by Cara Bristol
“What are you going to do about it?”
Her ass hurt. A lump formed in her throat, making it difficult to speak. “I’m—I’m g-going to apologize to Elizabeth.”
“Excellent.”
The paddle fell several more times before he paused again. “And this”—he smacked her twice on one cheek, then two more times on the other—“is for swearing.”
MARK DROPPED THE paddle and scooped Stephanie into his arms. He’d expected some anger, resistance, but she curled up against him and buried her face into his neck. Her body trembled, but she didn’t cry.
He caressed her back. “It’s done now.”
“Are you still mad at me?” she asked against his skin.
“I’m not mad at you. I would never discipline you while angry. I will always wait until it passes and my head clears. And now that I’ve spanked you, the matter is put to rest, and I won’t bring it up again.” He tightened his arms around her and rocked. Keeping one arm around her shoulders, he smoothed his other hand down her back to caress her ass cheeks, her thighs, to ease the sting. “What if I’m rude again?”
He smiled against her hair. “Then that’s a new matter.”
She snaked an arm about his waist, another around his neck.
He continued to rub her buttocks, and she purred in pleasure, a sound that echoed in his own soul at having her naked and pliant in his arms. This one perfect moment brought him home where he belonged. Now all he had to do was convince her of the same. In the future he might demand she endure the discomfort with a restriction of “hands off,” but now she needed the physical connection. She’d gone wanting for a long time and was like a sponge, soaking up his attention, affection he was only too willing to give her. He required the contact too. Craved it. He wanted this woman every which way to Sunday. He couldn’t imagine tiring of touching her. Domestic discipline wasn’t about punishment but intimacy and bonding. Spanking—the aspect that had garnered Sentinel headlines—represented only one facet of a complex relationship dynamic. The means to an end rather than the end.
Spanking had broken through Stephanie’s defenses. No telling how long it would have taken before she curled up in his arms like a little cat seeking to be stroked and loved.
“You’re not a kitten, are you? You’re a fierce Amazon,” he teased.
She flinched as if he’d struck her with the paddle again. “Don’t call me that!” Rigid, she struggled against his chest. “Let me go.”
“No. Talk to me.” He tightened his embrace to prevent her escape. “Explain why it bothers you.”
“I don’t like it, okay?” She pushed. “Let me go—now, damn you!”
The sudden change in her mood baffled him, and he responded with the only surefire way he knew to get her attention: he smacked her ass twice. “That’s for swearing and for shutting me out.” A lack of communication had contributed to the failure of his marriage. Ronnie hadn’t communicated that her feelings for him had changed until she’d announced she was leaving him.
She glared. “Spanking can’t fix everything.”
“But it can get you to talk to me. To tell me what you’re feeling.”
“It happened a long time ago, and it doesn’t matter anymore.”
“It matters if you can’t bear to talk about it.” He didn’t have to be a psychiatrist to recognize the shield she’d built around herself was a defensive mechanism to avoid hurt.
“It’s stupid. Kids’ stuff.”
“I doubt it’s stupid.” Talk to me. Let me help you.
She crossed her arms.
“I have nothing else planned for this evening except spending it with you. I can wait all night.”
“I got my growth spurt early.” She twisted her mouth. “I was the tallest kid in my sixth grade class, even taller than my teacher.” She paused, and Mark remained silent, allowing her time. “I also had bigger breasts than my teacher. I was the only girl in middle school who wore a double-D bra.
“We studied mythology in seventh grade and learned about the Amazons, how they supposedly cut off one breast so they could better shoot a bow and arrow. The kids started calling me Amazon, asking when I was going to cut off one of my tits.”
Mark tightened his lips. Bullying led to so many problems later in life. The police department often dealt with the effects. The tormented became the tormentors, sometimes going berserk, striking out at innocent people. “I’m so sorry, Stephanie. Kids are vicious sometimes. They don’t think past the moment.”
She smiled sadly. “I wished it had ended there, but the name followed me to high school. My senior year, there was a guy in my history class I liked.”
