Free Blue Light of Home by Robin Smith

cheek—and was done with the second before she could even process the sting of the first. Then he waited, letting her nerves wake up, letting her anticipation build, letting her remember what these really felt like. Her buttocks clenched…and slowly relaxed. Immediately, his palm cracked down in a volley of rapid-fire slaps, each one sufficient to send her hips bucking up against the table.
    She couldn’t stay quiet for these and couldn’t hold completely still, but he simply stopped and waited until her gasping, “Ow-ow-ow!” refrains and squirming hops had run their course. He didn’t chide her, didn’t order her into position. She was the one who was supposed to be sorry. She gripped the table with even greater determination, braced her feet as far apart as her bundled jeans would allow, and forced her bottom to relax.
    He continued at once, not as fast as before, giving her a good two seconds between each smack and making sure he overlaid every tingling inch of his target with fresh prickling heat. As thorough as he was, Skye knew he wasn’t swinging as hard as he could. Hard enough, for sure—with each progressive smack, it was harder not to let go of the table and reach back to ward off these deliberate blows—but not as hard as he could.
    It occurred to her then, grimacing and gasping as his hand poured careful fire over her exposed and helpless self, that Vala really was an excellent judge of punishment, even if he wasn’t that great with people. He never meted out more discipline than fit the crime, as he perceived it anyway, and he thought this one was pretty small potatoes. That said, he understood also that she was sorry, and he let her know it in a way she could feel, a way she could be proud of, and now they could go on, hopefully a little better than before.
    Unexpectedly, the thought came to her that she hoped he’d keep her for her ‘services’ when the spanking part was over. Silly thought, because he called for her almost every night. Sillier, because…because…well, she didn’t know why, but it was.
    Vala stopped, waited an interminable ten seconds while she struggled to control her tics and quivers, and then gave her a final two whacks just as he’d begun—right cheek, left cheek. His hand, a hand as hot as her bottom was, and for the same reason, came up to pat her shoulder. “You could,” he began, and then paused and amended, “ We could both serve each other better.”
    She nodded, her head still bent, breathing, just breathing.
    His hand squeezed once, went away, and came back low to brush across the flames of her bottom. Right cheek…left cheek. “I wish I had more to give you,” he remarked, very lightly rubbing his scaled palm over her. “I’ve never known a woman who tried harder to please me.”
    She managed a short, strained laugh that became an indrawn gasp as his fingers slipped between her thighs. He stroked there too.
    “Do you need time to recover?” he asked, his hand easing back and forth.
    “No,” she said, and blushed at how quickly she’d said it.
    “Good.” The hand withdrew and she heard the heavy creak and rustle as he unfastened his armored pants. He didn’t need her to make him ready tonight; she didn’t need any extra treatment either, it would seem. Her groan as he entered her had nothing to do with pain. In a tight voice, he growled, “You serve me very well in most respects.”
    He timed his thrusts with excruciating care, making her feel everything. Slow and steady, he claimed and reclaimed her, pausing now and then to grind against her burning bottom, stoking those flames high and driving them inside her to ignite in whole new ways. Shuddering, Skye closed her eyes and let it happen, let her breath align to the torturously unhurried rhythm he set. The table…she let go at last, reached one hand back, and pulled at his thigh.
    He grunted laughter, his claws flexing lightly at her waist. “Do not presume to command my actions, woman. I