by Jane Henry
Frances grabbed Hillary's hands so tightly that Hillary felt her joints pop.
"I overheard Matteo saying the most ridiculous thing to Heidi's friend John, and I just knew it couldn't be true," she said, forcing a laugh. "Because I know I raised my girls to abhor the patriarchal status quo! I told John right then and there that Matteo was mistaken. I mean, my girls know their self-worth lies in their brains and the sanctity of their life forces, not in promoting misogynistic sexual fantasies! Right? You do know that Hillary, don't you?"
Hillary felt her eyes widen. What had Matteo been saying? He couldn't have been telling anyone about their relationship… Could he? Was he that upset?
She took a step back, until her back was pressed against the sink. "Mom, I…I don't—"
"Hillary Annabelle Morrow!" Her father barreled into the kitchen, his white hair mussed and his lined face frowning in confusion. "What's this I'm hearing from your mother?"
Hillary was frozen in horror. Her father had heard, too?
"What the hell did you go to college for, Hillary?" her father demanded. "Why did you work so hard? Why did I help pay for four years at that school, if you were going to throw it all away like this?"
"Dad, I—" Hillary sputtered, her heart racing and her mind blank. How could she possibly explain, how could she make them understand?
"Oh, Charles, how typical," her mother said scathingly. "All you're worried about is your money. What about Hillary's soul?"
"Her soul? Forget her soul, Frances!" her father bellowed. "What about her job prospects?"
Her… job prospects?
Wait, what were they talking about?
"Oh, money again!" her mother cried. "Who cares if—"
"I care, Frances! I care! You want her to be independent, right? Well how's she going to do that if she isn't able to support herself because she made stupid choices right out of college?"
Hillary's head was reeling. Beyond her parents' shoulders, she could see that several party guests were standing in the kitchen doorway, watching them.
"Mom, Dad!" she whispered, finally wrenching her hands from her mother's grasp. "Please just calm down. Can we discuss this… whatever this is… privately?"
Or not at all?
"You want me to calm down? Then tell me what happened to your plan to get a Master's Degree, missy! Hmm?" Her father's face had gone a deep red.
"I don't know what you're talking about! I never said I wasn't," Hillary began, but her mother held out a restraining hand and cut her off.
"Don't you talk to her that way, Charles!" Frances said fiercely, whirling to face Hillary's father. "Just because you don't agree with her choices—"
"Mom! Please!" Hillary tried again. Tears of frustration—with Matteo, with her parents, with herself—filled her eyes. But her father spoke over her.
"Me? You don't agree with her choices any more than I do!" he said, turning to fully face Hillary's mother.
"Well, yes, but at least I am disagreeing for the right reasons!" her mother yelled. She was practically bouncing on her tiptoes in agitation.
"Frances, that is the most—"
Hillary shook her head and buried her face in her hands. They'd turned on each other, and now they'd fight about her for an hour without listening to her speak. It had been this way for as long as she could remember.
"Enough," Matteo pronounced from the doorway. He didn't need to raise his voice to be heard, or to be obeyed—both of her parents stopped speaking and turned to him.
Hillary lifted her head and stared at him as well… but he didn't look at her.
"Pardon me?" her father challenged.
"I said enough," Matteo repeated evenly. "I understand that you're concerned about Hillary, but this isn't the time or place to talk about it."
Her father bristled. "This is a private discussion, Matteo."
"It should be. But isn't," Matteo replied, his voice still calm. "Not when everyone in the living room can hear you."
"Who cares?" her mother demanded, waving a hand dismissively. "Society needs to make room for free discussion—"
"But you're upsetting Hillary," Matteo said firmly. "In her own home. In the middle of a party that she spent a great deal of time and effort organizing."
Both of her parents turned to look at her as though they'd never considered that she might be upset. But she couldn't take her eyes off Matteo. He was rescuing her. Again. Even now, even after she'd questioned him and pissed him off, he stood up for her. His green eyes met hers, steady and firm, and he winked.