Shit! He could see where this was going.
“He was cute and friendly. I thought he liked me too.” She took a breath. “I learned the hard way he wanted to fuck an Amazon like the other boys.” Challenge flashed over the hurt in her gaze. “Are you going to spank me now for saying fuck?”
He shook his head. He would have liked to hunt down the bastard and punch him. “No. I’m going to hold you, kiss you, and promise I’ll never call you that.” He cupped her face and brushed a kiss over her mouth. She sighed and parted her lips, but he waited until her tongue tentatively darted out before deepening the intimacy, drawing from her sweetness to feed his need to soothe her.
Finally he lifted his head and toed off his shoes. Taking her with him, he scooted on the bed to rest against the headboard. He settled her so she stretched across his lap, her shoulders supported by his arm. He explored her feminine contours with a freedom the car’s cramped space hadn’t allowed. He delighted in the dip of her waist, the curve of her hip, the roundness of her reddened ass, the length of her thigh, the softness of her breasts.
Spanking her had made him hard—not the act of paddling and certainly not her pain, but her submission to his authority, his trust. Yeah, that had turned him on big-time. To have this proud, courageous woman supplicate herself… How could he not get aroused? His cock signaled him with Mayday messages, but he would satisfy his desires later; this moment belonged to her.
He swirled his thumb around her nipple and watched with fascination as the silver-dollar–size areola puckered and tightened. He tugged the nipple to a tauter peak, then bent his head and sucked gently. Stephanie arched and clutched at his neck.
He smoothed his hand over her abdomen and toyed with her belly button. An outie. Different. Like she was.
He wandered lower to her mons, completely bare, totally sexy. He dipped between her legs and found her wet, her folds swollen. His erection shot up another signal flare, demanding he sink into her, but he desired more to hold her, watch her come undone. Watch her come. He studied her face.
Her mouth was slightly parted, her eyes dazed.
“I like your naked pussy,” he said.
Her gaze sharpened. “Oh, thank you,” she retorted smartly.
“Is that sass I hear?” He swirled a finger around her clit.
“And what if it is?”
Yep, sass. He slipped a finger into her channel and nearly groaned at the tightness, the wetness. His cock was frantic to get his attention now. “I might have to take matters into my hands.” He inserted a second finger.
“I think you already have.” Her muscled walls clenched.
He released a bark of laughter. “You could be right.” He fucked her slowly with his fingers, continuing to stimulate her clit with his thumb. A sexual flush stole over her cheeks and breasts, coloring them to a pink much lighter than her ass, but just as pretty.
Her face scrunched with concentration. “Mark…” Her body jerked under his touch. “What about… I feel… Shouldn’t I be doing something for you?”
“You’re doing it.” She was beautiful. Glorious.
“But—”
“Shh. Let me pleasure you.” Her moisture drenched his hand. He was going to have two wet spots on his slacks—one from her, another from his precum.
Her breathing quickened, and her hips bucked, an ins
tinctive sexual motion that rubbed her reddened ass against the rough material of his slacks. “Ow. Oh Mark! Oh. Ow.” Her pussy squeezed his fingers.
He increased his speed and pressure against her clit. His cock, teased by the motion of her body, ached like a motherfucker.
Her face screwed up, and she climaxed with a cry and a shudder.
After the tremors subsided, he spoke. “Pleasure will come again after you work through the discomfort.”
“What?” She blinked.
Playing on a hunch, he resumed stroking her clit.
She squeaked and grabbed his wrist. “I’m done. I’m done. Too sensitive.”
“I want to watch you come again.”
She yanked on his arm. “Mark. Please. No.”
“Okay.” He released her and rolled her off him.
“Thank you.” She reached for his belt buckle, but he eluded her grasp and shifted her to lie against the pillows. “What are you doing?”
He wedged himself between her thighs.
