Shameful Reformation (Shamefully Courted) by Emily Tilton

Author:Emily Tilton [Tilton, Emily]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Stormy Night Publications
Published: 2024-06-13T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 19

Cal

“Wait!” Grace yelled. “Wait!”

I’d had enough, though. She tried to cover the seatbelt buckle with her hands, but I pulled them both away with my right hand and released the belt with my left. Then Grace tried to wrap her arms around the shoulder belt itself to keep me from pulling her out of the seat, and I had to put my left arm around her waist, then take one of her wrists in each of my hands and separate them while I started to haul her out of the car.

She was yelling the whole time, and writhing in my grasp, but even if I hadn’t had all the information from the New Modesty Authority about how badly this girl needed discipline, I wouldn’t have had the slightest doubt about my decision to put her over my knee right away. Grace had shown me, just in the ten minutes we’d spent in the truck together, not only what a lovely, sweet young woman she could be, but how thoroughly she could cover that up with her immaturity and her crying need for boundaries.

Crying. Well, she had certainly started to cry now.

“Please… Cal… don’t… y-you can’t…” I thought I could feel the conflict in her little body, as I held her with one arm around her back and the other across her waist. She had the shoulder belt in her hands now, over her head, as I held her three quarters of the way out of the truck.

“Let go of the seatbelt, Grace,” I said, looking into her frightened, teary eyes. “Pretty much everyone in Grasskiln has spent the last twenty-four hours telling you that I can. I don’t tolerate foul language from a young woman I’m courting, but it’s your attitude I’m much more concerned with.”

“I just… I just…” She stared at me, wild eyed. “I only said shit.”

Her gorgeous green eyes told me everything. It seemed an odd moment, in a certain way, to realize I could absolutely fall in love with Grace Franklin, but I had to hand it to the New Modesty algorithm: those wet eyes held for me some magical mixture of defiance, worry, need, and—deep, deep down—submission.

“If it had just been the swear word,” I said, hearing with satisfaction how calm and reasonable I sounded, after the intense flare of anger I had experienced only a few moments before, “I would have warned you, and let it go for the moment.”

She had stopped struggling. She blinked at me, her brow creasing in a kind of puzzlement that I could tell meant she genuinely wanted to understand.

“It’s the disrespect that earned you the lesson I’m going to teach you now.”

“But…” she said—automatically, it seemed like, as if she felt like she couldn’t really be in the wrong. I raised my eyebrows and waited, looking steadily into her eyes.

Yes, I’d felt my temper flare up when she’d said it. I guess I’m just a city girl who doesn’t know shit like that. The word shit really hadn’t played much of a role at all in my reaction.

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