by Thianna D
"Wow."
Smiling at her, he lifted her up and gently placed her on her side under the covers. "I'm going to turn the lights off and be right back." So relaxed, she drifted off before he came back to bed, and yet somehow she knew when he curled up behind her and pulled her back against his chest.
Waking up with a strong, virile man behind her was nice; waking up with a strong, virile man fucking her had to be heaven. A low moan left her lips as she felt his shaft moving slowly in and out of her.
"Good morning," he murmured into her ear. "How's your ass this morning?"
Snickering softly, she shook her head. "I don't feel anything except for your cock."
Pulling out, he slammed back in, making her gasp as the heat in her buttocks flared to life. "You were saying?" As she giggled, he somehow managed to lift her again onto all fours as he fucked her hard from behind, never once pausing. Once again, he was rubbing up against that spot that made everything extremely pleasurable.
"Ohhhhh," she gasped, pushing her hips back and up with every thrust forward. As his hips hit hers, a residual ache reminded her of the night before, and a huge, stupid grin crossed her face. She wondered how often that would happen. The pressure within her built rapidly, and when he wrapped one hand around her hips and rubbed her clit roughly, she broke, crying out as she came even as she felt him still within her. As she flattened to the bed, he lowered on top of her.
"I love it when a partner and I cum at the same time," he said, pulling out.
"Have you had a lot of partners?" she asked with a yawn. There had to be plenty of women after him.
"None since my fiancée Eliza died," he said, coming back from the bathroom and sliding in next to her.
"How long has that been?" She had been dumped by her fiancé and that had been bad enough. To lose one to death had to be horrible.
"It's been a long time. She died of cancer."
Char was glad he told her because she wanted to know but was afraid to ask. How did you ask someone about their deceased love?
"She's the one who got me to open up about my spanking fetish. What got you interested?"
Grimacing, she could feel her blush. "You're gonna laugh."
"Maybe, but I assure you it will not be unkind."
Turning onto her side again, she curled up next to him, placing her head in the curve of his shoulder. "Started out when I saw a spanking on television, and then I found a website on it, which grew to over three hundred websites on it, and now I read books about it."
"I'm not sure what started my fetish, but I kept it hidden until Eliza asked me to spank her."
"Was she alive when you opened the development?"
"Oh, no. She died many years before. It was her death combined with an accident I had that convinced me I needed something else. Jason, myself, and two other friends who practice domestic discipline all decided to create a place where we would be accepted rather than rejected for our way of life."
That made a lot of sense to Char. "So everyone here in Corbin's Bend…"
"Is either into spanking or domestic discipline? Yes. One of the things anyone who applies to the development has to prove is that they will not be insulted or gawk at a spanking if they were to come across it. We will not be treated like weirdos in our own place."
Nodding slightly, she burst out laughing when his stomach growled. "Someone's hungry."
"You should be too. I mean, you didn't even get your Red Vines."
"I know. Definitely something you need to order immediately."
"Oh, thank you."
Brent looked up and smiled at Venia Varner, one of the widows who lived in Corbin's Bend. At fifty-three, she did not show her age. If he did not know it, he would have assumed she was in her early forties. When her husband Greg and she applied, the board accepted them immediately. Even though Greg died before they moved in, Venia had chosen to move all the way out to Colorado from Florida just to be around people who enjoyed what she did. "I wasn't sure what was wrong." She grimaced, shrugging her shoulders. "This is something Greg would have handled."
Patting her on the shoulder, he closed the door in front of her heater. "It's working for now, but I will call Rawlings to bring a new one out and replace this one. This is the fourth time since you moved in that this has happened."
"I know. I keep thinking I'm probably pushing a wrong button."
"No, believe me," he chuckled, "I know how to spot fake outages. This thing has a short somewhere. We'll get it replaced as soon as possible."
"Thanks, Brent. Would you like some tea? I was just about to make some."
