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  "Tell me, Brittany, why do you suppose Susan had a hot, stinging backside?"

  She wanted to answer him, but once again her voice failed her. Not only had her heart become a jackhammer, her nipples betrayed her, pressing against the thin cotton of her dress. In a vain attempt at self-protection she crossed her arms.

  "I asked you a question," he said impatiently. "Why do you suppose Susan had a hot, stinging backside?"

  "I, uh, I, uh..."

  "Brittany, if you're not willing to answer I can always call security."

  "No, please don't."

  "For the last time. Why do you suppose Susan had a hot, stinging backside?"

  "Because, uh, she'd done something wrong?"

  "Do you think breaking into my stateroom could be described as doing something wrong?"

  "Yes," she squeaked, trying to control her rising panic.

  "Wouldn't you agree you deserve a hot, stinging behind?"

  His unwavering stare compelled her to answer

  "Uh, yes."

  "Yes, what exactly?"

  "I, uh, deserve a spanking."

  Stepping forward he grabbed her hand, and moving swiftly to the couch, he sat down and yanked her across his lap.

  "Stop! What the hell? Let me go, let me go!"

  "Do you really want to leave?"

  "Of course!"

  "Then you can," he said brusquely, though still holding her firmly. "I won't call security and that will be the end of it. Is that what you want, or do you want to be punished for your disgraceful behavior? Do you want a hot, stinging backside like Susan?"

  Brittany let out a plaintive cry. She wanted to be spanked by him more than she'd wanted anything in her whole life.

  "Do you want me to spank you, Brittany," he pressed, his hand caressing her upturned bottom, "or do you want me to let you go?"

  "S-spank me."

  "You're sure?"

  "Uh, yes," she replied, hating how thin her voice had sounded.

  "Then you must ask."

  "Ask?"

  "I'm waiting."

  "Please will you spank me?"

  "Please will you spank me, Sir."

  "Please will you spank me, Sir," she repeated, her butterflies bursting to life, then softly whimpering, she added, "Oh, God! Is this really happening?"

  "It most certainly is," he replied, slowly lifting her dress and peeling down her knickers.

  "Please don't spank me hard."

  "You're in no position to be making demands."

  Though simultaneously horrified and excited, as his soft caress continued she began to breathe a little easier, but when his palm abruptly landed a flurry of peppery smacks she squirmed in protest.

  "Ow! Stop! Please! That really hurts!"

  "It's supposed to," he growled, not missing a beat. "Behave! Stop that yowling."

  But the rebel in her took hold, and continuing to wriggle and wail she almost toppled off his legs.

  "If you keep making such a fuss I'll be forced to gag you," he warned, pulling her back into position, "and I'll add twenty hard smacks for my trouble. Do I make myself clear?"

  "Twenty? No, please. I'll be good."

  "Your backside will suffer if you're not."

  As he continued the relentless chastisement, she clenched her teeth to keep from crying out, but just as she was about to beg for mercy the spanking miraculously stopped.

  "Thank me for your punishment."

  Though her butt burned and she was filled with swirling emotions, she let out a deep breath and sank into his lap.

  "Thank you for punishing me, Sir."

  "Good, girl."

  Quiet seconds ticked by as he rubbed her scorched skin, then to her delight and surprise his fingertips whispered across her sex. Unable to stop herself, she wriggled, chasing his touch.

  "My goodness, Brittany, are you asking for more?"

  "Yes, please, Sir."

  As he pushed his finger into her slick depths, and pressed his thumb against her engorged clit, she surrendered to the erotic massage. It was only moments later her soft moans filled the room, and she could feel the approach of her orgasm.

  "Please, don't stop. Please, Sir, please let me come."

  "Why should you have such pleasure after sneaking into my cabin?" he replied, withdrawing his hand to tickle her inner thighs. "It seems to me you should be thinking of a way to make that up to me, not asking for your own satisfaction."

  "What do you want me to do, Sir?"

  "Kneel in front of me. Perhaps something might come to mind."

