FATHER-WHAT-A-WASTE


“So, back to your sins,”

She turned to face him. “I thought they were called transgressions, now.”

He shrugged. “Every once in a while, I like to go old school.”

“Does this mean I can expect you to bust out the wooden paddle.” She’d intended it to be a joke, but it fell flat.

He stared into her eyes for far too long a time, as the air slowly charged between them. Then, finally, so quietly she wasn’t sure she heard properly, he said, “Only if you ask me nicely.”

Her lips parted, and her breath caught in her throat. She couldn’t tear her gaze from him if she wanted to. His eyes were locked on hers and full of need that appeared almost painful.

It seemed to match the ache that throbbed through her body and settled deep in her cunt.

“Thomas…”

He didn’t say anything, just continued to watch her with an air of desperation. Finally, he murmured, “Now would be a great time for you to slap me or tell me to go to hell or something.”

She tried to give him what he wanted, but she couldn’t force herself to say the words. She couldn’t do anything but return his stare, knowing she must look just as hungry and full of want as he did.

“Please get the paddle, Father,” she whispered.

She saw the moment his resolve gave way. The light in his eyes went from needy to resigned to demanding in an instant. He drove his fingers into her hair and tilted her head back before crushing his lips against hers and coaxing her mouth open. Well, there wasn’t much coaxing involved. She simply groaned and welcomed him while he took possession of her body and soul.