Leading Her Home (Lessons From Nick's Firm Hand Book 2)

by Ashlynn Kenzie

  Nick had, she admitted to herself, tried every subtle trick in the book to rein her in, but she had persisted in defying him when he made perfectly reasonable suggestions and in deriding his opinions and comments whenever she got the chance. And every time she scored another direct hit, her pulse raced a little faster. Her body had known precisely the trouble she was courting, even if her mind denied it.

  It took a third determined reach for the bottle of wine, after Nick had moved it out of her way, plus a healthy slug of its contents, and a thoroughly unladylike comment about Dr. Haynesworth, couched in language she knew he abhorred, before he had asked her to help him bring in a fresh assortment of crackers and had followed her into the kitchen.

  She had known what was coming, instinctively, and yet she had popped up from her seat next to Leila and sashayed, a little tipsily, out to the cheerful space decorated with lots of stainless steel against a pale yellow background, even exercising such a lack of basic caution and self-preservation as to turn her back on him and bend over to open the bottom cabinet where he kept crackers and bread.

  It was, she had to admit, a taunt she could hardly have expected him to refuse.

  He didn't.

  She heard the rattle of kitchen utensils a split second before she felt a stinging lick across the crown of each cotton-encased cheek. She hadn't meant to dignify his efforts with a reaction, but the surprised yelp escaped her lips before she could control it as she came upright and spun toward him, her face flushed with indignation.

  Now, some reasonable voice in the back of her head whispered, she had a final choice. She could apologize, put on her big girl panties and correct her behavior, hoping Leila had somehow either not heard or not understood what was taking place between them, or she could yield to the same impulses she had been giving in to all afternoon—well, actually, ever since their lunch together earlier in the week—and find herself in a situation that would make this aspect of her relationship with Nick perfectly clear to her vanilla friend.

  "The next time you make me do that, it won't be in private, you know," he said, reading her mind perfectly. "Leila will not only know what a spanking sounds like, she'll get to see a bare-bottom one, up close and personal. It's too bad that orange tank top is going to clash with your ruby red cheeks when I'm through."

  Andee narrowed her eyes and grimaced, but when he raised his hand to waist height and held it, open palm turned toward her in a gesture she had no trouble interpreting, she finally found good sense. Dropping her head and squeezing her eyes closed for a moment, she drew a deep breath and stiffened her spine.

  "I'll be good," she said finally. "I promise. I'm sorry. I just can't seem to get control when I get that little bad girl burr under my saddle."

  He drew her into his arms and patted her bottom gently. "I know, sweetie. But you'll be fine now. Demons are all exorcized."

  "Do you think Leila figured out your method of exorcism?" she asked ruefully, her mouth raised to nuzzle his chin.

  "I think we'll know before the night's over."

  Andee came down off her tiptoes and drew back a little in his arms. "So what do you think of her?"

  He considered his impression of Leila during the evening, since the moment he had opened the door to catch her in the midst of a grand plié. She had tilted her head, while still in position, considered him carefully and appreciatively, and then stood erect and fluffed her ballet skirt before reaching for his hand. The sleeves of her purple sweatshirt slid down over her fingers as they clasped his.

  "I think she's a very attractive and intelligent young woman with a good sense of humor and a rather unique fashion sense."

  Andee laughed. "That's not her usual choice in outfits. But she had a ballet class and it ran long. She texted me from the studio and I told her it was all right to come on like she was. You've seen her before. You know she's usually a jeans and T-shirt girl."

  "Is she attached to anyone?"

  "Two someones. But it's okay. They both know and they're both okay with it. It's nothing serious; just friend stuff, she says. They even spend a lot of time all together. She had a serious boyfriend last year, but he dumped her and she's not over it yet, I don't think, even though she says getting rid of him was the best thing that ever happened to her. She's just playing around now. And apparently there's nothing, you know—sexual—going on. If there was, my money would be on it happening between Cannon and Lance, anyway."

  "Well, good luck with that, if all three of them are okay with it. I keep reminding myself things have changed an awful lot since I was your age."

  "So, if I can accept her unconventional choices, I think she should be able to accept mine. We're both big girls."

  He grinned and pulled a strand of her ponytail. "Most of the time, at least. Now listen to me, sweetie, it's your life and your friendship, but think carefully how much of your choice you want to share and how in-your-face you want to be about that. I know we talked about this before, but you seemed hesitant then to have her find out. Now it's almost like you're daring her not to put two and two together. If I were you, I'd wait and see if Leila brings up what just happened. If she's going to be appalled by it, it won't help things to hit her over the head with it. You'll be able to tell by the way she approaches it in a conversation—provided she ever does—if she's going to be fascinated or disgusted."

  "Yeah, you're right. Okay, hand me the cracker basket and let's give this another chance."

  *****

  Leila had been gone for well over an hour, and the two of them had finished cleaning the kitchen, kicked off their shoes and cuddled on the couch while they watched the opening monologue on a late night variety show.

  Nick reached for his laptop and brought up his website. Four new messages were displayed.

