let him spank her. Now she didn’t have to wonder anymore. It was stingy and hot and awful all at once, and yet… yet, it was also somehow wonderful, too.

* * *

He couldn’t stop thinking about her. Which, in itself, was ridiculous. She might be legal, but that didn’t mean that she wasn’t still too young for him.

“Samuel? Somethin’ the matter?”

He looked up from his cup of coffee and repressed a sigh. “No, Gran. I’m fine.”

“You sure? You haven’t eaten a bite.”

He glanced at the ham sandwich he’d left untouched. “I’m just not that hungry, I guess.”

“Well, something really
must
be wrong then,” she chuckled softly.

“Actually, I’m late getting back to the field.” He stood up, picked up his cup of coffee and chugged it in two swallows, wincing when he realized it had grown cold. “Don’t mean to worry you—I’m fine.”

“Maybe you ought to take the sandwich.”

“Sure, Gran. And remember—I’ve got volunteer work tonight.”

“I didn’t forget. Your uniform is ready to go.”

Thanking her with a swift kiss to the cheek, he took the sandwich and left. But even the change of scenery did nothing to help his thoughts. Georgia kept popping up in his mind whatever he did, not seeming to mind that she was an uninvited guest. He couldn’t stop thinking about those braids. Those freckles. The dimples. Damn it! Spanking her was supposed to get her
out
of his system, but it looked like he’d gone and managed to make things worse for himself. Those five whacks hadn’t been enough to leave the imprint of his hand on her butt, but had been more than sufficient to stamp her on his brain.