She swallowed.
The world was suddenly right side up again.
She turned to her parents. Her mother looked guilty and her father bewildered.
"Matteo is absolutely right, guys. I get that you're concerned about my… choices… but this isn't the time or the place."
"But, Hillie," her mother choked out. "Romance novels?"
Romance novels? Good God. Was that what this was about?
"Mom, have you ever read one?" Hillary demanded.
Her mother shook her head disgustedly and Hillary rolled her eyes.
"They're not about… misogynistic sexual fantasies, or whatever you just said. They're about empowering women to explore their own sexual fantasies, and to break societal taboos."
Her mother frowned. "But…"
Her father shook his head. "But if you start publishing this… this… sex stuff, you'll never be able to get a real book published, and you won't be able to find a decent job."
"Dad, these are real books. And this is a real job… or at least it will be once I'm established. And I don't mind putting the effort in. This is the stuff I want to write."
"You'll starve," her father said baldly.
Matteo shook his head and walked further into the room, stepping around her parents. He leaned back against the counter so his right arm was barely touching her left and she could feel his heat against her. Without conscious thought, she felt her shoulders relax. She hadn't even been aware of how tense she'd been.
"Actually, that's where you're wrong, sir," Matteo told her father. "I've been doing some research, and romance is by far one of the most popular genres in publishing—over a billion dollars in annual sales."
He'd been doing research? On romance novels? Oh, Matteo.
"Billion? With a 'b'?" her father clarified, clearly impressed.
Matteo nodded.
"Now, granted, there are no guarantees. But that's true for any artist, for anyone who creates, right?" Matteo asked her mother. "You have to express what's inside of you, whether or not it's appreciated by the masses."
Frances drew herself up taller and nodded emphatically, staring at Matteo as though he had just revealed the secrets of the universe. "It's true. I've said so, many times."
He was managing them. They were listening to him! Good God, was there anything this man couldn't do?
"Hillary is insanely talented," Matteo told them. "And creative."
"But that's just it—she's got such a vivid imagination. I sometimes worry that she's not disciplined enough," her father confessed with a sigh.
"Oh, not at all, sir," Matteo told him with a perfectly straight face. "I guarantee she's well disciplined."
He did not just say that.
To her father.
Hillary turned her head to stare at him in shock.
"I mean, she has setbacks from time to time, but she's dedicated. She doesn't give up." Matteo turned and met her gaze. "So no one should give up on her."
Warmth bloomed in her belly and spread through her chest. He hadn't given up on her, on them.
"She's working for what she wants," Matteo finished. "I'm proud of her. You should be, too."
They should?
Hillary's father pursed his lips.
"You're right," he told Matteo. "I'm sorry."
"Respectfully, sir, I'm not the one who needs an apology," Matteo replied.
Her father looked startled for a moment, but nodded. He turned to
Hillary and smiled.
"I apologize, Hillie. I shouldn't have yelled. I just worry, I guess," he said sheepishly.
Hillary nodded. "But I'm fine, Dad. I promise."
"I guess you are," he agreed, patting her shoulder. But he wasn't done. He turned to her mother and continued, "I'm sorry, Frances. I shouldn't have yelled at you, either."
Frances looked stunned. "I-I…appreciate that," she stammered, blinking up at him.
He smiled down at her. "Come on," he said. And he wrapped an arm around her mother's waist and led her out towards the living room… past Heidi and Dom, who were standing in the doorway.
Heidi's eyes were as wide as Hillary's as she watched their parents walk out together.
"What happened?" she mouthed to Hillary.
Hillary shook her head and shrugged.
Matteo had happened. But she couldn't say that.
Dom and Matteo exchanged a glance, and Dom led Heidi back out toward the living room, where it sounded like the first guests were taking their leave.
The moment they left, Hillary turned to Matteo and grabbed his arm.
"Oh, God! I was so worried, Matteo!" she confessed. "I thought you were really mad at me!"
