Chapter 5

Chapter Five

"I'm sorry," Chloe said for the third time. "I'm so very, very sorry."

Kneeling in two inches of soft mud in front of his flat front driver's side tire, Hamish studiously removed the first lugnut and didn't answer.

Fifteen minutes out of Edinborough it had started to rain. Now, forty minutes shy of home, it was pouring and he was drenched.

They both were. He'd even given her the coat he kept in the backseat of his car, for just in case purposes, but it hadn't helped much. From the waist down, her sundress was plastered to her hips and thighs, leaving even less to the imagination than before.

She had beautiful legs, slender and shapely. He loved her calves so much, in fact, that he couldn't stop glancing at them as he spun the tire iron, removing the next lugnut.

Her hips weren't bad either, rounding beneath the hem of his coat. He wasn't much of a leg man, but oh how he loved a beautiful set of hips and–oh hell, yeah–a shapely ass to go along with it.

"I'm sorry," she said yet again, and he sighed.

Leaning back on his heels, he glared at her. "Did you flatten my tire?"

"The way everything keeps going wrong, I kinda think I might have," she reluctantly replied. "And I mean it. I'm really so–"

"Say it again," he cut her off, "and I will put you over my knee and paddle your bottom to a hot cherry red."

The words were out before he could stop himself. Shit.

Blue eyes huge, Chloe stared at him in open-mouthed shock. She didn't say a word, though her cheeks blushed hot. Her hand twitched. For a moment, he thought her about to tuck a hand behind her to cover her bottom, an automatic movement that caught his Daddy Dom attention and held it fast. She didn't though. Her tense little body didn't move.

"Wh-what?" she stammered.

He stood up slowly, facing her fully, covered in mud from the knees on down. "You heard me," he challenged.

"B-b-but… y-you…"

His deepening frown silenced her protest. "I dinnae know who in your life managed to convince you that you're responsible for all of life's woes. But I can't stand it when Little girls–" he bluntly told her, just to watch her eyes bug and her jaw drop that much further, "–apologize for no reason, and I won't put up with it for very long. You've already apologized to me five times for something you had nothing to do with."

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

He arched a brow at her. "Six," he said dryly. "You need your butt roasted so badly you're going to push me until I do it, is that it?"

No, one look at her stunned face told him that wasn't at all what she was trying to do. She was in a Little frame of mind, and from what he'd seen of her so far, he wasn't sure if she ever left it. As far as he was concerned, she wasn't thinking clearly. He also didn't know how much sleep she'd gotten on the plane. Every time he'd opened his eyes, she'd been wide awake and staring out the window, even through the black of night when nothing of the world could be seen. Not even the clouds.

"I-I–" she stammered.

"Don't you dare say you're sorry again," he warned, fully intending to make good on his threat if she didn't stop.

She chewed her bottom lip, twisting and pulling at her own fingers while she struggled to formulate a reply.

Be mad , Hamish thought. Tell me I don't have the right before I take it.

But, she didn't. He couldn't find a trace of affront or disgruntlement anywhere on her all-too innocent face, just the twinge of hurt she was trying to hide, and–god help him–a tickle of curiosity in her stare. Was she wondering if he would follow through? Because he absolutely would. Or was she wondering if his spanking would hurt? He'd make sure of it. He didn't have much patience for brats. That wasn't the vibe he was getting from her, but that didn't mean he'd go easy on her if a good old-fashioned skelping was required.

And she was rapidly headed for that very thing. At this point he was just trying not to get pissed. Chloe had no business leaving the house all by herself, had no business vacationing outside of her home state, much less country, when she so obviously was incapable of keeping herself safe.

He could keep her safe.

Don't start , his brain piped up. He was already having trouble enough trying to keep her out of his head.

"You're soaked," he needlessly pointed out. "Get back in the car. I'll be done in ten."

Still worrying her fingers, she looked from the car to him again. "You're wet too."

He stood up, wiping his hands on his back pockets before reaching for his belt buckle. With a shriek of panic, she bolted around the back of the car and jumped into the front passenger seat.

Rolling his shoulders, he waited long enough for her to shut the door, then hunkered back down again to remove the last two lugnuts. Fetching the spare from off the trunk door, he changed out the flat in record time, considering how hard it was raining.

