...He knew he was treading on dangerous ground, but for the life of him, he couldn’t think of anything he’d rather do than spank the redhead’s bottom. And, unless he missed his guess, she wanted him to do so.

He grabbed her hand. “C’mon, honey, I know a place.”

Her reluctance pulled against him with every step, but he was committed. She might quit, she might even sue him or press charges with the sheriff, but he no longer cared.

Probably because he suspected she wouldn’t do any of those things.

“The tack room?” Her voice squeaked like a rusty hinge. “What are we doing in here?”

“We’re going to take down your drawers and spank you for what you tried to pull. First, because you didn’t even consider asking me about keeping your horse here, and that bothers me. Second, because I can’t let you get away with attempted deception. Third, because you want me to do it as much as I want to do it.”

Her lower lip trembled, but she squared her shoulders, turned away from him, and unzipped her jeans, pushing them to her knees.

“Not good enough. Take them off.”

He watched her remove her boots and kick off the denim. Standing in thong panties and socks, she said, “Now what?”

Yeah, now what?

He grinned as the idea formed.

“See that saddle over there? Climb on and put your feet in the stirrups. That’s right, stand in them. Good. Now, bend over, grip the horn, and hang on for dear life.”

He thought he heard a sob, but she complied, rump in the air, face pressed against her forearms, legs stiffly straight. He trailed his fingers across her sitting area and was rewarded with goose bumps.

“Go on,” she muttered. “Do it.”

“You that eager to have your hindquarters strapped?”

That got her attention. “Strapped? As in, your using leather on my—?”

“Yep. Got the perfect strap right here.” Hefting the thick, supple leather, he took a few practice swings. “Notice how it whistles when I move it.”

He heard another sob-like sound. “You ready?” he asked.

She said nothing, so he handled the length of leather like a whip, landing the tip square in the middle of her right buttock. An angry pink mark appeared a split-second before her hand clasped the area.

“Damn it!” she wailed.

He smiled, his cock a chunk of wood in his pants. “Move your hand. Or do you want me to tie you down?”

God damn, but it stung. Her right cheek felt as if she’d sat on a large hornet. With a noticeable lack of enthusiasm, she removed her hand, all the while bracing herself for the next snap of the leather.

The tip bit her left cheek where her thigh and bottom merged. The burn made her eyes water, and she clamped down one hand with the other to keep from reaching back to soothe her flesh. Not to mention that it was becoming harder to remain balanced in the stirrups, her ass naked and vulnerable and hurting.

“I want to hear an apology,” he said.

She opened her mouth to provide one, only a small shriek came out instead. A wide stripe of heat had seared both cheeks. “Damn!”

“Which do you like better—the tip nipping you hard in one spot, or the sting spread across the surface of both cheeks? Oh, and I still haven’t heard an apology.”

“I’m sorry. I should have asked you, I see that now—owee!” This time, she couldn’t help herself. Both hands flew to her backside as she moaned. “I really am sorry, please, please believe me. How many more will I get?”

She hated that on the word “get” her voice quavered.

“Oh, I dunno, maybe another twenty?”