  Crawling awkwardly off his lap and on to her knees, she looked up at him expectantly.

  "Unfasten your dress and let it fall to the floor."

  Slowly pushing the straps of the sundress down her arms, she slid down the side zipper, catching her breath as the loose fabric dropped away, exposing her braless breasts.

  "Aren't you lovely?" he crooned softly, lightly touching a nipple. "Close your eyes."

  The tantalizing play lasted several scintillating minutes, until his hand withdrew and she heard rustling. Suddenly the tip of his cock was at her mouth. Wrapping her fingers around him, she parted her lips, but he grabbed her hair and pulled her back.

  "Beg me."

  "Please Sir, please may I suck you? I'm not just saying that because you told me to," she added fervently. "I really want to."

  "Since you asked so nicely, you may."

  Lowering her head, she gently slid her lips over his shaft. His girth filled her mouth, but as she began sucking with gusto, he clutched her hair and slowed her down. The minutes ticked by, his soft groans growing louder. His grip suddenly tightened, and holding her still he began to pump. His cock swelled, tiny drops of pre-come touched her tongue, and she was sure he was about to burst down her throat, but he stopped and slowly withdrew.

  "Open your eyes, stand up, step away from your dress and take your knickers off."

  Unsteadily rising to her feet and pulling her panties from around her knees, she kicked them off, feeling an awkward embarrassment as she stood naked before him. She wanted to shift her weight, scratch her arm, or lower her hand to cover her full, fuzzy bush, but smiling a wicked smile he abruptly stood up, swept her into his arms, and carried her into the bedroom. As he laid her down and sank his lips on hers, she drifted under his lingering kiss…

  A sharp sound jolted her.

  Her eyes flew open.

  She was sitting in the chair.

  As her door had closed the lock had clicked—waking her up.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Brittany broke into a mischievous grin. Her decision to take the cruise had been based on a fanciful thought: she'd meet a handsome stranger and have a wild shipboard romance. The salacious dream left her more determined than ever to bring the fantasy to life. Ambling to the bathroom, she splashed her face with cold water and stared at her reflection.

  "Maybe I should do what I just imagined. Maybe I should keep my eyes open for that trolley and sneak into his cabin. If I'm lucky I might get caught."

  Giggling at the thought she patted her face dry, applied fresh makeup, and changed into white jeans, an aqua T-shirt, and high-heeled sandals. As she left her cabin and passed Duncan's door, she paused, smiled a naughty smile, then continued on to the elevator, taking it to the lounge offering an all day buffet. Surprised to find the elegant eatery virtually empty, she chose a spicy vegetable dish, poured herself some coffee, and moved to a table against the window. As she settled in and gazed at the ocean, a flash of white caught the corner of her eye. Darting her eyes to the door, she spied Duncan Rhys-Davies dressed in white shorts and shirt, and carrying a leather satchel.

  Her butterflies exploded.

  He was sauntering to a nearby table.

  Telling herself to stay calm, she took a breath and gazed back at the sparkling blue sea, but she couldn't resist a covert glance. The sexy James Bond look-a-like was even more attractive than she remembered. As he placed his bag on a chair a
nd strolled to the buffet to plate a salad, she couldn't take her eyes off him. Suddenly, to her surprise and delight, he turned, smiled, and walked slowly towards her.

  "Care for some company?"

  "Sure," she managed, trying to ignore the butterflies fluttering their frenzied dance.

  Placing his dish on the table, he retrieved his satchel and sat across from her.

  "Did we officially meet?" he asked. "I'm not sure we did. The name's Duncan Rhys-Davies."

  "We did, sort of. Brittany Carter."

  "That looks and smells far more appetizing than my salad."

  "You're welcome to have some."

  "That's very kind of you. I might take you up on that. Are you enjoying the cruise?"

  "It's been very relaxing," she replied, wishing it were true. "I feel so far away from everything out here."

  "That's the whole point for me, getting away. I'm an author. Out here I can focus."

