Dirty Laundry: A Tucker Springs Novel #3

me feel good too. Safe.”
    “And strong,” Denver added, his mouth tipping into a sideways smile.
    Adam nodded. It was so true. “And strong, Sir.”
    “Okay.” Denver sobered. “So here’s the deal. If there’s something you need to be punished for, if you screw up, I want to be the one who punishes you. Not your OCD. You said it trusts me. It should trust me here too, then.”
    Adam faltered. “That can’t ever work. I screw up every day. All the time.”
    “Then I guess I’ll just have to see you every day. We’ll make a list. You can text me the mistakes you think you need to be punished for.”
    Okay, that Adam had to balk at, and hard. “That feels like therapy. I don’t know that we should do that.”
    Denver nodded and rubbed at his chin. “Fair point. Well, how about things between you and me, then? If you think you need to be punished for something between you and me, you let me handle the punishing.”
    Was that still therapy? Adam didn’t know. It seemed okay, probably. How the hell he was going to bring this up with his actual therapist, he had no idea. He didn’t think he could. He’d have to tell Louisa. “Okay. Except most of what I think I screw up with you is that I’m afraid I’m too messed up, and any second now you’ll figure that out and dump me.”
    He wasn’t prepared for how angry Denver looked at that statement. “Oh, so you don’t trust me? You think I’m lying to you when I tell you that I like you how you are?”
    “It’s one thing to say it, but look at me now, look at me here! I’m a mess!”
    Denver’s eyes glinted. “So you’re telling me you need to be punished for being a bad boyfriend?”
    Adam’s cheeks colored. “Yes. Yes. I’m terrible. I’m horrible.”
    “And even if I don’t think you’re horrible, you’re secretly horrible, and it’s only a matter of time before I find out?”
    “ Yes .”
    Denver nodded. “Okay.” He pushed to his feet and slapped Adam on the ass again. “So, ground rules, Adam. No sir-ing just now. How are you with pain? Does it flip you out?”
    Adam lifted his head to look at Denver, not yet sure if he should be uneasy. “I don’t have panic attacks over pain, no. But—”
    “Okay. So here’s the rule. I’m going to spank you, Adam, because you’re a bad boyfriend. That’s going to be your punishment. This isn’t going to be a love tap, either. It’s going to hurt. A lot. In fact, you will probably cry, and that’s okay, and you should go with it. If it gets to be too much, if you feel unsafe, I want you to say red , and I’ll stop. But other than that, I want you to trust me. I will not make you bleed. I will not bruise you beyond what your body can take, and you won’t be permanently damaged. I know exactly what I’m doing, and I’m in control. Most important of all, though, when I’m done punishing you, you are too . If you are a bad boyfriend again, I will punish you again. But once we are done with this incident, it’s over. Do you understand? And we’re back to Sir for this, just to be clear.”
    Adam did understand. It sure as hell did sound like therapy, but he wanted it anyway. He leaned forward, moving to his hands and knees. “Yes, Sir. Yes, please. Please punish me for being a bad boyfriend, Sir.”
    Denver knelt down beside him and placed a large hand on Adam’s ass. “I’m going to give you twenty slaps, ten on each cheek. I want you to count them, one to twenty, and say, ‘thank you, Sir,’ after each one. Take your time if you need to get yourself together before saying the numbers. And remember that red makes me stop.” He massaged Adam’s ass reassuringly. “Remember also that you are safe and that I will not hurt you beyond what is okay.”
    Adam nodded. “Yes, Sir.”
    “All right. Here we go. Don’t forget to count, boy.”
    Denver hadn’t been kidding. These were spanks, and they were hard . There was no getting hard over these slaps, and after the first five blows, they hurt a lot . The spanks themselves weren’t so terrible, but collectively they were murder. This wasn’t erotic. This was a punishment.
    Bad boyfriends get spanked . Adam shuddered and hung his head.
    “I need your count, boy,” Denver said, his voice full and rough and overflowing with authority. “Loud and clear, and be sure to thank me.”
    “Seven,” Adam choked, near to crying, but unable to let the tears go, even though Denver had told him to. “Thank you, Sir.”
    At eleven,