Chapter 3
MIA
Ican barely finish my cereal after Sloane’s betrayal. Really, I suppose I can’t blame her for wanting to get me in trouble. I’d be pissed as hell in her shoes.
Still, it stings. For a few minutes there, I’d thought we might actually be able to be friends. Maybe not besties, but not mortal enemies, either.
But clearly I was very, very wrong.
When I’ve finally forced down the last bite of cereal, I carry my bowl over to the sink. I should rinse it out and put it in the dishwasher. That’s how Ethan likes things done. But stubbornness rises up in me, and even though I know it’s petty and rude, I sit the bowl in the sink and walk away.
I make my way back up to the pretty room with its canopy bed and mountain of stuffed animals. The unicorn Ethan gave me to sleep with the night before is still tucked into bed, but all her friends are stuck in that hammock. And while Ethan is tall enough to rescue them, I certainly am not.
I could go track him down, ask him for help. But I’m still feeling stubborn, and the last thing I want to do is give Sloane any more reasons to hate me.
Looking around the room, I spot a mostly empty bookshelf. It’s only about three shelves high, but that should be enough to let me reach at least a few more of the friends up in the hammock.
Pleased with my problem-solving abilities, I drag the bookshelf over to the hammock and put my foot on the first shelf. It wobbles a bit when I put my weight on that foot, but stabilizes again when I bring my second foot up beside it.
I reach up, but the tips of my fingers only graze the bottom of the hammock. With an annoyed huff for my short stature, I grip the top of the bookshelf and move my foot up to the next shelf.
But this time when I shift my weight, the shelf wobbles even more. And before I can catch myself, the entire thing goes tumbling backward.
Right on top of me.
My shriek of terror fills the room, but instead of collapsing on the floor, pinned beneath the heavy bookshelf, I find myself swept up in a pair of strong, familiar arms.
The relief that floods my system only lasts a few seconds, because the next thing I know, I’m on my feet, bent over beneath Ethan’s arm as his heavy hand swats at my bottom. “What the hell has gotten into you, little girl? You could have gotten yourself killed!”
All of my excuses fly right out of my head as my entire world narrows to the growing pain in my bottom. “Ow, ow, owie, Daddy, I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”
And as quickly as the spanking began, it ends again, with Ethan shoving me away from him, a stricken look on his face. “Fuck, Mia. I shouldn’t have done that. I had no right…”
Reaching behind me, I rub at my burning bottom. And the fact that Ethan doesn’t even try to stop me, even though it’s very much against his rules, is another dent in my already battered heart. “It-it’s okay.”
“No, it’s not. I’m married, Mia. I can’t… we can’t… I have to go.”
Turning on his heel, he flees the room, leaving me behind, my bottom and heart both aching. Guilt threatens to swallow me whole. I can’t believe I called him Daddy again.
I never should have come here. Never should have called him to come rescue me.
“Poor baby.”
Sloane steps into the room, her expression a mask of sympathy. But beneath it lurks something that almost looks like excitement, and bitterness rises in my throat. “Happy now? I got myself spanked and you didn’t even have to lie about anything.”
“No, I suppose I didn’t. Come here, let me take a look at that poor bottom. Make sure Daddy didn’t do too much damage.”
For a moment, all I can do is stare at her. It has to be some kind of trick, but for the life of me, I can’t figure out what her angle is. “It’s okay. He didn’t spank me that hard.”
Well, actually, he spanked me really hard. Way harder than I remember him spanking before. But he only got a few swats in before he stopped himself, and the sting is already fading.
“Nonsense.” Completely ignoring me, Sloane crosses over to a tall dresser and opens the top drawer to pull out a small tube of cream. “We don’t want our babygirl to have bruises on her pretty bottom, do we?”
Our babygirl?
Pretty?
What the hell is going on?
My Little retreats and suddenly I’m just a woman, face to face with the wife of the only man I’ve ever truly loved. “What’s your deal, Sloane?”
Perched on the edge of the bed, Sloane raises a brow. “My deal?”
“Yeah. I know you hate me, so why are you pretending to be nice? I’d rather you just call me a homewrecking bitch and kick me out than…” I pause to wave my hands between us. “Whatever the fuck this is.”
“I don’t hate you.”
Shock and disbelief root me to the spot. “You don’t?”
“Of course not. Now come here, so I can rub some arnica on your bottom.”
“Arnica is for bruises. Ethan didn’t spank me that hard.”
“Mia, you can either come over here and let me rub this arnica on your bottom whether you think you need it or not, or I can go hunt down Ethan’s paddle collection and ensure you do need it before I apply it.”
I’m still not sure exactly what her angle is, but one look in her gorgeous brown eyes tells me she’s serious about her threat. Unwilling to test just how serious she might be, I drag myself forward, draping my body across her lush, thick thighs.
“Good girl,” she purrs as she pulls Ethan’s shirt up over my bottom and tugs my panties to my knees. “Oh your poor bottom is so pink! It must be so very sore.”
It isn’t, not really, but I decide to play along anyway. Maybe it will give me some idea of where she’s going with all this. “It is,” I say with a deliberately exaggerated sniffle.
Even though I’m not that sore, it still feels good to have the cool lotion rubbed into my skin.
“You really do have a perfectly spankable ass,” Sloane says conversationally, as if she’s commenting on the weather rather than a very intimate part of my anatomy.
“I can see why Ethan’s still hung up on you. ”
Embarrassment and guilt tangle inside me, heating my skin. “He’s not still hung up on me.”
“Of course he is.” With the lotion applied, Sloane runs her hand over my bottom, soft, stroking little touches that have my skin heating for a whole new reason. “When you called, he came running. Men don’t do that for women they don’t still have feelings for.”
“That’s not…” Her touch is distracting, and I have to fight through a haze of unexpected arousal to find my words. “He’s just a good guy.”
“Oh, he certainly is.” Slender fingers drift down between my thighs to where I am shamefully soaking wet. Brushing against my dripping, bare lips, Sloane chuckles. “But he’s also a Daddy to his core. And you are such a sweet little babygirl, aren’t you, Mia?”
“So are you,” I manage to croak out, forcing myself not to lift my hips toward those questing fingers.
“Ah, see, that’s where you’re wrong.” A hint of sadness infuses her tone. “I’m not a babygirl. I thought I could be. I’ve always been very… intrigued by the idea of Daddies and Littles. But as Ethan and I discovered, it’s not for me.”
My heart twists painfully. Poor Sloane. “I’m sorry.”
“Mmm. I was too, for a really long time. But these things have a way of working themselves out.”
Pulling her fingers away from my dripping cunt, Sloane pats my bare bottom. “All right, little one. Your bottom should be all good now. I need to get to work. No more climbing on things or I’ll make sure your Daddy does more than just swat your bottom a couple of times. Understood?”
Scrambling to my feet, I pull my panties up, my cheeks flaming hot with a mixture of arousal and shame. “Yes, um, Ma’am.”
Sloane’s lips curve with what can only be described as smug satisfaction. “Good girl. I’ll be in my studio if you need any… attention.”
It isn’t until she leaves and I’m alone in my room that her words really register. And my pussy throbs at the thought of being the sole focus of her attention.
What the actual fuck is wrong with me?