“Which room is yours?”
“Go to Hell.”
“Shh... or you’ll wake everyone up. Either tell me which room is yours, or I’ll turn you over my knee here and Cheryl might wake up and see.”
Rachel felt ashamed of herself. She couldn’t understand why she had overreacted in the first place. Maybe because he had compared Cheryl to Sleeping Beauty and all she got was the reproach for protecting a friend.
“The next door on the left.”
Cash turned out the light. Then, holding her arm tightly, he dragged her into her bedroom, flipping on the light switch before he closed the door with a quiet snap.
Rachel tried to forestall the fury that she saw had a hold of him. “I’m sorry, Cash. I apologize.”
“I’m tired of taking the shit you Porters dish out.” Cash sat down on her bed, pulling her over his lap. Rachel gasped, barely able to stop herself from screaming out loud.
His hand lifted her skirt, showing her frilly pink panties.
“I always wondered if you wore panties or boxers.” She deserved the sarcasm he was throwing her way, but it still hurt her feelings to be compared to a boy.
When his hand smacked her ass, Rachel jumped, but a hard hand pressed down on the middle of her back, holding her in place as several more hard smacks landed on her butt. She remained quiet, though; determined that, no matter how much it hurt, she wouldn’t make a noise. If her brothers ran in here and saw Cash, they would shoot him, and as bad as she hated him right then, she didn’t want him dead.
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