"You've got the sexiest pout, princess"
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And now for a sexy snippet from Candi's Debt.
He grabs my chin and forces me to look at him. He stares at me so long I’m sure he’s read the answer off my face. “You’re an infuriating pain in my ass. But you’ve got the sexiest pout, princess.”
“No, I don’t,” I say putting extra pout into it. I don’t even mind that he called me princess. Hell if it isn’t growing on me a little. I’m pretty sure this is the first time he’s ever really complimented me—and it’s the worst most backhanded compliment ever—but it’s still warming me inside out. I’m gleaning intense satisfaction from the fact he may hate me but he’s attracted to me.
“Yes, you do. And I’m going to enjoy watching you pout in the corner with your sore bottom sticking out.”
I pull at his arms he has around my hips.
He just grabs my ass and pulls me into his hard body. “That’s enough fighting for one night, young lady. You knew you were going to be in trouble the second you called me. Yet, here we are. You still called me. Out of everyone you could have called, you called me.”
The starch is officially out of my britches. He’s right. I know he’s right. That doesn’t mean I have to be happy about it.
“Well,” he starts, pulling me around to face him.“Are you going to take your punishment like a good girl, or am I going to have to tie you down?”
He’s giving me a challenging look. I’m pretty sure he likes the prospect of tying me down. I’m not completely unmoved by the idea. But, no. No. That would be worse, much worse.
The fluttering of butterflies in my stomach I had on the entire ride here are back. That doesn’t stop me from shooting him a haughty look of my own and lift my skirt as I bend over the end of the bed. If my legs slightly tremble it’s because it’s chilly in here. It’s on the tip of my tongue to say, “do your worst,” but really why tempt fate…
Bravado, I’m all bravado.
I squeak and give myself away when he reaches under my skirt and pulls my hot pink, lacy panties down to mid-thigh. I look back at him and it’s a mistake. He looks hugely imposing towering over me. My stomach drops down to somewhere in the vicinity of my curling toes.
“I-I’m wearing a thong. Why are you pulling down my panties?” My voice is so breathy when I ask I sound like I’m doing a bad impression of Marilyn Monroe.
He raises a brow and his mouth kicks up in a half grin, but he’s not looking at me, or at least not my face. I feel the place he’s staring at heat and I move to close my legs, but he stops me with a hand. “Your panties are down so that daddy can have a full view of your sweet pussy,” he says, his voice a low rumble.
I’m not sure what’s more messed up, the fact that he refers to himself as daddy or the fact that when he says it—every time he says it—new moisture floods my bits with tingles of awareness.
Crouching down behind me he grabs my ankles and moves my feet even further apart. “And your panties are going to stay around your thighs so you remember just how exposed you are to me.”
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