Loading back up the car, he climbed in behind the steering wheel. "Buckle up," he said, almost by rote as he clicked his seatbelt and started up the car.

Sure enough, she hadn't buckled herself in when he'd sent her to the car, but she was hurrying to do it now.

"Good lass," he told her, already arguing in his head that his irrepressible interest in her wasn't to either of their best interests. He just couldn't seem to stop himself.

He wiped the rain off his face, rubbed his palm on his soaked jeans, doggedly determined not to look at her again, at least not until he got home, and promptly found himself breaking that silent vow with a sidelong glance. She was staring at her lap, still worrying her fingers, and didn't glance at him once. Not until, very softly, she asked, "Are you mad at me, Hamish?"

If he was his, he'd be pulling over right now, unbuckling her seatbelt even as he shoved his seat back as far as it would go, scooping her out of the passenger seat to pull her into his lap. He'd have hugged her, lectured her, laid down the rules just to see her nod her head in acceptance of him, his authority, his Daddyness over her.

He gripped the steering wheel so tight his knuckles whitened. He had no business saying what he had to her, not to mention any of the stern words that already were leaping to the tip of his tongue.

He locked his lips and bit them all back. "I've got no business being mad at you, do I?"

"But you… you said you were going to… to…"–her voice dropped to a whisper for the next word only– "s-spank me? That was just words, right?" She tried to laugh, as if waiting for his confirmation that he'd been joking, but her eyes were too wide to pull that off.

He gave her a look. "Try me."

She visibly shivered, but try as he did in quick glances from the road, he couldn't find so much as a hint of recoil or spiking temper, which she had every right to have. They were strangers, having just met last night in the airport. She should be highly insulted, even a Little submissive had the right to be mad as hell over some asshole Dominant just assuming authority over her. That was a wannabe-Dom dick move, and he was a full-on supporter of any woman clocking a guy right in the mouth for doing what he'd just done to Chloe.

But he was not joking.

"I promise you, you endanger your safety one more time and I will give you the kind of skelping that'll do my grandfather proud. Nobody gets to hurt you, especially not you simply because you don't want to think about what you're doing. That's what Littles do. And if you're traveling or out in public, and alone, then you need to keep your wits about you. I've been on the verge of busting your butt four times since I met you. It hasn't even been twenty-four hours. If you were mine, little lass, you'd been sitting tenderly right now and contemplating the whupping you'd have coming the instant we got home."

Her throat worked, swallowing hard enough for him to hear the gulp. "How do you know? That I… that I'm…"

"A Little in sore need of a Daddy to watch out for her?" he finished for her. "Trust me. When you're a diehard Daddy Dom, it's easy to spot. Bouncy excitement at the airport, carelessly talking to people you don't know, revealing too much of yourself, apple juice on the plane… too many ‘I'm sorries'."

She cast her wide-eyed stare to her lap again. Her knuckles were just as white as his where she gripped her own fingers tight. "You're a Daddy?"

He was quiet, not liking how the conversation had just switched to focus on him. "I was," he said cautiously. "Before I shipped out to the Middle East. Not so much after that."

"Why not?"

He inhaled deeply. As much as he hated talking about it, there had always been a measure of honesty in his relationships –this wasn't a relationship, damn it –but since he expected complete honesty out of her, how could he give her anything less than the same courtesy?

"I've got PTSD," he said shortly. "You didn't notice I almost clocked you one at the airport when you woke me up?"

"Yes," she said simply.

"Nobody hurts my Little girl." He looked at her. "That means me too."

Her brow wrinkled, sympathy spreading all over her face. "I'm sorry. That must be so hard to go through."

She was halfway through yet another apology when his foot hit the brake and the car stopped right In the middle of the road, in the middle of a stretch of highland nothingness.

No one was coming ahead of them and one quick glance in the rearview as he took off his seatbelt showed no one coming up on them from behind.

"Wait," she said, but he'd waited long enough, and he was done with unnecessary apologies.

He shouldered the door open and got out.

Her tone rising in panic, she protested, "I can't be sorry that you–"

He shut the door on her, rounding the back of the car to her side. He was surprised she didn't try locking herself in.