  Two were comments on a recent posting that contained a partial chapter from one of his older books he was reworking and bundling with a pair of similar volumes for redistribution. The third was a request for information about how to evaluate on-line sites offering free introductions between Tops and Bottoms looking for partners.

  The fourth was a simple paragraph.

  "Hi, Tracy—Never written before, although I've been lurking at your site for months now. Think I witnessed my first adult spanking tonight. Well, I didn't actually see it. I only heard it from the next room, but I'm pretty sure that's what it was. Whatever it was, it happened to my best friend and it sure changed her attitude, in just two short licks. I thought the things you write about were all fantasy, or, at least, about people pretending they were in those disciplinary relationships, but after tonight, I'm not so sure. Maybe there really are people who live like that. And maybe that's part of what has happened to my friend. I wish I knew someone I could look at the way she looks at her guy. I wish I knew someone like her guy. I wish I knew what this was all about, first hand. At least I think I do. How do I know for sure? What do I do next? Thanks for helping open my eyes to what I need and for listening to me ramble. All Trembly"

  Nick nudged Andee, who was almost asleep with her head in his lap. She sat up, yawning and stretching. "Time for me to go home?"

  "Time for you to read this," he said, lowering the computer into her lap.

  "Oh. My. Gosh. It's Leila, isn't it? On your site. I can't believe it. She never said a word while she was here. I bet she was dying to get home and share it with someone. How weird it should be you. Wouldn't she just be mortified if she knew you're really Tracy Topping? What are you going to say to her?"

  He shrugged. "I thought you might have some ideas."

  "Me? You'd let me write on your blog?"

  Nick nodded. "Not just anytime the mood strikes you, but, yes, I'm at least willing to look at what you have to say and, if it won't land me in jail or in the middle of a lawsuit, I'll post it."

  "I need to think," she said. "I'm going to your bedroom. I'll let you see it when I'm finished and you can decide what to do."

  Fifteen minutes later she padded back into
the living room, computer balanced carefully on her palms, and handed the machine to him.

  "Dear All Trembly, The prospect does affect you that way, doesn't it? Makes you 'All Trembly,' I mean. The reality can leave you even more so. It sounds as though you are more than a little interested in 'This Thing We Do,' so my advice to you is to learn more about it through reading, first of all. Then you might try mentioning it in a roundabout way to your friend. If she wants to share her secrets, give her the space to do it in, and then treat whatever she tells you with respect and confidentiality. She will be giving you a precious trust if she opens up to you, so never abuse that gift. If she seems reluctant, or if she denies any knowledge of what you hint at, drop the subject with her and look for support elsewhere. The Web offers millions of opportunities to learn and to experience. Just exercise caution and discretion. Remember that, beyond all our random and assorted needs, each of us is just an individual. Some of us are basically good; some of us are scoundrels. Some of us are trustworthy; some of us are looking for a trusting soul to abuse. Some of us are givers; some of us are takers. Finding a good Top out of this mix of humanity is a blessing, whether you choose to live the lifestyle or simply play the game. But finding a good man who has decided to become a good Top is the real essential and the ultimate gift you can give yourself. Search carefully and don't settle for second best, ever. Good luck. Tracy."

  Nick read the reply and smiled gently before he hit the key to speed her message across town and around the world.

  *****

  The evening filled with surprises was over.

  Andee had finished a cup of hot tea, gathered up her purse and assorted items of clothing she had worn earlier in the day, and headed for home. He was in bed with a book when she called to report she had arrived safely and was ready to put out the light.

  All things considered, he thought as he turned first on his left side and then on his right in his nightly pre-sleep ritual, it had been a very satisfying visit. He liked Leila and had enjoyed her wit and the talent she displayed when she spied his guitar in the corner and asked if she could play it. They had sung folk songs he was surprised the two girls had ever heard of, and he had taught Leila the chords to Blowing in the Wind, while Andee sang it in her clear, sweet alto voice.

  Leila had been deferential, at first, but as the evening wore on, she treated him less and less like someone who might have been a friend of her parents and more like someone she simply enjoyed talking to. He knew Andee was pleased that they had established a bond.

  And he had not been entirely taken aback when he realized the letter to Tracy Topping was from Leila. There was something about her—those careful, subtle signals she gave off after he and Andee returned to the living room from their encounter in the kitchen—that made him suspect she had not only heard and identified the nature of their interaction, but had been excited by it. It was simply an amusing coincidence she had turned to Tracy's blog to voice her sentiments about the evening.

  Andee's response had moved him deeply. Maybe, just maybe, he was more to her than a father figure.

  He started his nightly examination of the ins and outs of their relationship and the psychological ramifications of the needs they shared, but, as usual, sleep claimed him before he found any resolution, and he drifted away into dreams in which Andee, a teenage Andee, was running toward some building whose appearance was obscured by clouds. He called to her and she stopped briefly and glanced at him over her shoulder, beckoning him to follow with a delighted smile on her face.

  The dream was a familiar one. It always faded, just as they stepped onto a rugged-looking, wide porch and Andee reached out to open a door.

  He awoke the next morning, pondering, as he always did, what was waiting for them on the other side of the door. Finding out, he thought, might pose a risk. He wondered if he was willing to take it.