She tried to close her legs but couldn’t. She pounded on his shoulders with her fists, and he chuckled. “Please, Mark. Mark!” She squealed when he bent his head and covered her sex. He retracted the protective hood and flicked his tongue over the hypersensitive bud underneath.
She shrieked and thumped her heels on his back. “Damn you!”
He licked and sucked as she kicked. To see her climax once more would be worth a concussion.
“Stop. It hur—oh…” She stopped thrashing and thrust herself at his mouth. “Don’t stop.”
He smiled against her sex.
“You’re so…fucking proud…of yourself, aren’t you?” she moaned.
His grin widened. Her ass was sore, so he’d give her a reprieve, but he was so going to spank her for swearing at him.
He slid two fingers into her pussy and pumped hard. He lifted his gaze and watched.
She came, wailing, thrusting, clenching.
THIS TIME HE didn’t even wait until she stopped shuddering before he was on her again. He’d morphed into an incubus who wrested a response from her she hadn’t known she was capable of. Awareness that she’d cursed at him made her pretty certain she’d earned another spanking. She recognized the futility of striking out at him, knew he would overpower her puny efforts, so when he continued to torment her poor, sensitive clit, she clamped her lips together and surrendered to the wave of pain, trusting that pleasure would arrive on the next crest.
It did, and she arched at the intensity.
And gasped in dismay when he abandoned her.
But it was only to fling off his clothes. Yes, he was a sex demon. Her pussy throbbed and wept, and she widened her eyes at the sight of his perfect V torso, sculpted muscles, and porn-star erection. She rarely watched porno movies because they degraded women, but this man, arrogant and domineering as he was, could have been a lead actor.
She scrambled to her knees and grabbed the prize.
“Kitten…” The nickname didn’t sound so bad when it fell out of his mouth on a groan.
She slid her fingers up and down his shaft.
“You shouldn’t do that,” he said. He closed his hand over hers and moved it at a brisker pace.
“Why not?” The velvety crown, the steeliness of his shaft fascinated her.
“Because I’ll come in your hand.”
She cupped his balls, marveled at the texture of his sac. Smooth, hard, rough, his textures offered tactile and visual delights. She bent and drew him into her mouth.
“Oh fuck!”
Playfully she slapped his ass.
He growled.
She swept her tongue around the glans, savoring the salty, tangy precum. His size left little space to maneuver, but she shielded her teeth and did her best to take him deep while she fisted his shaft.
She teased the slit with a flicker of her tongue, then traced the surrounding ridge before licking the underside to the base. Mark groaned. His balls were proportionately sized to his cock. She kissed the rough skin, inhaling musky sex and man, then rubbed her cheek against his groin.
He pulled away and rolled on a condom. Then the man who’d chastised her for impoliteness flipped her onto all fours without so much as a “would you please.” How typical that he’d fuck her in the most sexually submissive position, her face nearly pressed to the bed, her ass raised high to expose her sex. Apparently spanking wasn’t the least of his dominant tendencies.
Her silent protest died under the assault to her senses as he massaged her clit. Damn her traitorous body for thrusting against him when he gently stretched her pussy with two thick fingers. He spread her folds and nudged her entrance.
Cupping her mons, he rocked into her. Oh Gloria, the beauty of him, the pressure. Completion. She bit her lip and squeezed her eyes shut.
“Okay?”
“Fu—perfect,” she groaned.
He laughed, his low rumble sending electrical impulses zinging into her clit. Or maybe his moving fingers had done that. “Saying fuck is permissible in this context,” he said.
“Fuck, you feel good.”
He growled and swiveled his hips. “You’re fucking beautiful,” he said.
She’d been called many things, but never that. His profane compliment entwined around her heart before she could erect a shield. She closed her eyes and rocked in sync with his thrusts. “You’re influenced…by the heat of the moment.”
“I’m influenced by you.”
He picked up the pace, stroking secret places while continuing his manual assault. Fire streaked through her.
“Come for me. Now.” His guttural order should have aroused ire, but tension snapped, and once again she climaxed at his command. But victory became hers as his body convulsed seconds later. His groan played like triumphant music in her ears.