Matteo straightened and looked at her seriously.
"Oh, I am," he told her, his voice grave.
"You… are?" she breathed.
"You hid in a closet and listened to a private conversation. Then you implied that you didn't trust me. What do you think?"
Hillary bit her lip. It sounded particularly awful when it said it that way.
"But you stood up for me," she reminded him. "You said that you were proud of me."
"I did. I am. And Hillary, I will always stand up for you," he told her, his eyes warm on hers. "But I'm also going to hold you to a high standard. I'm going to expect you to follow rules, and to trust me."
Hillary wilted from a combination of shame at her behavior and relief that he still intended to hold her to those standards. "I know. I will, Matt. I do trust you."
He nodded.
"And part of that trust means trusting me to tell you what you need to know, when you need to know it. My decision. Not yours."
Crap. He had a point. A good one.
"Okay," she agreed.
"The second the last guest leaves," he told her, his voice a breath of sound as he leaned over to whisper in her ear. "You're mine."
Her heart stuttered. "Yours?"
"Mine," he repeated. "You need to be spanked, Hillary. Thoroughly. And I am going to give you what you need."
She swallowed. She felt more aroused than she ever had in her life, and he wasn't even touching her. God, she wished he would touch her.
"After all," he smirked, as he stepped away from her. "I promised your dad you'd be well-disciplined. And you know I never lie."
"M-maybe you could explain what 'thoroughly' means?" she asked hopefully.
He raised one eyebrow. "And maybe you could work on the trust," he suggested.
Right, trust.
"And the rule-following," he reminded her.
Shit! The rules he'd given her. She'd been so distracted…
"I… um… I may have forgotten to eat," she admitted.
"Mm-hmm," he said, like this was what he had expected. "So you'd better do something about that. Quickly. And?"
"I didn't drink!" she told him sincerely. "Not a drop."
"I know. And the other?"
The other? Oh.
"I wasn't overwhelmed by hostessing," she said with a shrug. "Not really."
He eyed her skeptically. "Yeah? Because I saw you marching Val in here earlier, Tink, and it looked like you were about to impale her with a set of tongs."
"Oh. That," Hillary said dismissively. "No, that wasn't a big deal. She was being catty and I told her off."
He looked at her a minute, as though judging the truth of her statement, then his expression lightened.
"Awesome," he approved. "Proud of you. Don't take shit from anybody. That's my girl."
He stepped away and grew serious again. "Remember, Hillary," he told her sternly, pointing his finger. "When the last guest leaves."
Then he left her standing in the kitchen, alone, aroused, and feeling like she'd do anything if she could really be his girl.
Chapter Six
"You guys, it was so fantastic. Perfect. Amazing! I'm so thankful for everything you did," Heidi gushed, as she pulled the last bit of crepe paper from the dessert table and balled it up in her hand. She turned to face Matteo and Hillary, who were both folding up the gift table to slide back into Hillary's closet. Matteo shrugged. All he'd done was made sure Hillary stayed out of trouble, though really, that was no small feat.
Hillary, on the other hand, had worked her ass off.
"You know Hill's the one who did all the work," he said. "I was more like the gate keeper… bouncer..."
"Taste tester," Hill interrupted, standing up straight and ticking off his various jobs on her little fingers. God, her hands were so sexy. "Pastry sampler. Salsa jar opener. Trash taker outer. Pastry thief..." She turned her back to him with a smirk as she snagged an empty folding chair. He caught himself mid-swing as he was about to land a swat to her ass but, just in time, he swung his hand out and nabbed another chair.
Holy shit. Dom and Heidi were still there. That was way too close for comfort. He had to get a fucking grip.
Heidi, Dom, Hillary, and Matteo were the only ones left at Hillary's. Even the girls' parents had left, despite their mom's insistence that she help compost food leftovers and separate recyclables from the trash. Matteo had simply put a gentle but firm hand on her shoulder, assured her that he would personally see to the clean-up crew (would he ever!), and ushered her to the door, sweeping the plastic tablecloth and empties into a trash bag the second the door shut behind her. And now, it was time for Heidi and Dom to go.
