Page 45 of Carter

The sound of heavy footsteps makes my muscles tense.

He’s here. And he’s huge.

He stands before me. His arms cross over his chest. His biceps bulge. His left brow goes up, up, up as he stares at me.

My gaze drifts down to my hands in my lap.

“Baby girl. You’ve been lying to me.”

A flush warms my chest, creeping up to my cheeks.

“Judging by the evidence in the trash, you’ve been lying to me for quite some time.”

I bite my bottom lip. My hand goes to my hair, tugging.

He says, “Look at me.”

My eyes slowly turn upward, meeting his gaze. He says, “It looks like you’ve been lying long enough to have earned yourself a good strapping.”

My nipples tighten beneath my bra. My ass cheeks clench beneath me. He comes closer, looming over me. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

I feel small. No longer thinking I could kick Bachman ass. “Carter, I told you… I’m a bad cook.”

“Yes, you are. But you get better by practicing. Not lying and sneaking.”

I don’t look at him.

His hand cups my chin, his grip warm and firm, forcing me to meet his gaze. “Tell me, Sasha. Have you been bad?”

I hate when he makes me say it. “Yes. I have. I need… to be punished.”

“Then the only question now, is should you be strapped over the bed? Or over your naughty pony. With your ass facing the window?”

The naughty pony.

Just the words make my tummy drop.

I say, “Carter. I think I’d like to give cooking another try. What do you say we mosey downstairs and I’ll cook us up something twice as nice as the café⁠—”

He almost smiles. Almost. Instead, he says, “Get yourself over to the window.”

I stand, dragging my feet as I go. White heat flushes my face. I peek out the window. Luckily it’s late and I don’t see anyone on the street. Unfortunately, that doesn’t mean they might not see me from their bedroom windows. I hold in a sigh.

The naughty pony is a miniature pommel horse, like those used in gymnastics. Carter has adjusted it so that it’s the perfect height for me to stand in front of it, bend over it, and have my ass strapped.

The dark sky through the windows is to my right. Carter, to my left. Waiting with his arms crossed. The strap now dangles from his right hand.

I give him a long look. His jaw clenches. I unbutton my pants, shimmy them over my hips. Pull them down until they are just at my mid-thigh. I leave my panties in place. Gone are my daily thongs—a thing of the past. I just have a handful of them left and I’m only to wear them if I’m in workout gear. Carter has filled my drawers with stacks of colorful bikini briefs. Not a single one black. Pink with flowers and a little bow on the front is what I wear now.

I allow myself one more sigh, then I bend over the smooth leather of the pony. My shirt rides up and my bare skin presses against the bench. My head and arms hang over, my long ponytail almost touching the floor.

I wait.

His hand is on my bottom, smoothing over my cotton panties. My nipples are taut. His fingertip lightly traces the dip between the cheeks of my ass. Goosebumps rise on my bare thighs. I give a shiver.

His hand pats my bottom lightly as he lectures. “You were a bad girl. A very bad girl. And what do I have to do when you’re bad?”

I wince, preparing myself to say the words. “Spank my bottom.”