by Asha Daniels
Everything about the man was authoritative. “Aren’t you supposed to be protecting me?” Pushing him wasn’t the best objective but she was exhausted, wrung out and her head would not stop throbbing.
He didn’t stop walking.
When they rounded the corner, she could see that he’d turned on a light. The warm glow created an entirely different atmosphere. Gone were the dilapidated visions of a rundown shack. The wooden door was exquisite, carved and solid, the front decking stained a light color and the swing so inviting. “This is beautiful.”
“Get inside, Ms. Rush.”
“I know. Now.” The moment they were inside, he closed and locked the door. There were two locks, both much larger and solid than the ones on her father’s house.
Immediately, Cutter dropped the bags and stalked through the expansive downstairs, checking window locks and closing blinds. “I’m going to double check the upstairs. Stand right here.”
“Yes, sir.” This time, the word was said with a nasty twang. His second stern look was nothing more than a chastisement. She dropped her head before easing her bag to the floor then walked closer to the fireplace. Running her hand over the mantel, she could only imagine owning a cozy home like this, spending time with her family, maybe even a dog or two. Touring was exciting, and she loved the adoring fans, getting to see new and amazing cities, but there were more days recently that she’d been homesick.
But not to go back to her father’s home.
To make one of her own. Maybe that wasn’t in the cards for her. She turned in a slow circle, gazing up at the thick wooden beams, the light wood paneling and the modern lights crossing the length of the cathedral ceiling. A wide and open doorway drew her attention. She headed toward it, feeling her hand on the inside wall until she managed to find a light switch.
“Wow.” The kitchen was small, but well adorned with stainless steel appliances and a granite countertop. The same modern track lighting was subdued, the LED bulbs shimmering against the cool metal. There was an almost floor to ceiling window of clear glass, and she was able to see the reflection of the snow. “Just incredible.” She inched closer, longing to walk outside, to see if there was a back deck.
Hands grabbed her arms, yanking and tossing her against the wall in the living room. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Cutter spit out the words, the veins in his neck standing out, blood pumping vigorously.
“I was just looking around.”
“I told you to stand by the front door. I said stay right there. Why can’t you follow directions?”
“And why are you so angry?” she barked but was unable to look him in the eyes. His grip continued to be firm, his fingers digging into her arms. “You’re hurting me.”
Cutter exhaled but backed away, letting her go. Turning to the side, he started to walk away then stopped. “You don’t get it. Do you?”
“Get what? That I’m supposed to follow your rules? That I’m required to be a stupid girl, sitting and waiting to see if the FBI catches this fuck?”
After several seconds of hesitation, he moved to within a few inches of her. “That I have a job to do. That there is some monster hell bent on taking your life. That I will do everything in my power to keep you safe.” He exhaled and inched even closer. “That I will give my life to keep you alive.”
“I refuse to be afraid. I won’t be dictated to by a monster.” She could sense there were so many things he wanted to say, perhaps rebuking her pretense, her will to carry on as if this didn’t matter.
“You should be and because you aren’t, one of us might die. That is what you have no understanding of and until you do, I’m not certain how to protect you, but I will do my job.”
“I don’t know who you think you are, but you’re not my keeper. You don’t rule me.”
Cutter tipped his head back. “You’re right. If I did, I’d turn you over my knee and give you exactly what you deserve, a hard spanking. Just like I said before.”
Then, why don’t you? The words lingered, floating around her like a warm blanket. She should be shocked, but she was turned on, her pulse racing. This man had seen through her, knew exactly what she needed, what she’d been craving. She wanted his touch, his strength and his authority. God, oh, God. She could hear the angst in his voice, see the utter terror in his eyes and knew that this man, this protector would indeed die for her. When he walked away, she shuddered. “I’m sorry.”
But she knew he hadn’t heard.
* * *
Dear God, Cutter wanted this woman. Why the fuck had he said that? A spanking? Her father would make certain he never worked a day again in his life. He’d crossed so many lines. He took long strides, throwing open the back door and storming outside. He stood on the back deck, planting his hands on the railings, his grip almost crushing. This wasn’t going to be an easy assignment. Jasmine didn’t understand or respect him. How could she? With a father like Winston Rush, the girl had no concept of danger.
But she did understand abandonment.
He would swear on a stack of Bibles that she’d been ostracized by her father, forcing her to seek his approval, his damning love. He’d had psychological training, but nothing to prepare him for caring for his client. Fuck. This was unprofessional and ridiculous. He’d just met her hours before. How could he have feelings for her?
Wham!
Slapping his hand on the railing, he let out a slow and strangled growl. He needed to grill her, to understand completely what they were facing. Together. There was no together. His training would dictate. His time in the military would prevail. His…
Who the hell are you fooling, Thomas? Who the hell do you think you are, a savior?
The cutting remarks of the angry voice buried deep inside his psyche had kept him alive during Afghanistan, during the most treacherous times guarding clients who had no idea that their lives were in significant danger. And here she was. A sweet woman with the most beautiful set of eyes, a voluptuous body and a wicked mouth, trying her best to pretend that she was fearless.
“Damn it.”