"Sounds wonderful, thanks."
As he took a seat in her living room, she went in to make the tea. He enjoyed seeing how people of the community changed the insides of their buildings. There were only seven basic layouts, so the houses themselves could look the same. Thankfully most of the women were good at making a house look like a home. Venia had painted the interior of her home a deep orange, and it felt warm, especially when you looked at all the walls that held bookshelf after bookshelf, many of them holding books she'd written.
"When is Cecily coming home for the holidays?" he asked as she walked back in with a tray.
"I don't think she is," she said as she poured them each a cup. "She has a boyfriend now." A smirk crossed her face. "He asked her to go to his parents' house for Thanksgiving."
"Will you be alone?"
"Stop being a mother hen," she said in amusement. "I'll do just fine by myself."
He grinned at her. "You don't have to. We have a huge turkey dinner at the clubhouse, as you know. Please come."
"Will you be there?"
"Depends. If my folks go to my brother's house, then yes, I will. If they stay in Denver, I'll probably go there."
"And what of Ms. Kendle?" she asked, taking a sip.
Grinning behind his cup, he took a moment to settle his face into a polite, friendly expression when he sipped. "I assume you have heard the rumors?"
"Of course. But I don't trust rumors. I wish to hear it from the source. Are you dating the young woman who bought the Jessup place?"
"Yes, I am."
"Good for you. About time," she said, leaning forward to pat his leg. "From what Rose says, you two make a charming couple. Does she like spanking?"
Chuckling, he shook his head in amusement. "Yes, she does. And that is all I will state on that subject."
"Well, we have all wanted you to find someone, Honey. This is new, but I'm just glad you're dating someone. Darla was all excited about it when you took her out to dinner."
"You have no idea how many phone calls I have received since then."
Throwing her head back, she laughed, a full, throaty sound. "I bet I can. At least as many people as live here. It will all calm down once they get used to the idea. Carla is disappointed, but at least she's looking at other men now." He smiled, but didn't comment. Her eyes twinkled and she added, "One less fake power outage to deal with."
"You're dangerous," he commented, picking up a scone from the plate near the teapot.
Smiling, she nodded. "Yes, I am. I'm a writer. We notice everything, especially the tiny things other people overlook."
After spending a pleasant hour in her company, he headed back to his office, surprised to see Jonathon, the housing board's secretary, waiting for him, looking anxious. "What's wrong?" he asked, removing his jacket.
"There's someone here to see you, Brent. He looks like a lawyer."
Grimacing, Brent nodded. Jonathon had had to deal with a lot of lawyers when the community first opened, but it had calmed down over the last year. "Lawsuit? Feminine rights? Save some bloody animal campaign?"
Jonathon shot him a grin at the private joke. Jonathon was the head of three separate animal rights organizations and Brent loved to tease him about it. "He won't say, but his suit is expensive and he had the kind of look that I… " He grimaced and shrugged, and Brent placed a hand on his arm.
"It's
okay, Jonathon. I get it." Jonathon was an intelligent, highly successful man. The issue was that he was also a follower when it came to interpersonal relations. His head of house, Benjamin, was away a lot, as he was military, and usually Jonathon had no trouble with being assertive. But if the visitor was highly dominant and used to getting his own way, it left the poor man a little chaotic. Which was why Brent had hired him in the first place. Not only was he exceptional at what he did, but he needed someone around when Benjamin wasn't nearby to help if something like this came up.
In relief, Jonathon nodded up the stairs. "He's on the third-floor bench. Said he would talk to nobody but you."
Squeezing the other man's shoulder, Brent headed upstairs, prepared for whatever. They had heard it all. Their buildings did not meet code. It was illegal to deny people entrance just because they were not spankers. That one always made Brent shake his head. He was very good at taking copious notes on any interviews he took with potential members of the community and was able to prove why they were not accepted. So far, not once had it actually had to do with the fact that they were not spankos in any way, shape, or form.
