by Dinah McLeod
“Flour and sugar,” he said before making his way to the kitchen. Without a word, Georgia followed behind him as though she was a regular guest.
Once inside he found the cabinet housing the baking ingredients and pulled down his grandma’s well-loved, stained bags before carefully measuring out a cup of each. He deposited the ingredients into two separate Ziploc bags before handing them over to Georgia.
“Thanks!”
“Not a problem. Anything else I can do for you?”
“Well…” She bit down on her bottom lip, her green eyes dancing. “I don’t suppose you have a box of spaghetti you’re not using?”
He should be more than a little irritated with her, he knew. He wasn’t running a grocery store. But she was cute as a button, and somehow he found her unassuming manner charming. Sam shook his head at her. “Do you mind if I ask what you did when you were supposed to be grocery shopping?”
“Um, well… it wasn’t that I didn’t go.”
“I see.”
“I did. I even bought stuff. Or, I tried to. But when I got to the register, my, ah… my card sort of…”
“Declined?” he supplied, keeping his voice neutral as to not add to her embarrassment.
But young Georgia didn’t look embarrassed. “My dad gave me some money to buy groceries.”
“Uh-huh.”
“But right next door to the grocery store there was this amazing shoe sale going on! I figured it had to be fate, you know?”
Sam didn’t believe much in fate, but he nodded to keep the story moving.
“So I got this pair of fabulous stilettos. I’m not exactly sure when I’ll have a chance to wear them, but better have them just to be safe, you know?”
“So you spent the money your dad gave you for groceries… on shoes?” he asked, just to be sure.
“That about sums it up.”
He’d thought she’d at least have the grace to blush, but she didn’t seem to think there was anything wrong with what she’d done. Sam took her measure quickly, and while his inner dom would normally be rearing his formidable, lecturing head right now, Sam quickly silenced the urge. She was young. She would learn.
“Does this work?” he asked once he’d produced a box of thin spaghetti noodles.
“Yes! Oh, my God, thank you! You’re a lifesaver!”
“Not yet I’m not. Won’t you need sauce?”
She gave him that endearing smile again, the one where her lips curled as she bit down on her bottom lip and her cheek dimpled.
Once he’d found what he was looking for, he walked around the counter and held out the jar of homemade sauce his grandmother had put up. “Now, this comes with a warning that’s not on the label.”
She looked at him in that fresh-faced, wide-eyed way she had that was quickly making him forget why he couldn’t kiss her, just once. “It does?”
“Yes. My grandma’s a hell of a cook and this is her recipe. After you eat it, you might never want store-bought sauce again.”
Georgia broke into a titter of laughter that made the corners of his own mouth twitch. “Thanks for letting me know.” She reached for the sauce, but he didn’t let it go.
“You’re welcome to the spaghetti, but the jar has to come back. Understand?”
He expected her to look surprised as his voice deepened to a stern, commanding one. But she just smiled as though nothing was amiss. “Yes, Sir.”
Jesus. His cock went from semi-hard to rigid in all the time it took to draw in a surprised breath. Suddenly, little Georgia looked a hell of a lot more attractive than she had three seconds ago, and she’d already been looking pretty cute. He could get used to hearing that.
And if it wasn’t his imagination, she was looking at him with more than neighborly affection. Yes, he could very easily get used to this. He had to do something, quick, to cure them both. And he knew just the thing.
“What are you going to tell your dad when you run out of flour or sugar?”
“Hmm.” Her brow furrowed, and even that he found adorable. “I hadn’t thought about that.”
“Well, I highly doubt you can eat off one box of spaghetti until the next time you get money to go grocery shopping.”
“I guess you’re right.” She shrugged, looking unconcerned.
Perhaps she knew a whole host of neighbors who were more than willing to open their cabinets to her. The thought simultaneously amused him and made him jealous. This was ridiculous—better get on with it, and get rid of her before either of them did something they could later regret.
“So, how do you intend to pay me for these things?”
Her smile dimmed at the question. “I thought you were giving them to me.”
“You asked for flour and sugar. That, you can have. But I’ll need something for the others. It’s very good sauce.”
Georgia giggled, but she was beginning to look uncertain. Good. She should think her actions through a little more, and where they might lead. Generally, country life was pretty calm, but she had just come into his house without knowing him from Adam. And if she’d bought the groceries with the money her father had given her, she wouldn’t be in this position in the first place.
“I told you I don’t have any money.”
“I don’t want your money.”
“Well, what do you want then?” She looked more curious than concerned.
He’d been on the verge of letting her off with nothing more than a mild scolding. Gran was right—he couldn’t go around scaring all the girls off, if for no other reason than he didn’t want Gran to have to hear it in church on Sunday. But the fact that she seemed so trusting when he, a perfect stranger, had demanded payment from her, rather than running from the house screaming, bothered him.
“Lean over the table and you’ll find out,” he instructed, pointing toward the small, round four-seater where he and Gran took their meals.
She gave him a questioning look and when she followed his order he was both pleased and annoyed. Funny how she could inspire such competing emotions inside him.
