Page 28 of Wings (Heavy Kings MC #5)

She whimpered at that, thighs pressing together hard enough that I could feel the muscle tension through my legs. The thin pajama pants did nothing to hide how affected she was. How wet. The knowledge shot through me like lightning, threatening my control.

This wasn't what I'd planned. The spanking was supposed to be discipline, a necessary consequence to reinforce our most important rule. But my baby girl had found something else in it—surrender so complete it had transformed pain into pleasure, punishment into connection.

My next touch was deliberately different. Instead of raising my hand for another swat, I smoothed it over the curve of her ass, feeling the warmth through fabric. She made a broken sound, hips lifting to follow my palm.

"Please," she whispered into the comforter.

"Please what, baby girl?" I kept my touch light, teasing. "Use your words."

"Don't know," she gasped. "Just—more. Need more."

I delivered another swat, but lighter, more sound than sting. She moaned outright this time, no longer trying to muffle the noise. Her whole body had gone liquid over my lap, defenses completely dissolved.

"Such a good girl," I praised, voice dropping into that register that made her shiver. "Learning your lesson so well. Never going to lie to Daddy again, are you?"

"Never," she promised breathlessly. "Never, never. Please—"

Another light swat, just enough to maintain the rhythm she was chasing. "Please what? Tell Daddy what you need."

"Touch me," she begged, past shame now. "Really touch me. I'm so—Daddy, please."

My hand stilled on her ass, feeling the heat radiate through my palm. "The spanking isn't finished, baby girl. You were a naughty girl who lied to Daddy. Naughty girls get their bottoms warmed properly."

The words were meant to maintain the discipline framework, but they came out rough with my own arousal. She responded like I'd lit a fuse, grinding down against my thighs with a desperate sound.

"Yes," she gasped. "I was naughty. So naughty. Punish me, Daddy. Make me good again."

Christ. She was going to kill me. My perfect, sweet baby girl grinding on my lap, begging for punishment that had transformed into something else entirely. The room felt too hot, too small, charged with electricity that sparked between us.

I raised my hand again, bringing it down in a pattern that was more rhythm than discipline now. She met each contact eagerly, soft flesh warming under my attention. The sounds she made—God, the sounds. Little mews and gasps and broken pleas that went straight to my cock.

"That's it," I encouraged, letting my other hand trail up her spine. "Take it for Daddy. Show me how sorry you are."

"So sorry," she babbled, hips working in small circles now. "So sorry I lied. Never again. Promise, promise—ah!"

The last swat had been firmer, catching her by surprise. But instead of stilling, she pushed back harder, chasing the sensation. Her thighs had fallen open as much as the position allowed, and I could smell her arousal now—sweet and needy and absolutely intoxicating.

"I know what you need," I growled, hand coming down again. "Need Daddy to take care of you. Need to be reminded who you belong to."

"Yours," she cried out. "Yours, yours, yours."

The confession broke something in both of us. My hand was moving faster now, swats blending into caresses, discipline completely transformed into erotic play. She was soaking through her pajamas—I could feel the dampness against my thigh where she ground down.

"Such a good girl," I praised, voice wrecked. "Taking your spanking so well. Learning your lesson. Never going to hide from Daddy again."

"Never," she agreed desperately. "Please, I need—can I—"

"Not yet," I commanded, even as my hand gentled further. "Punishment first. Then Daddy will take care of his needy baby girl."

She sobbed at that, but it was all arousal now. Pure need coursing through her body, turning every light swat into electric sensation. I watched her face in profile—cheeks flushed, lips parted, eyes squeezed shut in concentration. Beautiful. Mine.

The boundary between punishment and pleasure had completely dissolved. Each touch of my hand made her whole body sing, arch, seek. She was coming apart over my lap, and we hadn't even really touched yet. Just the spanking, just the dynamic of discipline and surrender, had brought her to this edge.

"Please," she whispered again, barely audible. "Please, Daddy. I learned my lesson. I'll be good. I'll always tell you the truth. Please—"

I delivered one final swat, firmer than the recent ones, and she keened—a high, desperate sound that told me everything. She was right there, balanced on the edge, held back only by the lack of permission. My good girl, waiting for Daddy's word even in her desperation.

The discipline had definitely served its purpose. Message received, lesson learned. Now there was just need—hers and mine, twining together until I couldn't tell where one ended and the other began.

