La Brat

by Ashe Barker

  “Oh, my God. You’re serious, aren’t you?”

  Aaron nodded.

  “Why? Is this some random attack or was Eugenie the intended target?”

  Now this was an aspect he hadn’t considered, but it made some sort of sense. Perhaps this had been an attempt to sabotage the wedding. A case of deliberate poisoning at the hotel would soon put a stop to the ceremony. The police investigation alone would be enough, without the damage to their reputation, the sudden rush of cancelations as guests decided against coming here.

  Shit! This was his responsibility. This was exactly the sort of disaster he was hired to avoid.

  Elise’s voice interrupted his train of thought. “Eugenie, how is your hand? Will it be okay?”

  “Yes, it is fine, thank you. The burn is only superficial.”

  “But you are so much in the wars recently. First, you fall down the stairs, and now your poor hand. You are certainly accident-prone.”

  “I do seem to be, just now. My mother always said these things come in threes. I hope she was wrong.”

  “Me too. We must take better care of you.” Elise slipped her arm across Eugenie’s shoulder and gave her a quick hug. She turned to Aaron. “I prescribe a massage in the spa. Perhaps a visit to the hairdresser. A pedicure. Some girl time. You can spare her, n’est-ce pas?”

  Aaron glanced at Eugenie, couldn’t miss the flicker of hope that passed across her features. She obviously fancied the prospect of a bit of pampering with Elise but expected him to deny her permission. They were in the middle of a crisis, her sense of duty must be on overdrive. He smiled before leaning in to lay a quick kiss on her forehead.

  “Elise is right. You need a break. Go. Enjoy yourself. And take care. I’ll see you later.”

  Accident-prone. In the wars. As he watched the two women walk away from him, Elise’s words ricocheted around his head. It could be bad luck, might mean nothing.

  But Aaron didn’t believe in coincidences.

  Chapter Sixteen

  If she was aware of his increased vigilance, Eugenie gave no sign of it. She carried on about her business, rushing everywhere, issuing instructions, answering questions, dealing with the constant flow of rapid-fire minutiae that filled the final days of preparation. The bride and groom would arrive in less than twelve hours’ time. Over two hundred guests were already settling into the suites with at least double that number expected in the next day or so.

  As far as possible, Aaron made it his business to be glued to her side. Pierre had his instructions and he was in charge of the wider hotel, would see to the protection of the guests. Aaron’s sixth sense told him that if there were to be a real problem, it would occur somewhere in Eugenie’s vicinity. So that was where he stationed himself. He had no idea what he was expecting, but he trusted his instincts to recognize it when he saw it. No one got to harm his little Genie. He would protect her with his life if need be.

  His long, loping strides kept him alongside as she scurried along the corridor back to her office, having just resolved a dispute between two of their suppliers. The flowers were to be arranged first then the tables could be dressed. The contractors would have to coordinate their efforts, and with commendable patience she had explained to them just how this might be accomplished. Now she intended to finalize the contents of the wedding favors to be distributed to the female guests, then she had a conference call booked with several celebrity magazines who were scrambling over each other to publish pictures from the wedding.

  He knew she found the media the most difficult to deal with, their demands incessant. But she fully appreciated the importance of publicity for this event if Totally Five Star Paris was to gain the international recognition and new business that they all hoped for. He was grateful for the influence of Claudette Leclerc. As head of marketing and PR, she took the brunt of the liaison with the media, but Eugenie was not immune.

  Her features were pinched. He saw the stress building and knew he had a sure way of helping her with that.

  As she turned to enter her office, he clasped her elbow and carried on walking. Without a word, he marched her into his office and closed the door behind them. He locked it then turned to face her.

  “Strip and kneel.”

  “Sir?” Her expression was perplexed, but not reluctant.

  “No questions. Don’t speak at all. Just do it. Now.”

