Page 9 of Daddy’s Naughty Bartender (Naughty Girls Book Club #5)

"Five days," he says, punctuating it with another swat.

"Five days of you telling me you were fine while falling apart.

" As he talks, he continues to swat me, hard. My bottom is warming up and it’s quickly becoming uncomfortable.

Who knew that at forty-two years old, a spanking could hurt this much?

"I didn't want to worry you."

"Not your call." More swats, harder. "When you're mine, your wellbeing is my concern. Your struggles are my business. Your needs are my priority."

"But your work—" He interrupts me by reaching around, unbuttoning my pants and pulling them, and my underwear straight down to my knees. I don’t have time to react before his hand returns, this time to my bare ass. The swats are hard, punishing and I cry out.

“Please! It hurts!”

“It’s supposed to hurt, Karen. It wouldn’t be a good deterrence if it tickled. Do you need to use your safe word?”

Do I? The spanking hurts. I mean, it really hurts. The burn is building and building. I feel like my ass is on fire. Did I need to use my safe word? No. Not at all. I know physically I could take more and emotionally? Emotionally? I recognize, I need this.

“No.” He resumes slapping my ass with his large hand, moving his aim lower to my sit spot and top of my thighs. I almost instantly regret saying no. Holy hell.

"My job will never be more important than you." The conviction in his voice breaks something open in me. "Never. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"Yes, what?"

"Yes, Daddy." The title falls from my lips naturally, and I feel him pause. I’ve typed it in text several times but I’ve never said it out loud before.

"Say that again."

"Yes, Daddy."

"Good girl." His hand rubs soothing circles where he'd swatted. "My good, sweet girl. Almost done."

Three more swats, each one releasing more of the tension I've been carrying. By the last one, I'm crying, not from pain but from relief. From being seen, held accountable, cared for in this profound way.

"All done." He helps me stand, pulls up my pants and gathers me into his arms. "You did so well. So brave. So good for me."

I sob into his chest, clinging to him as he strokes my hair and murmurs praise. When the tears finally slow, he tilts my chin up.

"No more lying to me. No more pretending you're fine when you're not. No more self-neglect. Understood?"

"Yes, Daddy."

"That's my girl." He kisses my forehead. "Now, is Josh home? Can we go back to your place or should we go to my house?”

“Your house?”

“I signed a short-term rental agreement for a house here in town, month by month. It's fully furnished.”

“Let's go there.” Not because I’m hiding anything from my eighteen-year-old son, but because it would be more private and less complicated for the time being. Josh is used to me staying out late at the bar.

“You're going to eat something, drink water, and sleep for at least eight hours, and tomorrow you are taking the day off."

"The bar?—"

"Has Susie and will survive without you. I’d already arranged it with her when I’d planned on surprising you tomorrow." He grabs my purse, keeping one arm around me. "I'm driving. Your car can stay here."

"Bossy."

"You have no idea." In the better light of the hallway, I can see how exhausted he looks. He continues, "did you know I've been awake for thirty-six hours? Trying to wrap up that disaster so I could get back to you?"

Guilt swamps me. "Jason…I…"

"The only thing that kept me going was knowing I'd see you tomorrow. Imagine how I felt finding you passed out on your desk, in what I am assuming yesterday's clothes, literally making yourself sick with neglect."

"I'm sorry."

"I know you are. And once you’ve been spanked, we put it behind us.

I’m not going to make you feel guilty or hold you accountable for anything you’ve already paid the price for.

" He opens the passenger door of his car.

"But, I am also going to put steps into place to make sure it doesn’t happen again.

We're going to work on this. Together. Building better habits, better communication, better trust."

"Why?" The question escapes before I can stop it. "Why do you care so much? We've known each other for a couple of weeks."

He cups my face again, his eyes serious. "Because in those weeks, you've become essential to me. Because I've been looking for you my whole life without knowing it. Because you're mine, Karen Mitchell, whether you're ready to admit it or not."

"That's crazy."

"Probably." He smiles, soft and sure. "But it's also true. Now get in the car. Let me take care of you."

I get in the car. Let him drive me to his rental. Let him make me a sandwich and watch me eat every bite. Let him run a bath and wash my hair with gentle hands. Let him tuck me into bed like I'm precious.

"Stay," I whisper as he turns to go to the spare bedroom for the night.

"You need sleep."

"I need you more."

He studies me for a long moment, then kicks off his shoes and slides in beside me, fully clothed. I curl into him immediately, my head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat.

"I'm sorry I worried you."

"I know." His arms tighten around me. "We'll work on it. Building better patterns. Learning to lean on each other."

"What if I'm too broken? Too set in my ways?"

"Then I'll love you through it." Simple. Certain. "Every stubborn, beautiful, maddening inch of you."

"You love me?"

"Getting there." He presses a kiss to my hair. "Falling more every day. Especially when you call me Daddy and trust me enough to let go."

"I love you too," I whisper into the darkness. "Or I'm getting there. Falling fast."

"I'll catch you," he promises. "Always."

And wrapped in his arms, sore in the best way, cared for down to my bones, I believe him. For the first time in five years, I sleep through the night.