Sucking in a breath through her teeth, she waited for the inevitable bloom of pain and heat that always followed a smack. But it never came. Merely a tingle, and a muttered curse from Tristan.

He tried again. This time he slapped her right arse cheek. It was clear he’d put more force behind it than his previous attempt, but it still had none of the sting of his usual efforts. But not to worry—he was just getting used to using his left hand.

Tristan continued in silence, spanking each arse cheek in turn, his movements slow and awkward, but gradually picking up pace and strength.

With a murmur of appreciation, he stroked her bare skin, exploring her rounded cheeks and occasionally dipping his fingers into the cleft of her arse.

Jayme resisted the temptation to moan or wriggle. She knew that the more she let on how much he was affecting her, the more he’d tease and taunt her. He was a patient man…in this scenario, at least. So, holding perfectly still, she closed her eyes and let the anticipation carry her away into pleasure as her pussy grew wetter and more swollen by the minute.

Once he’d caressed what felt like every millimeter of her bum and thighs he was apparently satisfied, as the warmth of his skin left hers. But not for long. Barely a second later, he brought his hand down on the fleshiest part of her left cheek.