Chapter Seven
“What are you drinking?” Evelyn, the office manager, delivered some documents for Stephanie’s signature and eyed the glass of reddish liquid on her desk.
“Cranberry juice.”
“Maybe you should see a doctor.”
“For what?”
Narrowing her eyes, Evelyn said, “I noticed when you came in this morning you were walking a little gingerly, and now you’re drinking cranberry juice. You have a urinary tract infection, don’t you?”
Stephanie suppressed her annoyance at the intrusion. “I like cranberry juice.” Working in an office of women, she was used to everyone knowing one another’s personal business, but this went too far. Too close to the truth.
She and Mark had had sex so many times in so many ways over the weekend, she was drinking the tart punch to forestall the chance of “honeymoon cystitis” bladder irritation due to repeated thrusting.
While the redness and pain in her buttocks had faded completely by Monday morning, the soreness in her pussy was another matter. Stephanie leaned on an elbow and covered her mouth to hide her grin. Damn. She’d spent Saturday night at Mark’s. He’d taken her to her apartment Sunday morning for a change of clothes, and then they’d driven up the coast, stopping to eat, do a little window-shopping in quaint little towns, and fuck like bunnies at every opportunity. Once among the sand dunes. Twice in a motel. Once more in his condo that evening before he took her home.
He’d given her body a workout and her mind a lot to think about. Mark was everything she’d assumed from her first impression: arrogant, domineering, overbearing. But he was numerous other things she hadn’t counted on: attentive, protective, solicitous. When she was with him, he focused totally on her. Strangely the spanking had also engendered that feeling.
She hadn’t liked the paddling. Frankly it had hurt like a son of a bitch, and it still didn’t sit well that he assumed he had a right to do it. Not in her world, baby. But she’d allowed it because…because… Why? She’d felt guilty about Elizabeth? She was curious? Caught up in a wash of hormonal, physical, and emotional influences, her resistance to the idea had crumbled?
But she�
�d luxuriated in the way he’d held her before and after. Strongly, securely. Even as he’d whaled on her ass, she’d felt protected with him. So safe that she’d told him about being bullied. Instinctively she trusted Mark would keep his promise and never call her “Amazon,” although surprisingly she’d discovered the name had lost its sharp edge.
But he persisted in the other nickname. She supposed it was better than “pumpkin” or “huckleberry.” Kitten. She rolled her eyes.
“What about kittens?” Evelyn asked.
Crap. She’d zoned out and spoken aloud. “Nothing.”
“Okay, then. As soon as you sign— What the hell is that?”
Stephanie followed Evelyn’s disapproving gaze to her signature keepsake sitting among the stacks of papers. She chuckled. “Isn’t it silly? I went to a cocktail lounge the other evening, and my drink came in that.” She’d dug the butt glass out from under her car seat, filled it with pens, and set it on her desk to remind her of Mark.
“And you brought it to work?” Evelyn puckered her lips.
Stephanie glanced from Evelyn’s face to the glass. “Yeah.”
“It objectifies women by focusing on their buttocks.”
“How do you know it’s a woman’s butt? It could be a man’s.” From the shape of the glass, the rim serving as the indentation of the waist, it obviously was a woman’s butt.
“It’s offensive.”
“But this is okay?” Stephanie snagged a “Vaginas Rule” mug she’d received in WAN’s Christmas, Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, and winter solstice holiday gift exchange and held it up.
The disdainful droop of Evelyn’s mouth irked her and compelled Stephanie to needle her just a bit. She raised the butt glass. “Ass.” Then the coffee mug. “Pussy.”
Evelyn flinched as if she’d been groped on a public bus.
“Stephanie, can we talk?” Bethany squeezed into the office. She stared at the glass. “Is that a butt?”
“For goodness’ sake! I thought it was kitschy, but if it bothers you, I’ll put it away,” Stephanie said.
“You’ll put it away for her!” Evelyn muttered and squeezed past Bethany.