If I was expecting that to be some kind of “gotcha” moment, I’m horribly mistaken. A dimple flashes in Sloane’s cheek as she grins up at me. “I did. But not because I hate you.”
“Thenwhy?”
“Well, for starters, because the thought of watching your big strong Daddy turn your sweet bottom red while you kick and scream and cry over his knee seemed really fucking hot.”
I could live a million years and never hear a sentence more shocking than the one she just uttered. “Really?”
“Oh, yeah. But also, I knew once Ethan got his hands on you, that would be it. He wouldn’t be able to resist spanking you again. And knowing my husband the way I do, spanking would have led to touching, which would have led to me being able to get you where I really want you.”
“Wh-where’s that?”
Kneeling in front of me the way she is, she should seem like the submissive one. But there’s nothing the least bit submissive about her as she rises up on her knees, a wicked grin curving her lips. “In my bed, pinned between your Mommy and Daddy, begging for your pleasure.”
Need, hot and itchy and wholly unexpected washes over me. “You… you want me? You and Ethan?”
“Yes, babygirl. I want you so badly I can barely fucking think straight. As for Ethan… I’m sure we’ll be able to bring him around.”
That response brings me up short. “He doesn’t know about this? About us?”
“Not yet. But I’m sure once I explain it to him, he’ll be on board.”
Guilt twists in my tummy. “What if he gets mad?”What if he doesn’t want me?
Sloane pats my knee. “You let Mommy worry about that. I can handle your Daddy’s moods.”
It’s wrong. Iknowit’s wrong, and yet, there’s that dark, twisty part of me that doesn’t fucking care. That wants everything she’s offering up on a silver platter, regardless of the consequences.
And it’s that part of me that takes the reins now as I stare into Sloane’s dark, glittering eyes.
“Okay, Mommy.”
Hunger flashes in those dark pools and I know then and there I’ll do anything she asks if it means she’ll keep looking at me like that. Like I’m the last morsel of food on a buffet and she’s been starved for months. “Good girl. Let’s get you in the bath.”
Nodding, I reach for the toilet paper, but Sloane swats my hand. “No. You’re far too Little to clean yourself up. That’s Mommy’s job.”
“But Mommy,” I whine, squirming on the porcelain seat. “I’m not that Little! Imma Big girl!”
I don’t sound the least bit like a Big girl just then and we both know it. Completely ignoring my protests, Sloane pulls a length of toilet paper from the roll. “Stand up so Mommy can wipe your pretty pussy clean.”
Rebellion wells in my chest. But Sloane has already proven she has no problem spanking me into submission, so I reluctantly push those rebellious feelings back down and slowly push to my feet. Sloane rises with me, wrapping her arm around my waist to bend me over so she can wipe me clean.
My skin prickles with the heat of embarrassment… and arousal. Because god help me, as humiliating as this is, it’s also exactly what I need. What I crave. The kind of tender caretaking I haven’t experienced since I walked out Ethan’s door. Carl may have called himself a Daddy, but he was the farthest thing from one in my mind. He wanted my submission, my unquestioning obedience, but in return I got nothing. No tender moments, no sweet attention. Nothing but pain and punishments and harsh words.
Once I’m all cleaned up, Sloane helps me into the bath and I sink into the pink froth with a sigh. The confusing situation withSloane aside, the heat leaches the tension from my muscles and for the first time in what feels like years, I fully relax.
Soft humming reaches my ears, and I crack open one eyelid to peer up at Sloane. A soft smile curves her lips as she moves around the bathroom, gathering supplies before she kneels beside the tub.
Reaching into the water, she takes hold of my ankle, lifting my leg up so she can run a sudsy washcloth over my skin. More little prickles of need erupt over the flesh she’s caressed as she works her way up my calf, over my knee, to my thighs. A whimper slips from my lips when the washcloth drifts dangerously close to my aching pussy. It doesn’t seem to matter that she just made me come so hard I saw stars before we came upstairs, my body already wants more.
“What’s wrong, baby?” she asks, her voice soft but full of a smug sort of satisfaction that tells me she knows exactly what’swrong.
My cheeks heat with embarrassment, but the fire of arousal burning in my core is far hotter and more insistent than my shame. “Please, Mommy.”
“Please what, babygirl? Use your Big girl words.”
The implication that I’m not communicating like a “Big girl” has those flames of humiliation burning hotter across my skin. “Please… Please touch me.”
She chuckles as she continues scrubbing lazily at my skin. “I am touching you, baby.”
