Billionaire Novelist 2 : Spanking the Billionaire Novelist(10)

"If I didn't go in for regular waxings, it wouldn't be quite so adorable. Less of a welcome mat and more like wall-to-wall carpeting."

"I'm sure your little ginger minge would look just as tasty with curls coming out of the sides of your underwear."

"Ew!" I pushed him away. "Now you're just being pervy for the sake of being pervy."




 

 

He raised one eyebrow. "There are other reasons to be pervy?"

"So, you're not denying it?"

"I'm not pervy. I'm open-minded and adventurous and  …  curious."

We were walking again, stepping up to a row of tents that smelled of deep-fried batter. We'd had dinner and dessert not long ago, but that smell was irresistible.

Once we were in line for tiny doughnuts, Smith whispered in my ear, "Tell me the most wicked thing you've ever done."

"Nothing comes to mind."

"I saw those blue eyes of yours flicker when I asked. You have something in mind. I'll tell you something if you tell me yours."

I pressed my lips together and groaned. Oh, who was I kidding? I couldn't resist Smith.

I said, "You know those little rubber duckies for the bath tub? The yellow ones?"

He smiled and nodded. "Go on."

I shook my head while rubbing my forehead. I tried to think of a lie, but the other things were much worse than the truth, so I stood up on my tiptoes and whispered in his ear, "I was a teenager, not a little kid. Anyway, I was in the tub one day, totally bored, and I stuck the duckie's head in my butt. Like, right in."

"Beak first?"

"I believe ducks have bills, not beaks."

"Oh, of course." He nodded. "Interesting."

It was our turn at the counter, and we ordered an assortment of tiny doughnuts with all the toppings.

As we walked away with our hot container of greasy dough, Smith held up the cinnamon-sugar doughnut and poked his finger through it suggestively. "Remind you of anything?" he said. "Quack, quack."

I smacked him on the arm. "When someone confides in you, you're not allowed to use the information to tease them. Besides, it's your turn to tell me a secret."

"Did you enjoy the sensation of the plastic toy in your ass?"

I gave him a hard stare. "It was a miniature duckie, not the full-sized one. Barely bigger than the tip of my thumb. Your turn. Secret time."

"When I was fifteen, I would go up on the roof of my house and jerk off."

"That's it?" I blew air out of my lips. "That's pretty normal for a teenage boy."

"Oh, there was nothing normal about it. I would jerk off into the chimney, and I'd always sing, in my head, 'Santa Claus is coming.'"

I laughed so hard, chunks of doughnut flew from my mouth. Smith handed me some bottled water, but I couldn't swallow, because of the laughter, and soon the water came flying out of my mouth as well.

Finally, when I'd pulled myself together, I said, "You just made that up. I should have known. Ask a writer for a secret, and he'll tell you a doozie." 

He shook his head. "I could never make up anything as strange as the truth."

"Good, because if you're lying, I'm going to spank you."

His eyes widened, then crinkled around the sides with a big smile. "Let's go find a quiet place behind a tree."

A woman-Cassie-approached us then, saying, "You made it!"

Smith shoved the box of doughnuts into my hands without looking at me, and gave Cassie a hug. A moment later, we were being led over to the spot she'd staked out near the band stage, complete with a picnic blanket spread across the lawn.

My heart jumped as I spotted her brother Callum, looking just as hunky as I'd remembered, all black tousled hair and blue eyes.

I took a seat next to him and checked out his stack of books. To my surprise, one of the paperbacks was a Smith Dunham detective novel.

Callum said to Smith, "Would you mind signing one for me? I know it's dorky, and you probably get tired of people asking ..."

Smith took the book proudly and produced a pen from his pocket. "Of course I don't get tired of it! That's for authors much older and crankier than me." He winked at Callum. "Why do you think I always carry a pen?"

The band started up again, putting a damper on conversation.

Smith took a seat on the blanket, cross-legged, next to me.

He complained about his jeans being too tight, but I assured him they looked so good, a little suffering on his part was worth it for me. I squeezed his leg and eyed the bulge behind his zipper, looking forward to getting him out of the jeans.

Callum was hunky as well, but Smith was with me, and he was being so sweet, asking me every ten minutes if I had enough bug-repellant lotion on me, or if I needed more water.