“Like this?” she queried, leaning over and sticking out a mouth-wateringly curvaceous ass.
Jesus. What was he doing? But seeing her bent over like that and waiting for him woke the dominant he kept locked away from the public eye. He was raring to get out, and while Sam was very careful about hiding his less savory aspects—namely his unsavory desire to dominate willing women, such as Georgia—he couldn’t stop himself. Not this time—not when she was literally asking for it.
Besides, it was for her own good, Sam told himself.
“What are you going to do?” she asked, her voice softened as she looked over her shoulder at him.
She had amazing eyes. They were light green, the color of a meadow at springtime. As he got closer he saw that she had flecks of gold in them. She was such a tiny little thing—with narrow shoulders, dropping into a soft, womanly back and gently curving hips. Every bit of her was petite and feminine, which made those full, delectable cheeks even more surprising. It was the best kind of surprise, Sam’s favorite kind—oh, if she were only five years older he’d be so tempted to unwrap her.
“I’m going to spank you, Georgia.”
Her breath hitched in a way that belied any fear. “Why?”
“Don’t you think you deserve it? It’s not very smart to spend money set aside for food on something as frivolous as shoes.”
“How can you say that? You haven’t even seen them.”
“What they look like isn’t the point. You can’t spend every dime you make on a whim—and it wasn’t even your money. So, really, it’s like stealing.”
After his words sank in, her eyes began to widen. “I… I didn’t think about it like that.”
He nodded, gratified by her quick realization. “And not only that, but you just came in here with me, and you don’t even know me. I could be a serial killer.”
“Are you?” she teased, doing that flirty thing with her eyelashes again, h
This girl! He wanted to spank her, yes; his palm was as itchy as he could ever remember it being before. But he wanted to bend her over backwards, afterward, and do things to her that would leave the table unfit for eating on.
“I wouldn’t be likely to tell you if I was,” he countered. “You need to take better care of yourself and use your head.”
“That’s why you’re going to spank me?”
“Yes.” He waited, expecting a refusal, or at the very least, a protest as to why he shouldn’t. When nothing came, he pressed his hand to her back, directing her to bend over further.
She turned her face away from him and complied without a word.
He took a moment to let his eyes enjoy the full, luscious curve of her cheeks before he raised his hand. He brought it smacking down on her bottom a moment later, and the feel of his hand cracking down on that beautiful ass made his jeans uncomfortably tight. He took a minute to shake his head and clear his thoughts. The only thing he needed to concentrate on right now was Georgia, and her discipline. He wasn’t a man who believed in half-measures.
Georgia didn’t make a sound. He counted a few seconds in his head before swatting the other cheek equally as hard. Still, she was silent as a church mouse.
Strike three was delivered quickly and finally, he heard a small mewl of protest from her. But she didn’t try to turn around and she didn’t tell him to stop. He found her obedience to be a pleasant surprise. He was hoping that she’d learn a lesson about behaving more responsibly, but he also found her earning his respect with each spank she took.
Another swat, the hardest yet, had her going up on her tiptoes. It was a few seconds before she let out a soft cry. When he placed the fifth and final smack on her other cheek, she whimpered.
When Georgia turned to him, sniffling, he was caught off guard by the sheen of tears in her eyes. His heartstrings pulled far more than they should have after handing out much-deserved discipline.
“I’ll be going,” she told him, waiting for his nod before she walked toward him and scooped up the items he’d put on the counter. “Thank you,” she offered through stiff lips.
“You’re welcome.” He reached behind him and ran a hand through his dirty hair, watching as she walked away. It had to be done.
Before she reached the door, Georgia turned to look at him. A tear had fallen onto her beautiful, perfect cheek. “I knew who you were, too. My dad told me all about you—he speaks very highly of you.” Then she turned back around and left without giving him so much as a backwards glance.
Ouch. She really knew how to deliver a hard, fast punch and get out.
He hadn’t wanted her to see him as a monster, which must be what she now thought. He’d found her charming, if a bit flighty, and wouldn’t have minded getting to know her, though he’d ruined that now. It wasn’t meant to be—she was too young for him, anyway. It was for the best, he told himself again as he headed for his bedroom. But that didn’t mean it didn’t suck.
Chapter Two
Georgia flounced out the door and off the porch, fuming. Who did he think he was, to lecture her like she was a child? What gave him the right to assume he knew anything about her based off one conversation? He thought she was a moron, and he was, what? Some father figure handing out righteous whacks meant to teach her a lesson? Ridiculous.
Her bottom burned as though she had gone to a nude beach and brought back a sunburned ass for a souvenir. She couldn’t believe the nerve, the absolute arrogance of that guy to spank her without even offering his name first! She knew it, of course, but a gentleman would have at least introduced himself before ordering her to bend over the table so that he could sting the back of her shorts with his paddle-like hand.
She was trembling with indignation—that, and something else, too.
