Moving as gracefully as possible in the circumstances, Jayme got off Tristan’s lap, then sat down beside him. Taking his hand, she said, “Hey, you’ve got to give it chance. You’ve only just tried it, for heaven’s sake. Nobody’s good at something straightaway! It takes practice.”

Making a noise that sounded suspiciously like humph, Tristan scowled. “No, I’m sorry, sweetheart, but it’s not good enough. I just can’t do it with my left hand. It doesn’t feel right or natural, and I can tell it doesn’t do anything for you. Or me, if I’m honest. Your arse has barely changed color. I’m afraid we’re going to have to get creative in other ways, because I won’t be spanking you for the foreseeable future. I either want to do it properly, or not at all.”

As he worked down to her thighs, Jayme felt a little heat growing. Yes, he was getting there. It was like learning a whole new skill, she guessed—trying to write with your left hand, or something.

Tristan let out a string of swear words. His thighs tensed beneath her and she twisted to look at his face.

“It’s no good!” he said. “I just can’t get the hang of it. I’m not bloody ambidextrous, apparently, not even when it comes to reddening your backside. I can’t get into a rhythm, or hit hard enough, because I’m too busy concentrating on where I land the blow—I don’t want to smack you in the wrong place by mistake. I just have none of the instincts I usually do.”

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.