  Chapter Six

  Nick drove them to the abandoned orchard a few days later.

  Andee had suggested it, having relived their last visit there countless times in her imagination. In a relationship bursting with emotion that usually resulted in her sitting carefully for at least a few hours, if not days, it was the memory of their time at the Benjamin family farm that had replayed itself over and over during the months she was alone.

  She knew his deep ties to the place accounted for some of her own fascination, but the isolated area had also been the place he had disciplined her the most strictly. She suspected that had something to do with her longing to experience it with her eyes this time and not just her other senses.

  He made a stop along the way, but this time, instead of treating her to the wine and chocolate-dipped strawberries he had provided for their first picnic there, he let her choose their treats. Her needs were simple; she emerged from the store with a bag of tortilla chips, a jar of hot salsa and a six-pack of icy Diet Coke. He rolled his eyes when she tucked the cans into the small cooler in the back seat, but grinned his thanks when she added three large bottles of chilled water.

  The thirty-minute drive out of the city took them into the hills and past several small farms before the road wound through an area filled with sturdy oaks and numerous pines that gradually opened out into a broader range of open space.

  "That's where my ancestors built their cabin when they came here after the Civil War," he said, slowing the car to a crawl and pointing toward a chimney that continued to stand guard over the remnants of a dwelling about fifty yards back from the road. The foundation was still there, but the roof had disappeared and the carefully hewn logs that had provided protection for the family had mostly tumbled in. Honeysuckle vines had claimed the timbers as their own habitat through the years. Their smell pervaded the air when Nick lowered the car's windows.

  At Andee's request, he stopped and they got out.

  "My grandfather remembered living in the cabin when he was a little boy, but his father built another house when he was about eight or nine. Grandpa Benjamin worked on it with his dad and his own grandfather."

  "Where is that one?" she asked scanning the landscape as they walked toward the original dwelling.

  "It burned years ago. It was after my grandfather died and no one was living in the house. I spent all my summers here with my grandparents, but I was grown and batching it in Colorado when Grandpa passed away. The house just stood empty after that. I kept telling myself I'd move back and take it over, but before that happened, it was gone. The neighbor who mows the area around the orchard and keeps an eye on things said it was most likely a lightning strike. He was away at the time it happened and, apparently, no one else noticed. The other neighbors are too far away. The rain kept it from spreading, I guess. Anyway, I had it torn down and the lot cleared. It was on the other side of the road," he said, turning back toward the car and waving an arm to indicate the area beyond it. "The crew asked me about cleaning this one out, too, but I just couldn't do it. It's the anchor to this place. I think my grandfather would have wanted it left like this. He cleaned it up pretty well after it collapsed years ago. Hauled off the pieces of the roof and some of the logs that broke when they fell in, but he stopped when he got to the parts that were still whole. He said he couldn't do anything else to tear the dreams apart. The older I get, the better I understand that."

  They circled the perimeter of the cabin while she stopped occasionally to pluck a pungent bloom peeking between the haphazardly tumbled logs. "What about your dad?" she asked.

  "I never knew him," Nick said. There was something in his tone that made her glance toward him, but he had turned away, staring back to the site of the burned dwelling. "Are you ready to go on to the orchard?"

  "Yeah. Sure." She slipped her hand into his as they walked toward the car. He smiled as he leaned in to brush her lips with a little kiss.

  "I trust you're going to be a good girl this time," he said as he started the engine and the car inched down the narrow private road.

  Andee had the grace to blush. "I can't imagi
ne being anything else. Not with as many convenient possibilities as there are here."

  Nick laughed, but he made no more references to the painful switching he had meted out when Andee's temper had almost cost her her life on their previous visit. Minutes later, he parked the car at the edge of a freshly mown area that was bordered by rows of neatly planted but abandoned peach trees on either side, with a waist-high stone fence forming a barrier a few yards in front of them.

  He claimed the cooler and Andee grabbed a quilt from the back seat that she spread next to the wall and in the shade of the first row of trees.

  "Is it like you remember it?" he asked when they were stretched out on the cool cotton cover.

  "It sounds the same," she said after a minute. "The quiet, except for the birds and insects and sometimes the breeze in the trees. But the smell is different. No more ripe peaches. Now it's woodier," she said, wrinkling her nose.

  "Peach season's over, such as it is now. Probably a few remnants still lying on the ground, if the squirrels and wasps and bears haven't eaten them."

  "Bears," she squealed, rolling over and scuttling into his arms.

  He enjoyed the contact for a minute before reassuring her with a grin.

  "Actually the only bear around here in at least a hundred years was your heinie," he said with a laugh.

  "You are a horrible, terrible, awful, not very nice at all person," she pouted. "I only got into trouble because you upset me so much when you said you wouldn't go to the doctor with me to get my patches off."

  "You only got into trouble because you threw a fit instead of waiting to hear me out, and then you almost killed yourself running toward that fence, blind as a bat, even when I yelled at you to stop. Come here." He hauled her upright and then got to his feet and pulled her with him. "Take a peek over that," he said, motioning toward the wall.