Chapter 9
The barn feels different now.
The air is thick, charged with everything we didn’t say during that spanking. My skin still tingles, my backside still burns faintly, and Brett’s handprint might as well be branded into me. I should be furious. Mortified. Ready to throw him out of my orchard forever.
Instead, I’m trembling for more. I want more. More spanking. More holding. More of Brett.
He studies me, glasses slipping slightly down his nose, his expression a mix of control and hunger. “You’ve been holding yourself too tightly for too long,” he says, voice low. “I won’t apologize for forcing you to loosen your grip.”
My pride flickers, but it’s thin now, paper-thin. “You… you had no right—”
“I had every right,” he interrupts softly. His finger tilts my chin up, making me meet his gaze. “You gave it to me. When you didn’t say stop. When you called me Daddy.”
Heat shoots straight through me. “That was—”
“Honest,” he finishes for me. His thumb strokes my jaw. “For once, you let yourself stop performing. Stop fighting. You let yourself be. Do you know how beautiful that was?”
My throat tightens. No one’s ever looked at me like this. Like I’m not just capable and strong, but worth protecting. Worth cherishing.
“I don’t need—”
“Yes,” he murmurs, brushing his lips across my ear, “you do. And I think you’re smart enough to admit it. At least to me.”
A shiver races down my spine. His hands slide to my hips, pulling me closer until I’m pressed against the solid heat of him. My breath stutters.
“Brett—”
“Say it,” he orders quietly.
I swallow, my pulse frantic. “I need you.” The words are a surrender.
His eyes darken. “Good girl.”
Then his mouth claims mine.
The kiss is nothing like the sharp crack of his hand earlier.
This is slow at first, deliberate, his lips coaxing mine to open.
When I do, his tongue slides against mine, and I melt into him, clutching at his shirt like it’s the only thing keeping me upright.
He tastes like cider and heat and everything I didn’t know I was starving for.
When he pulls back, I’m gasping. “Brett…”
“Shh,” he soothes, brushing my hair back. “I’ve got you.”
Before I can think, he scoops me up, carrying me as if I weigh nothing. My squeal echoes in the barn. “Put me down!”
“Not a chance.” His grin flashes, wicked and sure. “You’re not running from me this time.”
He sets me on the hayloft ladder, urging me up ahead of him. I climb, shaky but buzzing, aware of his presence at my back, his hand occasionally brushing my thigh as if to remind me who’s in control.
He lays me back on a thick blanket I’d left behind after reading my book. Now it feels like a stage set for something far less innocent.
“Take off your sweater,” he says, voice quiet but brooking no argument.
My instinct to resist rises, but the look in his eyes pins me. I peel it off, my hands shaking.
“Good girl.” His approval is a caress. He kneels, unbuttoning my jeans with steady hands. “Lift for me.”
I do. God help me, I do.
When the denim slides down, the cool air hits my still-tender backside. He notices, of course. His hand skims over the faint warmth, and a low growl escapes him. “Nice and pink. A reminder for my stubborn girl.”
The words make me ache. “Brett…”
“Hush.” He presses a kiss to my hipbone. “Daddy’s busy.”
The word slams into me like lightning. My body clenches, my breath stutters. He glances up, reading every flicker across my face. “Oh,” he murmurs, satisfaction curling through the syllable. “So that’s the word that undoes you.”
I should protest. Deny. But I can’t. My body answers for me, arching into his touch.
His smile is devastating. “Say it.”
The silence stretches, thick and heavy. My pride strains, but the need is stronger. My whisper breaks. “Daddy.”
His groan is rough, primal, as he lowers his mouth to my skin.
Everything else blurs. His lips trace down my belly, his teeth graze the sensitive flesh of my thigh, his tongue sweeps closer and closer until—
“Please,” I gasp, squirming.
“Patience,” he chides, giving my ass a light, stinging swat. My cry echoes in the loft, half-shock, half-desire.
Then his mouth is on me and thought ceases altogether.
His tongue dances in my mouth, tasting me.
Then, he’s on me again. He takes his time, teasing, coaxing, devouring until I’m writhing beneath him, clutching at the hay and begging incoherently.
He lowers his mouth to my clit and my hips thrust forward.
He devours me like a hungry man at a buffet.
Every flick of his tongue, every rumble of his voice against me drives me higher, tighter, until the orgasm crashes over me in waves that leave me trembling, sobbing, undone.
He doesn’t let go. Not yet. He kisses his way back up my body, stripping his shirt in one smooth motion, his chest bronzed in the fading light. I reach for him, desperate, but he catches my wrists, pinning them above my head.
“Not yet,” he warns. “Daddy decides when.”
The words ignite something deep inside me, something I didn’t know I was waiting for. When he finally presses his hard, thick cock into me, slow and steady, I cry out, half in pleasure, half in the shock of being so completely filled.
He hushes me, kissing my temple. “That’s it, baby girl. Take me. Take all of me.”
I do. God, I do.
“You are so fucking tight for Daddy.” He thrusts his hips forward, almost violently, claiming me completely.
The rhythm builds, harder, faster, every thrust driving me closer to the edge of another orgasm.
He never breaks eye contact, never lets me forget who’s in control.
His hand slips under my thigh, angling me to take him deeper, and the world explodes again.
And this time the orgasm is hotter, sharper, infinitely better.
I see stars. I literally see stars. White bursts of light burst behind my eyes.
When he follows me over the edge, his groan is ragged, raw. He buries his face in my neck, whispering against my skin, “Mine.”
The word seals something between us. Something terrifying. Something inevitable.
We collapse together on the blanket, tangled in hay and sweat and the smell of apples. For the first time in forever, I don’t feel like I’m carrying everything alone.
For the first time, I let myself believe in more.