  He was gratified to note the aura of relaxation that appeared to descend on her as she drew her mental cloak of submission around herself. Even before she placed her ever-present notebook on his desk and reached for her buttons, she seemed to loosen up. Her features smoothed out, the tension evaporating. He watched in quiet satisfaction as she removed her clothing piece by piece, taking the time to fold each item and place it in a neat pile. She even loosened her hair, letting the long curls ripple down her back before she sank to her knees at his feet.

  “What do you need from me right now, sub?”

  “I need you to hurt me, Sir. Spank me.”

  “Why? Why do you need this?”

  “I need to scream. I need to let it all out and, and… It will help me to focus. I need to let go of control, just for a little while.”

  “Good answer. Stand and bend over my desk.”

  His cock twitched and swelled as she obeyed him, her gorgeous peachy bottom raised for his attention. He could just make out the faint marks left by his cane a few days previously, but she was more than ready for a refresher. He stepped forward to lay both his palms on her smooth buttocks. He parted them to expose her anus, pink and puckered and so very inviting. He had no lube here in his office, otherwise, he might have been tempted. Pity. But later…

  He slipped one hand between her legs to explore the dampness there. Her pussy was always wet, always welcoming. She moaned her appreciation as he shoved three fingers high inside her.

  “Maybe I’ll fuck you afterward. Would you like that, my sweet slut?”

  “Sir, I would. Very much.”

  “Okay. Hold that thought.” He straightened and unbuckled his belt. She trembled a little as he pulled it free, her usual reaction to that sound.

  He liked it—that heady mix of delighted anticipation and fear. No matter how much she craved this—and he knew she did desire it—he knew she needed this pain with a desperation bordering on pure anguish. She still exuded an air of perfect surrender to his will. She hadn’t always, so this was new. This was cultivated in recent weeks and all the more delightful for that.

  His belt dangling from his hand, he leaned over her to lift the hair from the back of her neck. He trailed his lips over the sensitive hollow right below her hairline, loving the way his caress sent small shivers along her shoulders. Her responses were exquisite, so delicate yet at the same time powerful. He shifted slightly to be able to murmur in her ear.

  “I’ll stop when I think you’ve had enough. Or when you tell me to stop. Okay?”

  Eyes closed, she nodded, the movement so slight he might have missed it. He missed nothing, though, not these days. Straightening, he positioned himself behind her.

  “Ready?”

  “Yes, Sir. Make it hard. Please.”

  Aaron smiled to himself as he adjusted his trousers to accommodate his swollen cock. Too late, baby, already hard.

  He didn’t share that snippet, though, preferring to let her focus remain where it was—on the blistering he was about to inflict on her tender bottom.

  He started with his hand, a succession of quick, sharp slaps followed by a vigorous rubbing to dissipate the pain. Her buttocks reddened as the blood rushed to the surface, and Genie writhed against the polished mahogany of his desk. She stretched her hands out in front of her, opening and closing her fingers as though she was grasping for something. She scraped the wooden surface with her nails as her breath shifted from deep, even sighs to a soft panting. As she started to clench her buttocks in anticipation of each slap, he knew she was ready for his belt.

  He paused for a few momen
ts, caressing her bright crimson bottom to allow her the seconds she needed to ready herself for the main onslaught. She wriggled, gyrated her hips a couple of times then went still.

  Aaron swung, aiming the first stroke to land at the top of her right buttock. He liked to paint his stripes evenly down one side then the other, leaving maybe half an inch between them. He was good, very accurate, and he knew Genie wouldn’t move. If he’d been less certain of her, he might have tied her in place, but he hardly ever felt a need to do that these days.

  She was silent for the first stroke, but the next one elicited a faint gasp. He could improve on that. The third stripe snaked across the roundest part of her bottom, causing the flesh to quiver in a way that absolutely delighted him. He would never, ever tire of watching that and the sweet way she tightened her buttocks as the pain grew and bloomed.

  Her legs were slightly parted. He could see her pussy lips glistening as she became more aroused. She was loving this as much as he was.

  Still, no harm in checking. He slid his free hand between her thighs to explore her moist folds. Oh yes, so wet, so warm. So fucking beautiful. She groaned and opened her legs more to invite him in.

