Healing Divides

by Stella Moore

  She took a deep, steadying breath. “I guess I'm all in.”

  “Then I'll meet you in your bedroom in five. Shirt and panties only,” he said.

  Slowly, she rose to obey. As if in a trance, she wandered into her bedroom and undressed. Sheer force of habit had her hanging up the clothes she'd worn that day. She slipped a t-shirt over her head and sat on the bed, waiting for him.

  Waiting to be punished. The thought didn't scare her. She felt a certain level of anxiety at the unknown, but mostly she felt cared for. And turned on. She couldn't deny the heat between her thighs at the thought of going over his lap again.

  Then Jack entered the room and all of her thoughts, every ounce of her being, focused on him. She spotted the wide, slotted wooden spoon in his hand and nearly whimpered.

  He gestured for her to stand, but for a moment she couldn't seem to make her legs work. When she finally stood, he sat on the bed and pulled her in so that she was standing between his thighs.

  “Why are you about to get a spanking?” he asked, his eyes locked on hers.

  She picked at the hem of the shirt she'd pulled on and shrugged. God, she wished he’d just get it over with.

  “Unless you're looking for a third spanking tonight, you'll answer me quickly, young lady.”

  Her head snapped up. “Third? Am I getting two spankings?”

  He nodded. “And right now, you're going to tell me why you're getting the first one.”

  “Because you pissed me off,” she snapped moodily.

  “All right. We'll work on that. For now,” he patted his left knee. “Over you go.”

  “Fine.” She all but threw herself over his knee. “Happy?”

  “Oh, I'm excellent. But then I'm not the one about to get my bottom blistered.”

  The declaration was like a bucket of cold water tossed on her temper. “Wait! I'm sorry. I'll be good.”

  “A little late for that, sweetheart.” With that, he tugged her panties to her knees and began spanking her.

  She yelped when his hand connected painfully with her bottom. It occurred to her that he'd been holding back during that first spanking. Over and over his hand cracked against her naked backside until she felt as though she'd sat on a hot stove.

  “I'm sorry!” she cried, desperately wiggling under his iron grip to try and escape the punishing blows. “I'll never do it again! Please!”

  To her surprise, he stopped. “You'll never do what again?”

  She groaned. This again? “Throw things at you. Or anyone. I'm sorry.”

  “Good girl. I think a dozen with the spoon should drive that lesson home.” She winced when she felt the cool wood tap against her bare skin.

  The first swat with the spoon was more painful than anything she'd felt before. At the second, she howled and tried to push herself off his lap, but he simply hooked a leg over hers and pinned her in place.

  “You will not throw things at people.” Two more slow, deliberate cracks of the spoon.

  “You can be mad.” Crack! Crack! “Or sad.” Crack! Crack! “You can even get knock down drunk if it makes you feel better.” Crack! Crack! “But any time you lose your temper like you did tonight, you'll end up right back over my knee.” The final two swats were the hardest, delivered right to the sensitive crease where her bottom met her thighs, causing her to shriek and finally break down and sob over his knee.

  He helped her stand and she allowed herself to be wrapped in his comforting embrace. “I'm s-sorry,” she sobbed.

  “I know sweetheart. We're good.”

  We're good. Two simple words, and yet they meant everything to her in that moment. Just like that, everything was right between them again. Except…

  “Jack?” she whispered, peeking up at him.

  “Yeah?”

  “You said, um,” she took a deep breath and continued, “am I still getting another?”

  “Yeah. But it can wait until after we get something to eat. How's pizza sound?”

  “I like pizza.”

  “Okay. Why don't you get cleaned up and I'll go call it in.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead and turned her towards the bathroom with a light smack on her backside. With a yelp, she scooted away. In the bathroom, she examined her bottom in the mirror. He'd done a thorough job, she had to give him that. The skin was bright red, and she could make out a few fingerprints around the edges. The places where the spoon had landed were slightly darker, though she didn't think there would be any bruising. Despite the heat radiating off her skin, she grinned. She'd messed up and she'd been punished for it. The thought made her downright giddy.

