The Rogue and the Rose

He’d had her over his knees with her skirts flipped up before she could even begin to decipher what exactly it was that he was going to do. She’d been preparing to defend herself, having long since decided that she was going to go down fighting rather than allow another man to abuse her as Alan had. But that hadn’t seemed to have been his aim.

It wasn’t until she felt that horrendous first swat on the seat of her thin cotton bloomers that she realized his intent and began to struggle mightily against him, not that it got her anywhere. This man didn’t have the bulk that Alan had, but he was whipcord lean and incredibly strong. Rose could feel his hard, broad thighs beneath her stomach, and one long leg easily draped itself over both of hers, rendering her unable to kick at him in her own defense. The broad arm across her back kept her exactly where he wanted her as the flat of his callused hand connected up and down her cringing bottom, as well as the very tops of her thighs.

Rose had never been spanked by anyone in her life. Her father relied on intimidation, but he’d never actually touched his girls. The boys weren’t quite that lucky, but the girls got away with murder. Rose was a full grown, married woman, and never expected to find herself in quite this position, especially not over the lap of a hired hand who had no right to dictate how she behaved.