  “Soon, baby.” He withdrew his hand and took up his position again.

  The next three strokes created a mirror image on her left buttock, the stripes glowing in precise and perfect symmetry. Genie was letting out small cries as each one fell, not quite a scream, but he knew she was hurting. And he knew she needed more yet.

  Shifting his stance, he was able to target the lower slopes of each buttock, and if she was still in need, he’d move on to the backs of her thighs. He was confident she would call a halt soon. This was intense, even for a pain slut like his beautiful little Genie.

  He resumed his attentions on the right side, laying three more strokes in rapid succession. She needed the pressure to intensify. She needed to become one with the agony now blistering her backside. He could see her wetness gathering between her thighs, her pussy lips pink and swollen. He wouldn’t neglect her cunt, though he preferred to use his hand to slap her there.

  He worked his way back up her left buttock, pleased to note that her cries had built to real shrieks of pain now. He was glad of the soundproofing that he knew would prevent unwanted attention from concerned colleagues. She was sobbing too, her face wet with tears that she made no attempt to wipe away.

  When he had evened up his artwork, he paused, allowing her the opportunity to tell him if she’d had enough. Her sobs subsided, her eyes remaining closed. This was her signal to him that all was well. He repositioned himself to attend to her thighs. Two strokes, maximum, each side.

  She managed one, then she raised her hand to tap the desk top, two short, sharp raps on the solid surface. Aaron stepped back, surveying his handiwork as he re-threaded his belt through the loops on his trousers. Genie lay still, small sobs still sending shudders through her small frame.

  Aaron picked up a box of tissues from on top of a filing cabinet and went back to his desk. He hitched his hip alongside Eugenie, still stretched out across the cool surface. He placed the tissues by her hand then laid his palm on her bottom. Heat radiated from her skin. Aaron smiled to himself as she cringed under his touch before stretching like a satisfied cat and lifting her rear toward his caressing palm.

  He stroked her tender, flaming buttocks as she sighed in contented appreciation. Long minutes passed before she rolled awkwardly to one side to peer up at him. She’d made no attempt to repair her ravaged face so Aaron did the honors, grabbing a handful of tissues to dab her cheeks and smooth away the tears below her eyes. He shoved a tissue into her hand.

  “I draw the line at wiping your nose, Miss d’André.”

  She threw him a watery smile as she shuffled to her feet then buried her face in the soft tissue. A couple of hefty blows, some frantic wiping, and at last she met his eyes again.

  “That’s better. So, how was that, then? Ready to face the world again?”

  “Nearly, Sir. Thank you. I think I should get dressed first, though.”

  “Yes, probably. Soon. Wait there a sec.”

  He went back over to his filing cabinet, this time to extract a tube of anti-inflammatory cream from the top drawer. He returned to her and, with a brief twist of his finger, indicated that she should turn around. Eugenie did so, leaning to rest her hands on the desk as he applied the salve to her buttocks.

  His ministrations completed, he gave her bottom a playful swat. “There, give it a few minutes to soak in and you’ll be ready to deal with those bloody journalists.”

  “Ah, yes, the magazines. I am due to talk to them in”—she consulted the clock on his wall—”thirteen minutes. Is that clock correct?”

  “To the second. I suppose a fuck would make you late.”

  Her expression was priceless. Panic, hope, regret, but mainly contrition. Her mouth worked as she contemplated what to say to him, obviously wondering if he was about to insist.

  Aaron grinned. “You’ll keep. The paparazzi won’t. Would you like me to sit in on your call?”

  She smiled, her expression now one of genuine relief. He should have been annoyed, but he wasn’t. They were past that.

  “No, Sir, I will be fine and I know you have work to do. I will only be next door.” She started to dress, though he noticed she seemed reluctant to put her panties back on. No problem, her skirt was knee-length. He held out his hand to take the remaining underwear from her.