  Chapter 14

  When the pizza arrived, she did something completely out of character: she carried her plate into the living room and curled up on the couch. Jack followed her, and she got the distinct impression that he was laughing at her.

  “The couch is comfortable,” she informed him primly, taking a dainty bite of her pizza.

  “No argument here. I don't care where we eat.”

  “So how was your day?” she asked, reaching for some semblance of normalcy in the aftermath of her chaotic and emotional day.

  “Actually, it was a damn good day. Caught the bad guy and the DA seems pretty excited about putting him away for a long time.”

  Melissa scowled at her plate. “Until some sleazy lawyer comes along and gets him off.”

  Jack reached over and gave her foot a reassuring squeeze. “I'm not going to lie. It happens. And it pisses me the fuck off when it does. But we can only do what we can do and we have to trust the system to work out the rest.”

  “What do you do when it doesn't? How do you work, every day, in a system that lets guilty people go free?” she asked, fury rising in her once again.

  He shrugged. “It also helps innocent people go free,” he reminded her. “It's not a perfect system, but it's a hell of a lot better than some of the others out there. I believe in it, most of the time. And I can't imagine doing anything else.”

  It was the most personal thing he'd shared in their brief time together, and it reminded her that they didn't really know all that much about each other. “What made you want to be a police officer?” she asked.

  “My dad.”

  She waited several heartbeats to see if he'd expand. “Was he an officer as well?”

  “Yeah. He was.” The weight of the sadness in his voice stirred her. Setting her plate aside, she shifted so that she was stretched out next to him with her head cradled on his lap. He ran his fingers through her hair, toying with the ends while they sat in silence.

  “Line of duty, about twenty years ago,” he finally said. She closed her eyes against the wave of emotions. He was just a baby when it happened, really. A child on the verge of becoming a man, and he'd lost the person who was supposed to show him the way.

  “I'm so sorry,” she whispered, wishing she had the words to ease the pain she could still hear in his voice.

  “Me too. But he was a great dad, for the time I had him. What about you? What are your parents like?”

  She knew he was deliberately changing the topic, but she let it go. This wasn't a therapy session, she reminded herself. She was tempted to change it again to something less personal and painful, but she forced herself to open up.

  “My parents are very influential members of society.” She was proud of herself that the bitterness in her voice was at a minimum. “My father is a lawyer, and a founder of one of the most prestigious firms in the state of Tennessee. Possibly the entire southeast. My mother chairs several charities and ensures that the family is always in attendance at the necessary social functions.”

  “Ah.”

  The single word seemed to hold a wealth of meaning. She pushed herself into a sitting position and glared at him. “Ah? What exactly do you mean by ‘Ah’?” she asked crossly. Her temper, usually locked up tight, seemed to be all over the place tonight.

  “It just explains a lot. Like where you get that snooty voice I enjoy so
much,” he teased.

  “Yes, well. Some things are ingrained in you from an early age, I suppose.”

  He tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “But not others?”

  She shrugged. “I suppose,” she repeated.

  “Hmm. I'm not the shrink here, but I think I'm getting the picture. And I see why you have such a hard time giving up control.”

  She sniffed daintily at the suggestion. “That's absurd. I love giving up control. Would I have asked you to spank me if I needed to be in control?”

  “Yeah. Because you asked for it. But how did you react earlier, when it wasn't your decision?”

  Squirming uncomfortably, she looked away. She expected him to continue his lecture, but he didn't say another word. Instead, he let the silence stretch uncomfortably until she felt compelled to respond.

  “It's not like I want to be that way!” she finally exploded. “It's like there's two different versions of me constantly fighting with each other. The one that excels at everything she does, because she has such exquisite control over every aspect of her life. And then the one that says to let someone else handle it because she's just so tired of always being the responsible one. When you said you were going to punish me, it was like World War II inside my head.”

