“Yes,” she said simply.
“Nobody hurts my Little girl.” He looked at her. “That means me too.”
Her brow wrinkled, sympathy spreading all over her face. “I'm sorry. That must be so hard to go through.”
She was halfway through yet another apology when his foot hit the brake and the car stopped right In the middle of the road, in the middle of a stretch of highland nothingness.
No one was coming ahead of them and one quick glance in the rearview as he took off his seatbelt showed no one coming up on them from behind.
“Wait,” she said, but he'd waited long enough, and he was done with unnecessary apologies.
He shouldered the door open and got out.
Her tone rising in panic, she protested, “I can't be sorry that you–”
He shut the door on her, rounding the back of the car to her side. He was surprised she didn't try locking herself in.
“Can't I be sorry that you're going through it?” she hurried to finish when he opened her door.
“Nope.” Ducking down, he leaned over to unbuckle her seatbelt. Then he held out his hand, giving her the chance to take it before summarily pulling her out to face the music.
God, her innocence. Sniffling, head bowed, she hesitated only a few seconds before lightly slipping her tiny hand into his. She sniffled again, her body already trembling in dreaded anticipation as she climbed out beside him.
“What did I say was going to happen if you apologized again?” he said. He was a lecturer at heart, but there came a time when action was more important than words.
She worried her hands, sneaking miserable glances at his face. “You said not to do it.”
“I said I'd wallop your bottom, didn't I?” he corrected, forcing her to face the actual situation.
Her fingers squeezed at her hands, knuckles whitening, saying nothing. Deciding there was really nothing else to discuss, he caught her by the arm and shoved the door open as far as it would go. Propping his foot on the frame of the car, he bent her over his thigh.
“Oh no,” she squeaked, covering her face with both hands.
It was her only protest, and the utter lack of fight both surprised and pleased him.
“Please, not hard,” she whimpered.
“That's up to Daddy, not you.”
“But I don't have a Daddy!”
He was being just as stupid as she ever could be, and he knew it. But there was no helping himself. “Right now you do.”
Rain dripping from his hair onto his face, he raised his arm and brought his hand clapping down hard upon her bottom. Her dress was soaked. The splat as he swatted her sent drops of water flying and made her small body tense in shock.
“Owwie!” she wailed, throwing back a hand in willful defense of one of the sexiest asses he'd ever had the pleasure of disciplining.
Six times his arm rose and six times he brought his flat hand down hard, peppering the entire surface of her covered bottom. If the sting in his palm and her urgent squirming were anything by which to judge, she was feeling every bit of it. But she didn't put her hand back to ward off his punishment. Nor did she fight him. Yes, she was having trouble holding still, but she was taking it like a good girl and he couldn't be more proud of her for that.
Six was all he gave her, and when he pulled her up off his thigh, he saw nothing but an adorable Little clapping rueful hands to her bottom as she rubbed and cried.
Don't do it.
But his arm was already gliding around her shoulders, pulling her into his soaked chest to hug away the hurt and whatever bad feelings might remain.
She ought to have a hell of a lot of them. But she made no move to pull free of his embrace. Standing in the rain, she held and rubbed her bottom, and sniffled as she tried to get her feelings under control.
“You took that well,” he murmured down at the top of her wet head. “I'm proud of you.” And then, because he couldn't seem to keep digging this hole, he asked, “Do you feel better?”