  "An author!" she repeated, her decadent dream and the spicy novel flashing through her head. "What sort of books do you write?"

  Titling his head to the side, a devilish grin crossed his face.

  "Naughty novels. I hope that doesn't make you uncomfortable."

  "No, no," she said hastily. "I wonder if I've read any of your books."

  She wanted to kick herself. Why had she just confessed to reading erotica?

  "So you enjoy steamy romance novels."

  "Doesn't everyone?" she quipped, hoping the remark would disguise her embarrassment.

  "I'm impressed. Most women get flustered when I tell them, or they look at me as if I should be shot."

  "Not me," she lied, thinking she'd never felt so flustered in her life. "I think it's great."

  "I carry a few copies," he said, opening his satchel. "I'm happy to give you one."

  She stared, mesmerized, as he withdrew a novel and placed it in front of her. Wondering if her dream had been a psychic vision and the book would be the one she'd imagined, she studied the cover. A young woman dressed in a low cut dress looked over her shoulder at a man's fingers wrapped around a riding crop. Brittany grinned.

  "It meets with your approval?"

  "The cover is very provocative," she replied, hoping her voice didn't betray her excited nervousness. "Emily's Education. A. S. Cane. Your alias I assume."

  "Does it ring a bell?"

  "I think so, a vague one."

  Lifting her gaze, she studied his warm brown eyes. A shiver rattled down her spine. The man was more than just a sexy hunk. She liked him. She really liked him.

  * * * * * * * * * *

  Duncan found the beautiful young woman confident, witty, and very bright. But he wasn't surprised. He'd been caught off-guard when they'd initially met. Though all she'd said was, thank you, as they'd left the elevator, the soft southern lilt in her voice had captured his imagination, and she'd continued to wander through the corridors of his mind ever since. Being a disciplined soul he'd been able to stay focused on his work and rarely left his cabin, but the few times he'd taken a short break he'd hoped to bump into her. When he'd entered the buffet and spied her at a table by the window, he'd been elated.

  "Thanks for keeping me company," she said, rising to her feet.

  "The pleasure was all mine," he said with a smile, pushing back his chair to stand with her. "I'm sure we'll see each other again soon."

  As she walked away, his eyes fell on her curvaceous backside. Her tight white jeans left little to the imagination. Sitting back down, he took a few minutes to finish his coffee, mostly to give his manhood time to settle, then headed back to his stateroom.

  Though he'd told Brittany he was an author, he hadn't mentioned he was also a barrister, lived in London, but kept his wicked novels private, pursuing his dark desires at a private club. It was his professional success that offered him the luxury of long ocean cruises, where he'd hibernate in his stateroom to write his saucy stories. Though he often indulged in a shipboard dalliance, he'd never met a real life Scarlet Ohara with a maple syrup voice, and reaching his door, he glanced down the hall. He could easily picture her reading his prurient prose.

  His hand slapped her inner thigh—hard. She winced, then uttered an exclamation of pain. The shackles holding her wrists to the wrought iron headboard clinked as her arms jerked.

  "Sir, please, Sir."

  "Please, what?"

  "It stings."

  "It may sting, but if it didn't you'd be disappointed. A hard slap is far more satisfying than one too soft."

  "True," she whispered, "but it's a love-hate thing."

  "I know it's a love thing, but it's not really a hate thing, is it?"

  "No, not really hate," she admitted. "None of it."

  The image of Brittany spread on his bed, her wrists and ankles firmly secured, danced through Duncan's head. She'd been red-faced when she'd studied the cover of his book. Could he interpret that to mean she shared his love of kink? Might she be open to a wild shipboard fling?

  * * * * * * * * * *

  Lying on her bed, Brittany's fingers lingered between her legs. Educating Emily captivated her. Duncan's heroine carried the facade of a proper young woman, but harbored dark thoughts of sexual slavery. As Brittany read his wicked words, her fingers urgently massaged her clit.

  Emily's eyes grew large. Her Master had warned her, but still she had disobeyed him, and the fearsome riding crop carried a frightful sting.