He had business to attend to, and he didn't want to make Hillary wait any longer. He would forgive her after he'd punished her, and he was eager to put it behind them. Though Matteo knew Hillary hadn't intentionally eavesdropped at first, she had made a mistake by staying and listening when she knew she hadn't been invited to that conversation. It was dishonest and sneaky and yeah, understandable, but still, he wouldn't tolerate dishonesty. If this was gonna work, she would maintain honesty and defer to his authority.
If this was gonna work...
He snapped the chair up harder than necessary as he stalked past Hillary, took the chairs out of her hands, and marched them to the closet himself.
"I could handle them," she protested, and her chin jutted out as she crossed her arms. Matteo paused, turning to her, and made sure Heidi and Dom were well out of earshot when he leaned down to talk to her.
"You've earned yourself a good spanking already," he said. "Really, Hillary? Gonna give me lip now?"
She withered under his gaze. Good. He was not gonna put up with this shit. What was her problem, anyway? He had thought they were making headway with this. She hadn't talked back to him in over a week, and had been making good progress with meeting her goals, getting to bed, eating regularly, even writing more. Where was this attitude coming from? The last time he spanked her, she—
It dawned on him as he placed the chairs in the closet.
When was the last time he'd spanked her? It had been at least three, maybe four... hell, at least four or five days ago. Was she getting antsy? he wondered, as he stacked the chairs and tables in the closet. The last time he'd spanked her, she'd thanked him.
"I feel so much better," she'd said. "I really appreciate you doing this for me."
Maybe she needed more from him. Blake had told him on more than one occasion how his wife got ornery and grouchy if he didn't "keep her in her place" with a good spanking regularly. And just the month before, they were out to eat and Heidi had given Dom lip over something—he couldn't remember what at the moment. She'd excused herself and gone to the ladies' room, and Matteo had asked him,
"What the hell is her problem tonight?"
Dom had merely shaken his head with a frown and said, "Nothing a good spanking won't cure. She's overdue. I'll set her to rights." He'd paid the bill and was standing, waiting for her when she exited the ladies' room.
And the very next day, Heidi was her normal self again.
Matteo knew how to give, and he knew how to take, and both giving and taking were necessary in his role as dominant. But maybe he had a thing or two to learn about meeting the needs of a submissive.
Matteo had promised Hillary a good spanking when the last guest left, and the last guests were taking their damn time about leaving.
Heidi and Dom needed to go home.
"All right, lovebirds. Been a long night. I'll help you with the gifts, and help Hill with what's left before I head home."
He helped Dom bring the large stacks of gifts to his apartment, and when he came back, the door to Hillary's apartment was left ajar. He frowned. It didn't matter if he'd only stepped away for a minute. If she was alone in the damn apartment, the door was supposed to be fucking locked. He'd gone over this with her repeatedly.
He pushed the door open and entered her apartment. The look on her face clearly reflected that she knew he was angry. Hillary rose to her feet.
"You look mad," she said. "I know I wasn't supposed to be listening. Really, I've been thinking about this, and I'm really sorry, Matteo. I—"
"We'll discuss how sorry you are after I've punished you," he interrupted. In two large strides he reached her sofa, taking her firmly by the hand and lifting her to her feet. Her eyes widened as he marched her over to her door.
"What have I told you about this door when I leave?" he asked.
She gasped. "I forgot to lock it," she whispered.
"Correct. Place both your hands on the door," he ordered. Maybe a few hard swats while she stared at her door would help her remember to click the lock in place when he left.
Her hands trembling, she placed both her hands on the door.
"Stick your butt out."
She obeyed, bending over as her hands stayed on the door. Holding her tiny waist with one hand to stabilize her, he lifted his hand and smack! He delivered a few hard, stinging swats. She jumped from the impact but held position. He spun her around and placed a finger under her chin.