Though why a person would want to move into a spanking community when they looked down on it was beyond him.
The last lawyer who arrived came with a lawsuit from a women's organization claiming that Corbin's Bend was an excuse to abuse women. A small smile spread across his face when he told the women of the community that. They, as a group, countersued along with the board, chastising the organization for their narrow-mindedness. It had gotten a little ugly, but finally the organization withdrew their lawsuit when other kink-friendly organizations came to Corbin's Bend's aid.
So what lawsuit would this new suit bring?
As he reached the top of the stairs, Brent immediately spotted the man seated on one of their benches that curved gently against the wall of the dome. Instantly he recognized why Jonathon had been anxious. The man was definitely used to being in charge. Well, so was Brent.
Let the games begin.
"Good afternoon," he said calmly, striding confidently up to the man as he stood up. Brent had a good four inches on the lawyer who – Jonathon was right – was dressed in what was probably a ten thousand dollar suit. "My name is Brent Carmichael, head of the housing board. I hear you wish to speak with me?"
Holding out his hand, the man nodded. "Mr. Carmichael. My name is Mark McGredon. I am here from Javerson, Layton, and Houves in New York."
Even though he hid it, Brent was momentarily startled. That was where Eliza had worked. "Please come into my office."
Once seated, Mark opened up his briefcase and pulled out a few pieces of paper. "I have been sent by my client to request any help you can give us about one Ms. Charmagne Kendle, who is living nearby."
Raising an eyebrow, Brent leaned back. "Who's your client?"
Mark offered a small smile. "That is confidential."
"As is any information I would have on Ms. Kendle. Now, who's your client?"
Sliding two pieces of paper on the desk, Mark said, "Ms. Kendle is unwell, Mr. Carmichael. Her fiancé is worried about her and we are trying to figure out the best way to get her home to be treated."
Snorting slightly, Brent looked at the images on the two pieces of paper. Neither of them looked like Char. In fact, they looked tampered with to make her look bad. "She's sick?" he asked calmly, looking up.
"Yes. Her fiancé was trying to get her some help when she up and disappeared a few weeks ago."
"What's her illness? After all, I don't want someone ill walking around my community." The trick when talking with a lawyer was to try and get them to walk into your trap without walking into theirs. For now, Brent intended to keep his relationship with Char silent. Mark didn't need to know about it. Yet.
"That's privileged information, I'm afraid. But her fiancé and his family are willing to offer a reward to get her back."
Putting the papers on the other side of his desk where Mark would not be able to retrieve them easily, Brent tapped his lips with the tips of his fingers. "I don't understand. You seem to know where she is, have proof that she is ill. What do you need me for?"
"Ah, yes, well it's the proof part we are having difficulty with. You see, she left before she could be thoroughly tested by a competent therapist, and as such, we need proof of her… abnormality."
Fury simmered within Brent's gut, as he had a strong feeling he knew what "abnormality" this asshole was talking about. "Look," he said sharply, leaning forward. "I protect the people in my community. You want her? You better give me something to go on or I'll escort you out of Corbin's Bend right now."
Closing his briefcase, the lawyer looked him right in the eyes. "Mr. Carmichael, it would seem the research we did on you was correct." He stood up. "You will not understand, as you are afflicted as well, but her fiancé intends to make sure Charmagne Kendle gets the help she needs."
Standing up, Brent walked around the desk and looked down on him. "She's a part of this community. Do not try anything."
Mark shook his head. "Her fiancé—"
"Ex-fiancé from what I hear," Brent responded, making Mark take a step back in surprise. "Yes, I know he dumped her after hearing something he didn't like. You can tell the little asshole for me that whatever he's up to, it won't work. Now get the fuck out of my clubhouse and our community. Also, tell him and any cohorts of yours to stay away from Charmagne Kendle."
