Page 16 of Master Daddy

“Good boy.”

Two more firm swats seal the lesson, then his hand gentles, stroking soothingly over the sting. I’m trembling, aching, every nerve alight. For a long moment neither of us moves. I can feel how hard he is against my hip. The knowledge that I did that to him makes me dizzy with desire anti takes all my willpower to stop my cock making a big sticky mess all over him.

Finally Mason helps me sit up, pulling me into his chest. His arms wrap around me—strong, steady, warm. One big hand strokes my hair while I hide my flushed face against his neck, breathing him in.

“Lesson learned?” Mason murmurs.

“Mmhmm,” I whisper, still floating.

Mason kisses the top of my head, then starts the truck. “I’ll drive you to the grocery store. Don’t want you walking after that.”

I nod, too blissed-out and embarrassed and turned-on to argue.

As we pull out of the parking lot, the sting in my bottom mingles with a deep, satisfied warmth in my chest.

Mason is bossy. Strict. Completely in control.

And I think I might be in serious trouble… because I love it.

The drive is quiet but comfortable. Mason rests one hand on my thigh, thumb stroking absently. By the time we reach the grocery store I feel calmer. It’s like the spanking reset something inside me.

Mason parks right out front and turns to me, eyes soft but still carrying that dominant edge. “Text me when you’re done with work. We’ll talk more about the program tonight if you want.”

I bite my lip and nod. “Okay… Daddy.”

The word slips out so naturally it surprises us both. His eyes flare with heat and something deeper. For a second I think he might pull me in for a kiss, but he just squeezes my thigh.

“Go on, little one. Before I decide you need another lesson right here.”

I scramble out of the truck on shaky legs, ass still tingling deliciously, and glance back once. Mason is watching me with a possessive little smile that makes my heart flutter.

This training partnership is going to be way more intense than I expected.

And now I’ve got a whole day of work ahead of me where I’m going to have to work extra hard to not spend the entire time thinking about my gym Daddy…

* * *

Midway through my shift at the store, the morning rush has finally died down. Mrs. Peplinska asked me to tidy up the cereal aisle in the stockroom—rotating stock, facing the boxes neatly, making sure the new shipments of organic granola and kids’ sugary loops are properly displayed.

It’s mindless work, exactly what I need right now.

My butt is still deliciously sore from Mason’s firm hand in his truck, a warm, stinging reminder with every step I take.

I’m humming an upbeat little pop tune under my breath as I lift a heavy box of cornflakes onto the middle shelf, wiggling my hips just a tiny bit to the melody. The sting flares hotter when I move, but instead of annoying me, it sends little sparks of heat straight between my legs.

Every time I shift my weight, I feel the ghost of Mason’s big palm coming down—smack, smack, smack—and the way he held me so securely over his lap. I bite my lip and keep humming, cheeks warm.

The stockroom door creaks open behind me.

I turn, expecting Mrs. Peplinska with another instruction…

OMG. It’s Mason.

He fills the doorway, still in his post-gym clothes, looking even bigger and more commanding in the dim overhead lighting of the stockroom. My heart does a happy little flip. A bright smile spreads across my face before I can stop it.

“What are you doing here?” I whisper, half-laughing, half-shocked. “I’m working!”

Mason doesn’t answer right away. He carefully pushes the door shut behind him, the soft click of the latch sounding impossibly loud in the quiet room. Then he walks toward me with slow, deliberate steps, one big hand tucked in his pocket. When he pulls it out, I see a stick of cooling cream, a white tube with a green label, the kind athletes use after hard sessions.