Even Deeper (7 page)

Did I say I dressed for Paris?

What I meant was that I dressed for Jack. And while the club scene had been unreal to me, like a waking dream, what I needed from Jack was…was the way he treated me now, his grip viselike on my wrist as he led me back to the bed.

“Clever girl,” he said, noting the garters. Easier to deal with than pantyhose. Easier to ignore, anyway. He pulled me over his lap and flipped up the short pleated skirt. His hand rested naturally on the rear of those silky knickers, and I sucked in my breath. Waiting.

Oh, yes, I wanted this. Jack’s hand on my panty-clad bum. Jack spanking me with his firm palm, then sliding those panties down my thighs and letting me feel his flesh on mine. But he didn’t do what I wanted. He didn’t fulfill my need. He only sat there, with me over his lap, and his hand so heavy on my upturned ass.

He made me wait, until I felt ridiculous in that pose, felt myself dying to squirm, to arch, to beg with my body, or maybe with my voice.

But I knew better than that. I'd been well trained by now.

Jack stroked my ass with his fingers, touching me softly, driving me wild with desire. And yet, he didn’t give in. He didn’t take pity on me in the slightest.

“You’ve got a choice,” he said finally.

“Yes, Jack.” My voice hoarse.

“I can spank you now, exactly how you want. Exactly how you crave.”

Oh, those words. What they did to me. And still I managed to respond: “Yes, Jack.”

“But then I will punish you in public sometime today. I won’t tell you where or when. I won't give you any warning.”

Had I been feeling tough only moments before? Now, I held my breath, waiting. Because I could tell there was more.

“Or you can wait until tonight. And I’ll let you slide today.”

Those were my choices? I wanted him to spank me, and it seemed like a no-brainer. And yet… I didn’t know where we were going. What if he chose to punish me at the Louvre? Or in some public gardens, where everyone could watch? What if he chose to pull off his belt at the top of the Eiffel tower? What was Jack thinking?

I felt his hand on me, petting me. So soft.

I hated soft.

“What will it be, Sam?” Jack crooned. “What do you need?”

What did I need?

That was simple.

“Take them down, Jack,” I whispered. “Take them down.”

Called a “Trollop with a Laptop” by East Bay Express, a “Literary Siren” by Good Vibrations, and “hot and honest” by Publishers Weekly, Alison Tyler has made being naughty a full-time job. Her sultry short stories have appeared in more than 100 anthologies. She is the editor of more than 75 erotic anthologies, including
Kiss My Ass
,
Smart Ass
, and
Bad Ass.
Her 25 novels include
Tiffany Twisted
,
Melt With You
, and
Something About Workmen
.

Ms. Tyler is loyal to coffee (black), lipstick (red), and tequila (straight). She has tattoos, but no piercings; a wicked tongue, but a quick smile; and bittersweet memories, but no regrets. She believes the rain won’t fall if she doesn’t bring an umbrella, prefers hot and dry to cold and wet, and loves to spout her favorite motto: “You can sleep when you’re dead.” She chooses Led Zeppelin over the Beatles, the Cure over the Smiths, and the Stones over everyone—yet although she appreciates good rock, she has a pitiful weakness for ’80s hair bands.

In all things important, she remains faithful to her husband of twenty years, but she still can’t choose just one perfume.

Find her on the web at
www.alisontyler.com
and on twitter: @alisontyler