"Can't I be sorry that you're going through it?" she hurried to finish when he opened her door.

"Nope." Ducking down, he leaned over to unbuckle her seatbelt. Then he held out his hand, giving her the chance to take it before summarily pulling her out to face the music.

God, her innocence. Sniffling, head bowed, she hesitated only a few seconds before lightly slipping her tiny hand into his. She sniffled again, her body already trembling in dreaded anticipation as she climbed out beside him.

"What did I say was going to happen if you apologized again?" he said. He was a lecturer at heart, but there came a time when action was more important than words.

She worried her hands, sneaking miserable glances at his face. "You said not to do it."

"I said I'd wallop your bottom, didn't I?" he corrected, forcing her to face the actual situation.

Her fingers squeezed at her hands, knuckles whitening, saying nothing. Deciding there was really nothing else to discuss, he caught her by the arm and shoved the door open as far as it would go. Propping his foot on the frame of the car, he bent her over his thigh.

"Oh no," she squeaked, covering her face with both hands.

It was her only protest, and the utter lack of fight both surprised and pleased him.

"Please, not hard," she whimpered.

"That's up to Daddy, not you."

"But I don't have a Daddy!"

He was being just as stupid as she ever could be, and he knew it. But there was no helping himself. "Right now you do."

Rain dripping from his hair onto his face, he raised his arm and brought his hand clapping down hard upon her bottom. Her dress was soaked. The splat as he swatted her sent drops of water flying and made her small body tense in shock.

"Owwie!" she wailed, throwing back a hand in willful defense of one of the sexiest asses he'd ever had the pleasure of disciplining.

Six times his arm rose and six times he brought his flat hand down hard, peppering the entire surface of her covered bottom. If the sting in his palm and her urgent squirming were anything by which to judge, she was feeling every bit of it. But she didn't put her hand back to ward off his punishment. Nor did she fight him. Yes, she was having trouble holding still, but she was taking it like a good girl and he couldn't be more proud of her for that.

Six was all he gave her, and when he pulled her up off his thigh, he saw nothing but an adorable Little clapping rueful hands to her bottom as she rubbed and cried.

Don't do it .

But his arm was already gliding around her shoulders, pulling her into his soaked chest to hug away the hurt and whatever bad feelings might remain.

She ought to have a hell of a lot of them. But she made no move to pull free of his embrace. Standing in the rain, she held and rubbed her bottom, and sniffled as she tried to get her feelings under control.

"You took that well," he murmured down at the top of her wet head. "I'm proud of you." And then, because he couldn't seem to keep digging this hole, he asked, "Do you feel better?"

Nodding, she swiped both hands down her face, but if she was hoping to wipe away her tears, there were too many raindrops to make it effective.

Looking up at him, she hiccupped as she admitted. "Yes, thank you. I'm sorry I annoyed you."

Her eyes grew huge as she realized what she'd said.

Sighing, Hamish took her by the shoulders, holding her away from him just far enough to give her his disapproving frown.

"Note to self," he said out loud for them both, "six swats isn't going to change your behavior."

"I'm sorry!" she wailed, but back over his knee she went anyway, and this time, he didn't stop at six swats.

No matter how much she cried.

Or kicked.

Or thrashed her gorgeous round bottom.

Or threw back her head, howling out, "Daddy, no! It hu-u-urts!"

He hadn't had anyone call him that, not in years. Pure electric wanting ripped through him, bringing his wayward cock standing at instant attention. His stomach vibrated, so did his heart.

He knew better than this. All of this.

But still he spanked her, throwing his arm into it, fighting himself not to throw her skirt up onto her back and drop her panties, baring her bottom to the intimate clap of his palm. Baring his Daddy Dom soul to the needy sobs that just poured from her.

He couldn't even hold her after this. She wasn't his to spank or hold.

Or kiss. Or to fill his hands with her hot, little ass, lifting her off the ground so her legs had no choice but to wrap around his hips. Hamish could practically feel the hot throb of her body as he fell with her against the car, his mouth conquering hers until her sobs turned to whimpers and moans…

Jesus.

He wasn't just screwed anymore. He was fucked.

Again, just not literally.

Double damn it.