Frowning, Mark tossed a business card on his desk. "Mr. Carmichael, you have no idea who you're dealing with. I would suggest you be a little more compliant—"
Snorting, Brent shook his head. "Wrong office for that." Walking over, he opened the door. "Leave. And let your client know that Char's current boyfriend will kick his ass if he comes anywhere near her."
Without another word, the lawyer left his office and he followed him all the way down the stairs, making sure he left the clubhouse. "Jonathon," Brent called. "Get Char on the phone for me."
Chapter 6
Some days it took all she had to get a few words written, but today they flowed all morning. Before ten, she had the articles she needed to send Gena already done and gone, which left her with the time to actually write something of her own. For four years she had been working on a novel. The only problem left was how to end it. Today, the words poured through her fingers and she found herself thinking she would finally be able to finish the first draft.
Her phone ringing made her frown, but she grabbed it anyway. "Hello?"
"Ms. Kendle? Please hold for Mr. Carmichael." The masculine voice surprised her, as she had not heard it before, but her face spread into a smile when he mentioned Brent.
"Char?"
"Brent, well this is a nice surprise." She leaned forward, a grin crossing her face as a slight amount of discomfort reminded her of the night before. It wasn't enough, though. She wanted more.
"I'm glad you think so, but you might not feel that way when I tell you why I called. What are you doing at the moment?"
"Writing?" What did he mean? That his calling might not be a good thing? Her abdomen clenched as fear bloomed within her once again. What if spanking her had turned him off of her, rather than turning him on? What if—
"I would come to you, but I have meetings all afternoon. Any way you could come to me? I'm at the clubhouse. I'll even have lunch brought in." He didn't sound angry, but there was an odd tone to his voice.
"I-is everything okay?" she asked slowly. If he was done with her, she would rather have him tell her now. Then she could go back to her original plan of ignoring everyone in the development and keeping to herself. After she cried her eyes out, that is.
"Everything's fine, Honey." He sighed. "We just had a visit from a lawyer from New York, and I wanted to talk to you about it."
A lawyer from New York? Well, that could have nothing to do with them. Maybe it had to do with her having the one home that was not a part of the development. "Give me twenty minutes and I'll be t
here."
"Thanks. I'll get lunch ordered. How do you feel about Indian food?"
"Hot. Love it."
He chuckled. "See you soon, Baby."
Relieved, she put the phone down, saved the changes to her computer file, and, after shutting it down, went and got dressed. The one great thing about being a writer was that some days she didn't have to worry about dressing for success. This had been one of them. But there was no way she was driving to the clubhouse in cartoon pajama bottoms and his undershirt… which he had left behind that morning. She supposed she should wash it and give it back to him.
Maybe after his scent had withered away.
After changing into jeans and a sweater, she pulled on a pair of boots and left. As she pulled out of her garage, she rolled her eyes. Brent must have poured gravel on her drive as he left that morning. It definitely made it easier to drive down it, but it felt strange to have someone who consistently thought of her needs. Would he always be like that?
Spanking Lane. Her eyes stared at the main city street sign and she giggled, embarrassed at the girlish sound. Now the name made more sense. It was a weekday, and there were few people out on the street, so she parked in front of the clubhouse a few minutes later. As she got out, she had to laugh when a small car pulled up next to her and a young man with spiky red hair jumped out with a large bag in his hand. "Don't tell me. Indian food."
He looked over and grinned. "You must be Charmagne Kendle." He stuck out his hand and she shook it. "I'm Cory, restaurant delivery. Was just about to deliver this to Brent, but I assume you're here to see him?"
Amused and surprised, she nodded.
"Cool. Give this to him. Tell him Reiny charged it to his account."
"Okay. Nice to meet you, Cory."
He beamed at her, shoved the hot bag into her hands, and quickly got back into his car. Given that he was a teenager, she wondered how much he knew about the community. Shaking her head in confusion, she walked to the clubhouse. The door opened as she approached and a very good-looking man with a nice smile held it open for her.