“Please come inside.”
He could tell she’d regained her composure as well as her mixed level of anger, fear and defiance. He’d had just about enough. “Go back inside, Ms. Rush. I’m going to check the back then I’ll be in.”
“You already did that. I found some wine. I thought we could have a glass.”
“Go inside! Now!” Yes, his voice was far too forceful. He brushed his hand through his hair and the second he heard a cracking noise coming from the forest, he rushed back toward her, guarding her body with his. “Inside.”
“Uh… Is there someone out here?’ she whispered.
“Do it!” he ordered under his breath. “Stay away from the windows.”
“Okay. Okay.” She scampered inside, moving to the center of the room.
Cutter closed the door with a soft click then slumped against the doorframe, scanning the perimeter as he grabbed his gun, removing the safety. This was going to cut away his last nerve. The moon was just cresting over the tree tops, allowing his eyes to further adjust to the darkness. He hunkered down and took careful steps down the set of stairs. The wood gave under his weight, making clicking and creaking sounds.
When he was on the snow, he glanced from right to left, taking in every square inch of the small clearing surrounding the property. He wasn’t going to risk a flashlight, giving any indication that they were in the house.
At least not more than they’d already done.
He calculated the odds that someone had followed. Slim to none. Still, he was determined to make certain there were no hidden disasters. Both hands on the gun, he walked in a calculated manner toward the line of trees, listening for anything other than limbs breaking from the weight of the snow or a rabbit foraging the forest for food.
He kept the back of the house in his line of sight as he combed the area. Finding nothing, he breathed a sigh of relief. He’d do a thorough chec
k in the morning light. When he moved up the stairs, he heard what had to be music. She damn well had better not have lied regarding bringing her phone. Anger was counterproductive with a woman like Jasmine, but discipline…
The thought remained in the forefront of his mind. She responded to her father and even though he disliked the man immensely, he certainly had shut down her whining.
Sighing, Cutter stood on the deck for a solid five minutes before feeling confident enough to go inside. Locking the door, he rattled the handle, just to be certain. The sound was coming from the kitchen. Shoving the gun back into his waistband, he took long strides. “What are you doing? I said get away from the windows!”
“Shit! You scared me half to death. I found a CD player. I just thought it would be nice.”
He noticed the glass of wine in her hand, the open bottle and another half-filled glass on the counter. She’d taken off her coat and shoes. While he hadn’t noticed her skin-tight jeans or the way her soft, scarlet crimson sweater hung to her voluptuous breasts before, he did now. She was almost fragile, standing several inches shorter than his massive frame. Even the way her copper hair shimmered in the light, flowing over her shoulders, cascading down her arms was provocative. His vision was clouded, creating a rush of images, savage thoughts.
He wanted to spank her, whip her.
No, he wanted to fuck her.
Storming toward her and past the still open blinds, he towered over her, now only inches from her lithe body. The scent of her perfume was intoxicating, filling his nostrils with the exotic array of spices and musk.
She tipped her head, her eyes darting back and forth, her breathing coming in short pants. “What?”
Cutter closed his eyes, unable to squelch his growing libido. “Come with me.” This time, he took her hand, forcing her to stay behind him as he walked out of the kitchen. “I’m closing the blinds. With the light and the wide-open space, anyone with a target rifle could have taken a shot from a significant distance.”
Huffing, she simply nodded. “I’ll stay out of the light and away from the windows. Okay?” Her fingers gripped his hand, brushing back and forth.
The same tingling sensations created beads of sweat running down from his neck into his shirt. He glanced down at the hold and disengaged their fingers. When he moved around her, he took another whiff. His cock ached like a son of a bitch. He closed the blinds and took a step back, eyeing the glass of wine. Not tonight. He was going to have to find a way to help her understand what level of danger she was really in.
The moment he walked back into the room, he stiffened. She was peering out of the blinds. “I thought I made myself clear. Are you trying to get yourself killed? Do you have a death wish?”
“No, of course not.” Snapping the blinds, she snorted and took a gulp of wine.
“I can’t handle this tonight. I need to find a way to get through to you.” He yanked off his coat, tossing the parka onto the nearby chair. Then he paced, moving back and forth, his thoughts muddled. She was going to shove hard against every boundary, refuse to learn what few rules would keep her safe.
Jasmine darted a heated look down the length of him. “Why don’t you just spank me?”
“What?” The question caught him off guard.
She took a purposeful step forward. “You already said that’s what I need. So, why don’t you? All good girls need hard spankings. I have a feeling you’d agree with that.”
Was she actually challenging him? “What did you ask me?” His hands were sweating, his heart racing. And, he knew this was exactly what she needed, but to her, this was a game. He refused to play games.
Licking the rim of her glass, she sauntered closer, allowing the wine to swirl in the glass. “A spanking. I can tell that’s exactly what you want to do. I know you want me over your knees, spanking me with your hand. Even your belt. Don’t you?”
Cutter exhaled, the long breath exaggerated. All his rules and regulations, training for years both overseas and in the ugliest locations in the United States, the years working with every type of fugitive to politician meant nothing to this girl. Nothing. He narrowed his eyes and took two long strides, grabbing her glass with one hand, her wrist with the other. Yanking her toward the couch, he thrust the goblet on the table and jerked her over his lap.