  "Turn around and place your elbows on my desk."

  Whimpering her regret she pivoted and bent forward. Dressed in a corset and stockings her bottom was already bare, and she cringed as the riding crop slid menacingly across her cheeks.

  The image of the naughty young woman in the perilous situation sent Brittany to the edge of her orgasm, but eager to read more, with great effort she pulled her fingers away.

  Emily knew the crop would bite, but when the first stroke landed she wasn't prepared for its fiery kiss.

  "Ow. Ow. Please, Sir! No more!"

  "I warned you. Perhaps next time you will listen."

  "I will. I swear."

  Abruptly throwing the book aside, Brittany rubbed herself into a glorious finish. The climax rattled down her spine and sent sparks though her limbs, then breathlessly sinking into the tingling afterglow, wishing she was curled against Duncan's muscled body, she drifted into a soft doze.

  When she finally stirred, she decided to read one more chapter before heading out for a drink, but she found herself once again engrossed in the salacious lives of Emily and Master Jonas. Hours later, bleary eyed and yawning, Brittany finished the last page and dropped the book on the nightstand. She'd read many spanking romance novels, but none had engaged her as completely as Duncan's account of the proper young lady finding the courage to live out her licentious longings. As she turned off the bedside lamp and closed her eyes, the final chapter lingered.

  Master Jonas had spanked Emily with his slipper, then tying her over an ottoman, he'd idly toyed between her legs while watching television. When his show finally ended, he kneeled behind her, thrust his turgid member home, and pumped her into a powerful orgasm.

  Swept up by a heavy yawn, Brittany wondered if Duncan had patterned Master Jonas after himself. Was he strict like his hero? Did he discipline immediately? Did he carry a small paddle in his pocket? With the questions burning through her brain, she drifted off to sleep.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Duncan's chance meeting with Brittany had breathed new life in to the last chapters of his new novel, and working late into the night he typed the last line with a flourish. When he woke the following morning he ordered a celebratory breakfast.

  "That's enough food for a party," Duncan remarked with a grin as Joe rolled in the cart and laid the dining table.

  "I thought you might be expecting company. I asked the kitchen to include an extra place setting just in case."

  "Not a bad idea," Duncan mumbled under his breath.

  "Will there be anything else, sir?"


  "No, thank you, Joe."

  The steward left, and surprised by an unexpected flutter of anticipation, Duncan reached for the phone and called Brittany's cabin number.

  "Hello?"

  "Brittany, this Duncan Rhys-Davies," he announced, wishing he hadn't sounded so formal. "If you haven't already eaten breakfast I have quite a feast here. I finished my latest book last night and I'm celebrating. Would you care to join me?"

  "Thank you, Duncan, that would be great. I'm on my way."

  "Excellent, I'll see you shortly."

  She'd sounded excited by his invitation, and wandering into his bathroom he ran a comb through his hair and splashed on some cologne.

  "I wonder what else excites you," he said, grinning at his reflection. "I hope I have a chance to find out."

  * * * * * * * * * *

  Still tired after her marathon reading session, Duncan's unexpected invitation had sent a shiver of anticipation rippling through Brittany's body. Donning the sun dress she'd been wearing the day they'd first met, she quickly applied her makeup and headed out the door. Reaching his stateroom, she took a deep breath and lightly knocked.

  "It's open."

  Walking in she found the handsome Brit pouring champagne into a flute half-filled with orange juice.

  "Hello, Brittany. Would you care for a Mimosa?"

  "Yes, I would, thank you."

  "Please, have a seat," he offered, nodding at the dining table by the window. "I thought about eating on the deck, but it might be a bit windy. Seems the weather is kicking up."

  "I noticed that too. I poked my head out a few minutes ago and it was blustery."

  "I hope we're not in for a storm," he remarked with a slight frown. "It's unlikely this time of year, but squalls are unpredictable. They can whip up almost any time."

  "This is my first cruise," she said as she took her seat. "I'm not sure how I'd cope with that."