His Little Runaway Read Online Free PDF Page B

said about discipline… if you took away the spanking, and the fear of the spanking, Ashley had to admit that she couldn’t argue with him in good faith. She was spoiled. If she hadn’t been so spoiled, she probably wouldn’t have been at the party, doing the underage drinking that all her spoiled friends did. She wouldn’t have crashed into the police car, and she wouldn’t have found herself sent to Tall Oaks.
    In juvie, that spoiled part of her had become her defense against the horrors of the place: Westchester pride, seeing her through. Acting respectful enough to get by, but not really respectful. Certainly not respectful the way it seemed Wes had decided he would try to get Ashley to act. She had come to the conclusion, without doing any reasoning along the way, that she had formed her character—no, that Tall Oaks had formed her character. For better or worse, she had her pride, and she would keep it even after she left juvie. The world had done her an injustice in return for a youthful mistake with the drinking and driving, and Ashley Lewis would face the world with disdain and a hardened exterior that could see her through.
    She would be a spoiled brat forever.
    Ashley gazed down at the t-shirt, which had the name of what might be Wes’ college on the breast, though she didn’t recognize the name. He probably came from the Midwest and had gone to one of those colleges. But he had gone to college—she could tell, even if the t-shirt were somehow not from his own college, or not from a college at all. Ashley didn’t think all Navy SEALs went to college, but she knew a lot of them did, and more important, the way Wes spoke demonstrated absolutely that despite the rough-hewn appearance and the homemade furniture, he had had a good education even by the standards of Westchester.
    Over my knee. Why the hell was she thinking about his education when the choice in front of her, whether to put on the t-shirt—with no panties—or simply walk out of the room and out of his life as she was, demanded making. He had said she could have as much time as she needed. Suddenly she wished he hadn’t said that, wished he had said she could have five minutes, wished those five minutes were up now, and he was opening the door without knocking, telling her that if she wouldn’t put on the t-shirt he would just take down her jeans and panties right there and give her the bare-bottom discipline she needed without further ceremony.
    Did she want to make sure the man who spanked her when she misbehaved—who planned to treat her like a little girl in order to bring her back up properly—had the necessary academic credentials? Despite everything, the thought made her smile.
    She had no choice, though, really, did she? She would never find another person to help her, or a better place to hide. Strange as it seemed, facing her first spanking by a man she had known for only a few hours, Ashley knew how lucky she had gotten. Trying not to think about what would happen when she returned to the living room, she started to tug her own blue t-shirt over her head.
    Ashley took off her panties last, after she had dropped Wes’ much bigger shirt over her head. She faced the door to the living room for a few seconds, trying to work up the courage to shed her last vestige of pride. How could she, of her own free will, pull down her own underwear in order that a man could punish her the way naughty little girls are punished? To have to get ready for her spanking, and acknowledge Wes’ right to discipline her the old-fashioned way, seemed at that moment a terrible loss of everything Ashley had tried to hold onto so tightly for the last eighteen months.
    It would hurt so much. Wes’ hand, grasping hers gently at the table, seemed the size of a dinner plate. And he would pull up the t-shirt now and bring that hand down so hard on her poor bottom. Over and over, until Ashley couldn’t sit down, because she had behaved badly and gotten what she