  “Are you tired, sweetheart?”

  Tears filled her eyes at the sympathetic question and she wondered how many times she could cry in a single night. “I am. I'm tired of trying to be perfect and I'm tired of not having anyone to take care of me. And I'm tired of feeling like a complete moron because I want someone to take care of me.”

  “Look at me.” The order was given softly, but there was no mistaking the authority in it. She turned her head and lifted her eyes to look at him. The understanding in his eyes nearly broke her.

  “This is new territory for both of us, regardless of how much you've studied. We'll figure it out.”

  “Thanks.” She blew out a deep breath.

  “For what?”

  She smiled. “For not giving up on me, even when I acted like a complete brat. I know I'm not making this easy on you.”

  “And I think that's our signal for round two. Stand up.”

  This time, she obeyed immediately. She was damn sure going to start listening to the voice that told her to let go of the reigns.

  As before, Jack sat with his legs slightly apart and pulled her to stand between them.

  “Why are you getting a second spanking?” he asked patiently.

  “Because I fought you on the first one.” She'd figured that out during their conversation.

  He nodded. “Like I said, I'll never force you. It's always your choice to comply. But that doesn't mean there aren't consequences for disobedience.” She shivered at the word disobedience. The word alone put her in a more submissive frame of mind.

  “Go bend over the arm of the couch,” he pointed to the opposite end of where he was sitting.

  Any thoughts that she'd entertained about getting off lightly for a first offense flew out the window. With a quiet, “Yes, sir,” she followed his instructions, draping herself over the overstuffed arm of her couch. Thankfully she had more traditional tastes, and hadn't opted for furniture with sharp angles and hard edges, like her mother favored.

  Jack moved to stand behind her and she felt the cool air hit her skin when he bared her. The unmistakable sound of his belt being removed from the loops set her nerves on edge.

  “Just five—tonight. But every time we have to have this discussion, I'll add another five. Understood?”

  “Yes, sir.” Though he'd never told her that she had to say it, the situation just seemed to call for the respectful address.

  “Good. You don't have to count this time.”

  With that, the leather snapped against her bare skin. The weight of it bit into her flesh, reigniting the fire from her earlier punishment. She hissed at the shockingly deep pain.

  “The next time I decide to punish you, are you going to argue?”

  “No, sir!” she gasped as the belt lashed against her backside a second time.

  “Are you going to accept your punishments, even if you disagree?”

  The next stroke of the belt elicited a long, low howl of agony from her. But she couldn't bring herself to respond. How could she promise that?

  “I'm waiting.” He tapped the leather against her bottom, making her whimper in response. “Any strokes I give you before you answer don't count,” he warned. He gave her several seconds more before he swung again, making sure the belt connected with the tops of her thighs.

  “Yes, sir!” she finally screamed. “Please, no more. I promise, I promise, I promise!”

  “Two more, sweetheart. You can do it,” he murmured encouragingly.

  She shook her head in disagreement, but again she felt the breathtaking crack of the leather against her bare skin. She took several shallow, shuddering breaths. The pain was so intense, so all consuming, she missed his next question.

  “C-can you r-repeat that, sir?” she asked shakily.

  “Do you trust me?” When the question got through the fog in her brain, she slumped over the arm of the couch and wept, unable to answer.

  “I'll take that as a yes,” he said. “Last one.”

  The last stroke was the lightest of all, so light that she wondered if he'd lost his grip on the belt. But seconds later, a pair of strong arms lifted her and cradled her as she cried herself out against his chest.

  Jack carried her to her bedroom and stretched out on the bed with her laying on top of him. When her breathing began to slow, he asked her his final question.

  “Are you going to let me take care of you?”

  With a contented sigh, she nodded and closed her eyes. “Yes, sir,” she breathed quietly, before dropping off into a blissfully dreamless sleep.