  “I’ll give you these back later. In my apartment. Maybe. What time will you be done?”

  “I am not sure, Sir. I will need to finish off the wedding favors today, so I will be working late. Can I text you when I’m nearly ready to leave?”

  “Sure. Do you want to eat in one of the restaurants or at mine?”

  “Could we stay in, Sir? Would you mind? I could do the cooking.”

  “I’ll cook. You just turn up.” He stepped forward to cup her cheeks between his palms, holding her face still so he could look into her eyes. He could lose himself there, he knew it, just sink into those gray-green depths and never resurface again.

  “I love you, Genie.” He laid his mouth across hers, the kiss featherlight.

  “I love you, too, Sir. Thank you for this, for just now.”

  “My pleasure, love. Now go.”

  He grinned at her retreating back, a new spring in her step. A decent thrashing seemed to have done her a world of good.

  * * * *

  Aaron gave his casserole a stir and turned the oven down low. He’d been back in his apartment for a couple of hours and had resisted the urge to just phone down to room service and get some supper brought up. Instead, he’d raided his small freezer for a pack of braising steak he had stowed in there and sliced up an onion, a carrot and a few mangetouts. It was nothing special, but with some herbs thrown in and a couple of jacket potatoes, he thought it was a decent enough meal.

  The only missing ingredient was his sub. She should have been here by now.

  He checked his phone again, reread her text.

  Just finishing here. Will go back to my flat for a change of clothes, see you in 30 mins.

  He checked the time since that message arrived. Fifty-five minutes. How long did it take to throw a fresh pair of pants and a T-shirt into a holdall and walk up one flight of stairs? And to make matters worse, she wasn’t answering her phone or texts. He wasn’t given to stalking his submissives, but he was concerned. He knew Eugenie had a casual attitude toward time keeping—or she used to. It wasn’t a trait he’d seen much in evidence of late.

  Once a brat, always a brat. She’s angling for another spanking. He dismissed that notion as quickly as it formed. Not Genie, not anymore. She had no need to manipulate. She needed only to ask and she knew that now. They had both grown up. With a curse, he turned the oven off and headed for the door.

  He jogged along the corridor and down the flight of stairs separating their floors. His phone was in his pocket but he didn�
�t bother to try her again. He had his security passkey so would let himself into her flat. If she wasn’t there, he’d go looking for her in the offices or the public rooms—she would never have left the hotel without letting him know her plans.

  As soon as he turned the corner and started along the corridor toward Eugenie’s studio flat he smelled it.

  Smoke!

  Autopilot kicked in. He lunged for the fire alarm situated on the wall a few meters ahead of him and punched the glass. A cacophony of bells filled the hallway. He ignored them as he dragged a fire extinguisher from its bracket next to the alarm button and started running. He was halfway down the corridor before he saw it, but it was with a fatalistic sense of expectancy that he registered the wisps of pale gray smoke drifting from under Eugenie’s door.

  The pounding of his feet echoed around the empty corridor as he raced to reach her. He dumped the fire extinguisher and tried his passkey. Nothing, the fucking key wouldn’t work. Not so much as a flicker. He rattled the door but it was locked solid. He was aware, just dimly, of the sound of running feet approaching behind him. Help was on the way, but might be too late.

  He stepped back the width of the corridor between him and Eugenie’s door. He eyed the solid barrier before giving it a resounding kick. The wood shook, rattling the frame, but it held. He stepped back and repeated the action, desperation and naked fear lending him a strength he hadn’t known he possessed. He grimaced in satisfaction as the doorframe splintered. He shoved the door, crouching to avoid the billows of smoke pouring out into the hallway.

  “Genie! Genie, are you there?” He peered through the haze, seeking some shape, some clue that she was in here and alive. Nothing.

  “Aaron, don’t go in there. The fire brigade is on their way.” He recognized Elise’s voice but knew he couldn’t wait. Eugenie couldn’t wait. With his hand shielding his mouth and nose as best as he could, he grabbed the extinguisher from the floor and dove into the flat.