“You’re really going to do this?” Her voice was more of a pant and one filled with lust.
“Maybe you’re right, Ms. Rush. I can’t seem to reason with you. Punishment usually works with women who have no idea how to obey.”
“Are you really going to do this?” Struggling on his lap, she kicked out.
He tugged the gun from his waistband, sliding it across the coffee table as he pressed his other hand against the small of her back. “I’m really going to do this.”
Smack! Pop!
“Ouch,” she said, as if nothing could bother her.
Whack! Crack!
He hit her harder but the tough denim jeans were going to be a problem.
“Is that all you have, Mr. Thomas?”
Her mocking words should have infuriated him. Instead, he was more determined to help her understand that he was in charge.
Completely and without question.
Pop! Crack! Slap!
He moved his hand back and forth, peppering her ass as she continued to wiggle, grinding against his groin. He was hard and throbbing, his hunger skyrocketing, his pulse increasing. “Keep your position or we’ll do this bare assed. Am I clear?”
“Oh, yes, sir.”
The mocking tone continued.
Smack! Pop!
“Mmm…” she whispered
Crack! Slap! Whack! Pop!
Cutter could hear the almost sneering sound. Frustrated, as she swung her arm back, he grabbed her wrist, curling his fingers around it and holding her arm at what had to be an uncomfortable stance.
“You are going to listen to me. Period.” His words were demanding, a necessity.
Smack! Crack! Slap!
“That doesn’t hurt me. You can’t hurt me.”
Sighing, he pushed her down until she was on her knees. Holding both wrists, he lowered his head, keeping his voice low and throaty. “You’re an impetuous child who needs a firm hand. You already know this. Tell me what you need?”
Her wry smile was her initial answer.
“Jasmine. I’m dead serious. We will continue to do this until you learn to respect my authority. Tell me what you need, what the woman inside requires.”
Jasmine huffed, her eyes flashing a combination of anger as well as desire. She licked her lips, moaning as she undulated her body.
He held her, keeping her as still as possible, his eyes never blinking, his body never moving. “Tell me.”
She laughed and looked away, trying her best to get out of his hold. When she couldn’t, she huffed and darted a glance into his eyes. “You think you know me.”
“Yes. I do.” The words were said simply and easily.
“No, you don’t. You can’t. You…” The words trailing off, her body sagged. “I just…”
He waited. They had all the time in the world.
“How could you know me? How can you understand?” Her question was little more than a whisper.
“Tell me.”
Her lower lip quivered as she opened her mouth. “I don’t know.”
“Yes,” he said as he shook her gently, “you do.”
She swallowed hard then shifted closer. “I need a spanking.”
The words were almost inaudible, the timbre of her voice shaking. “What did you say?”
“I said I need a hard spanking. I long for a man to take control of me, remind me that I’m required to obey, to follow rules. I need a man to teach me how to be obedient and thoughtful, even kind and ready to face the world. I desire a strong man, one who will care for me and love me no matter how terrible I am and willing and able to punish me for all the horrible things I do. I need that. I can’t survive without it.�
�� The words said without taking a breath, she panted then her eyes opened wide, as if spitting out the admission made her even more vulnerable or even undesirable in his eyes.
In that moment of self-admission, allowing the voice that she’d pushed down, shoved into her personal black box to finally speak, he was so taken aback, he was unable to breathe. Control. He had to get control of his thoughts, his raging yearning for this woman, for this beautiful wild child who required his guidance.
And even his love.
The thought like a knife cutting through bone and muscle, he could only nod and refused to allow her to see how petrified he was. She’d given him all she had and now, he needed to provide her with everything necessary to flourish. The thought was far too daunting. He sat back, releasing her wrists. “Then remove your jeans.”
She nodded and gave him a respectful nod, as if he’d passed some incredible test. “Yes, sir.”
Cutter continued to agonize over his decision as she stood, her legs shaking. She kept her head down, either out of embarrassment or respect, and unfastened her jeans. He realized his hand was shaking and he rubbed both together, trying to quiet his increasing nerves. This was the right thing to do. He was certain of it. As if anyone else could understand. But this was only discipline. There would be no crossing the line. She was his client, a scared little girl.
Who the hell was he kidding? She was a seductive woman.
Jasmine whimpered once as she slid her jeans down her hips. Every move methodical, she removed and folded, placing them on the edge of the coffee table. A scattered pant slipped past her lips before she slipped her fingers under the thin elastic of her panties, shimmying back and forth as she pushed them down to the floor. Stepping out, she grabbed the lacy fabric, balling them into her hand and holding out her arm. “Sir, would you like my panties?”
Realizing this was a way of giving up her control, he eased forward. “Thank you.” As she took a step back and crossed her arms, he was unable to stop his natural instinct. Pressing her thong to his nose, he inhaled the sweet smell of her pussy and every cell in his body was alive, electrified by his increasing desire. He shoved them into his jean’s pocket and patted his lap. “Come.”