Sadie's Little Christmas - Maren Smith Page 0,21

have to be weird? Why did he have to be a Daddy Dom? Why couldn’t he just be into doing all the delicious, naughty things her unruly body craved so desperately?

Diapers? Binky gags? Seriously, why was she this aroused?

Her pussy ached with emptiness and need. She felt scrubbed raw by the constant pressure of it. The wetness had completely soaked her panties by now. How was she supposed to hide that? When he came back here—diaper, binky, and god alone knew what else—he was going to make her take her clothes off. He would know how wet she was, how naughty her thoughts had turned…

She had to get a handle on this, but all she could think about was Derek holding out his hand expectantly, giving her no choice but to take her underwear off and lay them guiltily in his palm. She was so, so ready for him to give her that grim order to turn around, place her hands flat on the mirror, and push her bottom out to him.

As tender as she was, the spanking wouldn’t have to be hard to be effective. It would hurt—she caught her bottom lip between her teeth, only barely smothering her moan. Yeah, it would hurt, but she could take it. He would give her no choice but to take it—her hands stole up under her uniform skirt, and she gulped back a too-loud gasp as she touched herself—as long and as hard as he wanted to give it. With his hand. Maybe his belt. Yes, she was a bad girl, and bad girls deserved to get their naughty bare bottoms spanked long and hard with Daddy’s—the… the, damnit, not Daddy’s—belt.

God, she had to get this under control. Bending far enough to touch her forehead to the mirror, she closed her eyes, helpless to do anything but work herself down off this knife’s edge so she could function. So she could tell ‘Daddy’ Derek in no uncertain terms, she was not into being any younger than she already was. Spankings not diapers, bondage not let’s-pretend school or nurseries, or Nanny’s, or Daddies—she mewed, arching sharply, tiny thrilling bursts of pleasure rocketing out from under her busy fingertips and all through her. Her thighs shook from the force of it. Her whole body shook and shook until she just couldn’t anymore.

She wilted against the mirror, panting softly, her shaking dissolving into trembling and only the occasional latent spasm of pleasure low down in her belly.

“Did Daddy say you could come?”

Sadie whipped around, her heart leaping straight into her throat to find Derek standing in the open doorway, a paper sack with the Ranch’s logo tucked up under his arm. She tripped on her own feet, her hand hitting the side wall of the dressing room as she collapsed in a graceless heap on the bench.

Caught.

Damn it.

From the half-smug, half-stern look on Derek’s face, he knew exactly what he’d seen.

Snapping her legs together, she shoved off the bench until she was standing, breathing slightly harder than normal, blushing furiously, roasting in the juices of her own embarrassment. She opened her mouth, but nothing came out—no insistent refusal that she wasn’t a Little and wasn’t going to wear anything as mortifying as a diaper.

“I-I-I…” she stammered.

A corner of his beautiful mouth curled.

“You’re not a little girl?” he asked, completing the sentence she just couldn’t make herself finish on her own.

She shook her head.

That glint of smugness only grew stronger in his steady gaze as he held out his hand, palm up, waiting without a word for her to put her panties into them—just as she’d imagined he would.

Her whole body shuddered to the spasms that fluttered through her pussy hard enough to be another orgasm all on its own.

“Right now,” he said, beckoning, and just like that, she was right back on the knife’s edge of arousal so strong, she could feel it cutting into her.

Having to reach up under her skirt right there in front of him was an oven’s degree hotter and miles more embarrassing than her fantasies were capable of conjuring. She peeled her underwear down her legs and stepped out of them, wadding them up in a tight ball before handing them to him, as if that might hide her shame.

He promptly shook them out, turning the gusset outward to expose the telltale wetness. He looked at her, his knowing glare censuring her in a way that made the burning, twitching, neediness in her pussy that much needier. She ached.