"All done," I said roughly, both hands now soothing over her heated flesh. "You took your punishment perfectly. Such a good, brave girl for Daddy."

She shuddered at the praise, at the confirmation that the discipline was over. But I could feel the tension in her, the need still coiled tight. Punishment might be finished, but we weren't. Not by a long shot.

"Up," I commanded softly. "Let Daddy see his girl."

She stood on shaking legs, and the sight of her nearly broke my control entirely. Hair wild around her flushed face, eyes glazed with need, the front of her pajama pants visibly damp.

"Daddy," she breathed, swaying toward me like I was her gravity.

I caught her against my chest, feeling how she trembled. Not from fear or pain—from pure, desperate want. The kind that had been building since that first swat, transforming discipline into foreplay we'd both been helpless to resist.

"I've got you," I growled, then lifted her clean off her feet.

She gasped, arms flying around my neck, legs wrapping around my waist instinctively. The position pressed her hot core against my abdomen, and she moaned at the contact, grinding down with zero shame. My hands cupped her ass to support her, feeling the warmth I'd created there.

The few steps to the bed felt like miles. Each movement made her rock against me, little desperate sounds escaping with every bit of friction. By the time I lowered her onto the butterfly comforter, we were both past the point of slow or gentle.

"Please," she begged, hands already pulling at my shirt. "Need you. Need you so bad."

I yanked the shirt over my head, tossing it aside. Her hands immediately found my chest, nails dragging down in a way that made me hiss. While she explored, I worked at her pajama top, fighting with buttons that seemed determined to test what was left of my patience.

"Rip it," she demanded. "Don't care. Just—off."

I did, buttons scattering across the floor with soft clicks.

Worth it for the way she arched up, presenting perfect breasts in a pale yellow bra that matched the panties I'd chosen this morning.

The same panties that were absolutely ruined now, soaked through with evidence of how the spanking had affected her.

"Fuck," I breathed, taking her in. "Look at you."

She whimpered, trying to pull me down. "Please, Daddy. Been good. Took my punishment. Please—"

I kissed her to stop the begging that was shredding my control. She opened immediately, tongue meeting mine with desperate hunger. Her hands couldn't stay still—in my hair, down my back, fumbling with my belt. When she palmed my cock through my jeans, I nearly lost it right there.

"Easy, baby girl," I managed, catching her wrist. "Daddy's got you. Going to take such good care of you."

I trailed kisses down her throat, pausing at the collar. My collar. My mark. The silver butterfly that told the world she was mine to protect, mine to punish, mine to pleasure. I pressed my lips to it reverently before continuing down.

Her bra disappeared—I honestly didn't remember removing it, too focused on getting my mouth on her. She cried out when I sucked one nipple into my mouth, back bowing off the bed. So sensitive, so responsive. Every touch seemed to light her up from inside.

"These too," I growled against her skin, hooking fingers in her pajama pants. "Off."

She lifted her hips eagerly, helping me strip her. The yellow panties were absolutely drenched, clinging to her. When I peeled them away, she was bare and glistening and Christ, the scent of her—

"Beautiful," I said roughly. "My beautiful, perfect girl. So wet for Daddy."

"From the spanking," she confessed breathlessly. "Got so—when you were—God, I'm sorry, I know it was supposed to be punishment but—"

"Shh." I kissed her hip bone, her inner thigh, everywhere but where she needed. "Nothing to apologize for. You took what Daddy gave you and made it yours. Such a good girl."

She keened when my mouth finally found her, back arching completely off the bed.

I had to hold her hips down as I worked, her body trying to chase more contact, more pressure, more everything.

She was already so close—had been since the spanking ended—that it only took minutes before she was shaking apart.

"That's one," I said against her sensitive flesh, making her whimper. "But we're not done. Not even close."

My own clothes disappeared in record time. When I covered her body with mine, skin to skin, we both groaned at the contact. She felt like fire beneath me—all that cool control burned away, leaving pure need.

"Please," she whispered against my mouth. "Need you inside. Need to feel—"

I pushed in slow, watching her face. The way her mouth fell open, eyes fluttering shut, fingers digging into my shoulders. She was impossibly tight, impossibly wet, impossibly perfect. When I bottomed out, we both stopped breathing.

"Daddy," she gasped when I started to move. "Oh God, Daddy—"