Her sex was quivering, hotter than her spanked ass, hard as that was to believe. But she couldn’t think about her slick, aching folds. She couldn’t think about the musky essence pooling on the gusset of her panties. If she thought about any of that, she began to lose her righteous indignation and she intended to hold onto it with the tenacity of a terrier.
How dare he!
She yanked the door open to her house—if she hadn’t been so angry, she would have been impressed with the time she’d made furiously retracing her steps—and slammed it shut so hard that the pictures on the walls rattled.
“Hey! What the heck happened to you, Peach?”
Any other time, she would have jumped to see him standing in the kitchen and feel caught out. She was carrying borrowed groceries instead of ones purchased at the store, after all. But she was too angry to care about that, too disgusted to be softened by his nickname for her. As if to prove it, she plunked the Ziploc bags, the box of pasta, and the jar of sauce right down on the counter in front of him.
“I thought you said you were going to meet the neighbor.”
“I did,” she bit out, giving him a hard, quelling look—one she would have loved to have given Mr. Samuel Taylor. “I’m going to my room. I’ll cook dinner in a little while,” she announced before stomping past the kitchen, down the hall, and into her bedroom. She didn’t slam the door quite so hard this time, but only because she didn’t want to knock anything over.
She couldn’t be around anyone right now, not even her dad. Once she’d cooled off, once the blaze he’d left in her nether cheeks and the subsequent fire in her sex had quieted, then she’d cook dinner. But she didn’t think she could stand near a stove right now without wondering if the heat in her face was from steam or the memory of how he had looked at her just before he’d brought his hand smacking down on her awaiting ass.
And the way he’d ordered her to bend over in the first place! What a pompous, assuming ass!
And yet… that had been when the molten heat of her pussy had ignited. That moment when he’d locked his eyes on hers and given that quiet, authoritative order had been the one when her tummy had knotted into a mass of tingling nerves full of apprehension and breath-hitching anticipation, all in one. She hadn’t been able to disobey. She hadn’t even considered it.
Which was why, as she stared up at the sunburst design stamped in the plaster of her ceiling, she didn’t know who she was angrier at. Her fingers reached for and found the button at the top of her shorts. She freed it with one impatient tug and began to slide the thick denim down her legs, then put a tentative finger on the crotch of her panties. She felt the heat and liquid that had pooled there, and she had never been more embarrassed. It made no sense, why she should get wet at a stern look, why that deep, scolding voice should make her breath hitch.
What was wrong with her? She’d never been one to let a man tell her what to do! In fact, she considered herself quite the feminist, but one look from the handsome rancher, one command, and she’d been his to do what he wanted with. It just didn’t make any sense.
And he didn’t remember her. That much was clear from the way he’d interacted with her. The whole time she’d been in his house, she’d expected recognition to light his features, but it never had. But she would certainly never forget the first time they’d met; hadn’t, in fact, forgotten a single detail in all this time.
It had been just over four years ago, right after she’d graduated high school. She’d known that her family would be moving to Clay in the coming months and she’d wanted to get a feel for the place, even though she’d soon be going off to college. At least, that was what she’d told her dad. It had only been half a lie. She did want to check it out—because she would be visiting there during breaks, but also because it was forty-plus minutes away and as good a place as any to smoke the forbidden cigarettes that she had burning a hole in her pocket. Not literally, of course.
It was a quiet, small town. She could see that right off, as she strolled the streets, the cigarette lit between her lips. She had been looking at the dark sky, marveling at the large number of stars that sparkled in the wide, velvet abyss. She’d been puffing away contentedly, letting her feet carry her wherever they would, and marveling at the fact that she’d just closed the chapter on her high school career. College lay ahead and with it, a mixture of sickening apprehension. She couldn’t believe it. She had no idea what she would study, what she wanted to do with the rest of her life—would she even like college?
Realizing that there wasn’t much more than embers left of her cigarette, she took one last puff before dropping it and grinding it in the dirt with the heel of her shoe. Then and only then did she take a look at her surroundings. It seemed she’d managed to wander to a nearly deserted group of buildings. A lone street lamp shone, and underneath it she saw a guy working on his car. As though he felt her eyes on him, he looked up from the hood of the car and waved.
Not quite ready to go home yet, Georgia had wandered over. She couldn’t help but notice that he was cute, and the closer she got to him, the more attractive he became. Broad shoulders and a taut, muscular form were enough to make the man easy on the eyes, and she couldn’t help but notice his dark hair and square jaw.
“Evenin’,” he called out as he watched her approach.
“Hello.”
“It’s late,” he’d stated, his voice filled with mild rebuke. “What are you doing out here?”
“It’s not that late,” she’d responded, startled by his stern tone. “Besides, you’re out.”
He clearly hadn’t liked that one bit. She could see it by the way his brow furrowed as he looked at her. “Well, I’m old enough to have a license, little girl. And my car needs fixin’. This is the only time I could do it. But you should be home.”
“I have a license,” she protested with a spluttering laugh.
“Maybe.” His eyes raked her, considering. “But you’re not old enough for that cigarette you were smoking.”
Her eyes widened in surprise. Had he been watching her the whole time and she hadn’t noticed?
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