Zac pulls out a crumpled packet of cigarettes from the back of his jeans pocket. I should have guessed he was a smoker. He doesn’t smell like one, but I’ve never met anyone yet who works on any kind of construction site who isn’t. Bringing a cigarette to his lips, he lights it, puffs, and blows the smoke in the other direction from me. I nod appreciatively. He’s considerate.
Although I know it’s unhealthy and bad, and we’re not supposed to think it sexy these days, there’s something about a man who smokes that turns me on. Memories of my granny talking about the Marlboro Man, maybe? But I can’t help myself. This is the perfect opportunity to brat, to test him a little bit, see if he’s a man of his word. Trustworthy.
“Those are bad for you, you know,” I tell him helpfully. At least, I think it sounds helpful. Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe it just sounds sassy.
He turns to me, one eyebrow raised. “What?”
“Cigarettes,” I clarify. “They’re bad for you. Demolish your lungs, they will.” I walk towards him, stopping so close, the lit end of his cigarette nearly goes up my nose. I rip it from his lips, throw it on the ground, and crush it beneath my heel.
I think he’s too shocked to respond because he just stands there and lets me do it, not making any attempt to stop me or rescue his now-destroyed smoke. It’s easy to reach behind him and pull the entire packet out of his back pocket. I deftly extract one, then tuck the remainder of the pocket down the front of my shirt, inside my bra. Boldly meeting his gaze, I hold the cigarette up in front of his face and snap it in half, silently daring him to stop me.
“I’ll demolish your ass if you keep that up, little girl,” he threatens, but I wave him away.
“Pfft. I’d like to see you try.”
There goes that eyebrow, shooting upwards. Any higher and it would get lost in his hair. My insides squirm, and my pussy clenches with need.
“You don’t think I can?”
“Oh, I think you can, but I don’t think you will.”
“Try me.”
My heart pounds as he fixes me with a challenging stare, just daring me to test him.
So I do.
Reaching inside my shirt, without pulling out the whole box, I grab another cigarette between my fingers and wave it in his face for a fraction of a second before I snap it into three pieces. I stare into his eyes the whole time, and what I see there gives me the courage to continue. He’s not angry. Not even a little bit. His eyes are dancing, not with outrage but amusement. Laughter. He’s enjoying this as much as I am, but he’s clearly not ready to spank me yet, so my work isn’t quite finished.
“Are you done now, little girl?” he asks in that deep, growly voice.
“Nope, don’t think I am yet.” Without breaking our gaze, I reach back inside my shirt again and pull out a third cigarette, wave it in front of him, and snap it, then giggle.
“You, little girl, are a brat.”
I grin up at him.
“What do brats get, little girl?”
“Not ice cream.” I pout sadly, really getting into my role of a bratty little girl. I’m totally enjoying myself and can’t wait to see where this goes.
“Definitely not ice cream, little girl.” Zac shakes his head, his faux-sad expression mirroring my own. He puts a finger under my chin, lifting my gaze higher. “I think you know what brats get, don’t you, little girl?”
I nod solemnly as best I can, with his finger under my chin.
“Yes, Daddy,” I whisper.
“What do they get, little girl?”
I suck in a breath, not even sure I can say the words. Not with my racing pulse racing, my clammy hands, my clenching pussy, and my tummy turning flips.
“I’m waiting, little girl,” he tells me sternly.
“They get spanked, Daddy.”
“Yes, little girl, brats get spanked.” Zac’s finger brushes over my mouth, making my lips tingle. “Is that what you want? A spanking? Do you want Daddy to set your bottom on fire?”
“Maybe,” I breathe.
“You deserve a spanking, don’t you?” he scolds. “You ruined four of my cigarettes. That deserves a big spanking, I think.”
“Just a little one, Daddy.” I shake my head, nerves ripping through me. “Not a big one.” This is getting real. Exciting. Scary.
“You don’t decide the terms of your punishment, little girl.”
My body tenses up. I don’t know why because there’s nothing even remotely threatening about Zac right now, his sternness is all an act, but the scars run deep.
He’s not Ian.
Willing my body to relax, I inhale deeply.
He’s not Ian. He’s safe.
Everything in me knows he is.
I’m okay now, but the spell is broken. Zac lets me go and takes a step back. Not too far, but enough, so he’s not crowding me, giving me space.
“We’re not going to do this if it’s not what you want,” he assures me softly.
I shake my head. “Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize. You’re allowed to not want it.” He sounds disappointed but accepting. He was obviously enjoying our playful little scene as much as I was.
Then you had to go and ruin it!
“I did, though.” I shake my head again, frustrated he doesn’t understand me. “I do. I do want it, but I’ve just come out of a really bad relationship, and I freaked out for a moment. I’m okay now.”
If Zac’s smile could be any more tender, I’d melt. He strokes my hair, and his gentle touch is electrifying.
“It’s okay. You’re allowed to change your mind.”
“I haven’t changed my mind. That was just a bump in the road, but I’m over it now. I promise. I’m ready for my punishment now, Daddy.” To prove my point, I reach back into my pocket again and fish out one more cigarette. There can’t be too many more left in the packet. I’ll have to buy him a new pack tomorrow to make up for my vandalism.
Before I can snap it, he grabs my wrist, takes the cigarette from me, and smacks the back of my hand crisply, leaving behind a slight sting.
“Good girls don’t destroy other people’s things,” he scolds. “Only naughty girls do that, and naughty girls get punished. How do brats get punished, little girl?”
“They get spanked, Daddy. They get spanked hard.”
“That’s right. Daddy makes their bottoms red and sore. Is that what you want, little girl?”
I hesitate for just a moment. Close my eyes. Swallow hard. Then I open my eyes and trail my fingers up his torso, feeling the hard muscles beneath his shirt. My gaze follows my fingers, then continues upward to meet his dark eyes. There is no doubt in my mind that I want this.
“Yes, Daddy.”
He leads me over to the truck and pats the back. “Bend over here,” he commands.
I do as he bids, stretching my torso over the tailgate.
“Take down your jeans.” His voice is husky with arousal. “Underwear, too. I want that bottom bare.”
