Oh, Jesus fucking Christ. My dick goes insta-solid.He can leave now, Merc. That’s more than you needed to know.
Fuck my inner conscience, my inner beast—the one Jack seems to pull out of me—takes the helm and I grab his wrist to trap him in my clutches. “Yeah? You said you were thinking about it the whole time. Tell me.”
His breathing slows. It’s getting hot in here. My dick might melt from the heat.
“After suffering through the toothbrush torture for a solid hour so I’d know how awful it was, you’d say, ‘Want outta cleanin’ the rest of this place, Leslie?’”
“I don’t sound like that, and I called you Leslie inyourspanking fantasy?”
“Are you gonna let me tell it or not?”
“Proceed.”
“I’ll do anything,anythingnot to have to look at another moldy jockstrap, sir. That’s what I was gonna say in response to your proposition.” He flashes his brows.
I smile and smirk at the same time. A smile smirk.
He inhales and exhales into a relaxed state. “Then you were gonna say—”
“What you really deserve is a spanking. If you take a long hard spanking on your bare bottom, we’ll call it even.”
His eyes widen and a shiver runs through him. “How’d you know?”
“Because I know what I would say.” And apparently so does he. “What did you say to that?”
“I said, I can take it long and hard, but that’ll be so embarrassing being bare ass up and over your knee like that—I assumed you’d go with over the knee.”
“Correct.” I’ve had him over my knee before. Too long ago. It gets harder to control my breath. “And then?”
“You don’t know what you woulda said to that?” He raises an imperious brow.
“Your choice. Keep cleaning or a bottom warming.”
“Fuck, Merc,” he says, flushing pink to his ears. “That’s way better than what I came up with, we’re editing it to that.”
“When did we get to the spanking part?” I ask the question, but the answer hits me—it was when I noticed his body relax, wasn’t it?Aw, pretty boy. That’s what you’re missing, isn’t it?Bet he doesn’t even know it, or if he does, not how bad. I brush the hair off his face.
“Hold your horses. You can’t have a proper spanking without all the song and dance or it’s just a guy whacking on another guy’s ass.”
I shrug. “From the spanker point of view, I’m fine with that.”
He scowls. It’s cute. “So anyhow, I pick the spanking and you say, pretending like it’s some big chore, ‘If that’s how you really want it, then get that sexy ass over here.’”
It is a sexy ass. I watch it more than I should.
“Here, I say shocked to death. But what if someone walks in and sees?” His hand ghosts over his covered dick, tenting in his sweats.
“Then they’ll see a naughty brat getting his much-deserved comeuppance, won’t they?” I improvise.
He’s panting. “Yeah. Yep. Something like that. That’s fucking good. Then you make a meal out of pulling my sweats and boxers down. Meanwhile, I have to stand there in the middle of the damn dressing room while you do it, praying no one walks in to see how shameful I am, getting a spanking for my poor behavior.”
Shit. Why did I sit there the whole time reading a damn magazine like a jackass? We could have been doing that. I’m friendly with the rink staff. I could have made this happen for a few bucks. I’m a foolish, foolish man.
“You used your hand. I considered having you pull a surprise hairbrush from your evil bag of tricks, but I changed it back to your hand because I … well I wanted to feel you.”
Gooseflesh breaks out over my skin. Sweat beads across my hairline and seeps into the darkness there. “I would have used my hand in the dressing room, one hundred percent. For the sound,” I add.
“You asked me why I deserved the spanking and I said, ‘because I skipped out of practice without permission, sir.’ Then you rubbed my ass a bit and got to it.”