  Chapter 15

  Melissa awoke the next morning feeling surprisingly refreshed, despite the events of the night before. Or perhaps because of them. Either way, she felt excellent and for once in her life she wasn’t going to overanalyze it. When the scent of fresh coffee brewing reached her, she grinned and rolled out of bed, wincing a little when her sore backside pressed against the mattress.

  “Good morning,” she called out in greeting as she turned the corner into her kitchen. “How about you come back to bed and we…” The playful laughter died in her throat when she realized Jack wasn't alone.

  “Good morning, Melissa.” Kathleen French sat perched on a stool at the small island that sat in the middle of the kitchen.

  Melissa pulled her robe shut and ran a hand over her hair in an attempt to tame the mess. “Hello, Mother. What a pleasant surprise,” she lied. By the look on Jack’s face, it hadn’t been pleasant for him either.

  “This isn't a social call, Melissa. I heard a disgusting rumor and I needed to discuss it with you immediately.”

  Melissa's eyes darted to Jack’s and then back to her mother's. “What do you mean?”

  “Are you testifying in some kind of kinky sex trial?” her mother demanded, ice cold fury flashing in eyes that were nearly identical to Melissa's.

  Fighting the urge to run and hide, Melissa stalled. “Did you really drive over three hours to ask me about a trial?”

  “Answer the question.”

  Melissa sighed. “In a way, yes. Well, perhaps. Nothing has been decided yet.”

  “Melissa Lennox French. You will not, under any circumstances, embarrass our family by participating in this ridiculous trial. Do you understand me?”

  “Mother, it's not that simple. I cannot sit by and let a dangerous man walk free.” She hadn't even realized she'd made her decision until that moment. As long as she could get Penny to agree, she would do everything in her power to make sure Franklin went away for a very long time.

  Her mother stood, and ever the picture of grace, slipped on her sunglasses and slid the strap of her purse over her shoulder. “If you do this, we will have nothing to do with you. You will be
out of the will and out of our lives. I will not allow you to ruin our family's name with your misplaced loyalty.”

  Whatever reaction she had expected from her mother, this wasn't it. “Mother, surely you aren't serious. I have a responsibility to my patients.”

  “Your responsibility should be to our family, above all else. If you come to your senses, we will see you at the holidays. Goodbye, Melissa.”

  With that chilly dismissal, Kathleen French turned her back on her daughter and walked away.

  When the door shut behind her, Melissa felt the breath simply leave her body, like a balloon being deflated.

  “Sweetheart?” Jack stepped towards her, reaching for her, but she shook her head and ran in the opposite direction.

  In the bathroom, she was sick until she was simply heaving air. She and her mother had their differences, and they rarely saw eye to eye, but this was a new level of pain she'd never expected to experience. She'd always thought that despite their disagreements, her parents loved her, unconditionally. The knowledge that she’d been wrong, so incredibly, horribly wrong was more than she could stand. A soft knock on the bathroom door pulled her out of her thoughts back into the real world.

  “Can I come in?” Jack’s voice asked from the opposite side.

  She nodded, and then realized he couldn't see her. “Yes,” she croaked, her throat raw from the sickness. The door opened and Jack stepped inside.

  “C’mere,” he said gently, sitting next to her, and lifting her into his lap. He held her there for what felt like hours, silently rocking her.

  “I thought they loved me,” she said dully.

  “Oh, baby.” His arms tightened around her. “I don't know what to say,” he confessed.

  She could hear the anger and frustration under the sympathy. She shrugged and rested her head on his shoulder. “Nothing to say. My parents just discarded me like I was a dog who got too old and wouldn't stop peeing in the house. I'm inconvenient for them now, so I have no place in their family.”

  “Let's go back to bed for a bit,” Jack suggested. “I'll call your office and tell them you're sick and you can take a nap. Relax. Get a pedicure. Whatever you need.”