Tom joined the reception a little after ten when dinner was over and the orchestra was about to start their repertoire. He stood out amongst the crowd, both in height and stature, but then so did Phoebe. She was easy to spot. He manoeuvred around the chattering melee so that he had a good view of the cosy little conversation she was having with her leering admirer, positioning himself where she’d be unlikely to spot him. His jealousy mechanism was going into overload, but he’d seen Phoebe flirt on many occasions. She was toying with this man like a cat plays with a mouse. She had no intention of taking it any further. Still, it pissed him off monumentally. She’d pay for that later.
The orchestra began with a rousing rendition of Chattanooga Choo-Choo, grabbing the attention of the partygoers and starting the dance with flare.
Phoebe was still in deep conversation, wielding sexual charm like an instrument of exquisite torture. Tom watched and seethed for a while longer, before putting his plan into action.
Phoebe was tiring fast. Victor Massing was an amusing interlude, but her thoughts insisted on straying back to Tom and how much more fun she’d be having with him. She smiled and laughed and nodded at all the right times, but the leering producer’s banter was beginning to grate on her nerves. She decided to develop a sudden headache, make her excuses and go back to her room. Then, dammit, she was going to call Tom and have it out with him once and for all!
Just as she began the pretence of rubbing her temples and frowning delicately, she felt a familiar presence behind her. That feeling of being silently admonished, the cold shiver of anticipation snaking down her spine, an inescapable vulnerability, as though she was naked in the midst of a crowd. She stiffened, feeling the hairs on the back of her neck rise as her flesh prickled with unnatural frigidity.
“Phoebe, my love, you look quite ... ravishing tonight,” came Tom’s mellifluous tone from over her shoulder.
She felt his lips caress the nape of her neck and a delicious—though nervous—shiver slithered down her spine. Victor Massing’s dazzling smile suddenly disappeared, like a storm cloud just smothered the sun.
Tom leant over Phoebe’s shoulder and riveted the now flaccid producer with a cold, hard gaze that brooked no rivalry. He smiled then, with equal frostiness and said, “You don’t mind if I whisk this lady away, do you?”
Victor smiled weakly, blustered a little and replied, “No, no, not at all, be my guest.”
Phoebe felt her heart leap and pound with agonising fervour. She recognised that level tone, that gentle caress, so often followed by a blistering punishment. Big trouble was brewing.
He took her by the wrist and helped her to her feet, and Phoebe could no longer avoid looking into his eyes. He made no attempt to dispel her fears. She was surrounded by predators—business men and women who would quite cheerfully make or break careers and lives between luncheon courses, but at that moment she was in the clutches of the hungriest shark in the pond.
He placed a hand firmly in the small of her back and gently urged her onto the dance floor. The orchestra had settled into a gentle waltz and he pulled her close to him.
“Well, Mr. Smiley gave you up without much of a fight, didn’t he?” he whispered in her ear. “Thought you’d go back to the push-over type, did you? Easily manipulated? Tsk, tsk, shame on you, Phoebe! I credited you with a little more self-esteem.”
Phoebe knew she was being goaded, but there was something quite different about his approach, something that chilled her blood and scared the devil out of her—quite literally. Had he not been holding her so firmly, she would probably have collapsed into a jellied heap at his feet.
“Do you love me, Phoebe?” he asked in a matter of fact tone.
“With all my heart,” she replied in a breathless whisper.
“More than conference speeches and writing competitions?” he hissed sibilantly.
“Oh, God, yew! Of course I do! Oh, Tom, I’m so, so—”
“Sh, Phoebe, apologies can wait until the proper time,” he soothed, then slid a hand down to her behind and patted oh, so gently.
Phoebe flinched, but felt the perverse shiver of delight flutter through her belly. He was going to spank her with unprecedented vigour, she knew it, but she welcomed it, wished he’d just drag her away and commence her punishment without further preamble. She needed the release after the most harrowing, miserable week of her life.
“Are you going to learn to do as you’re told when you’re being unreasonable?” he asked in a business-like manner.
“Yes,” Phoebe whispered.
“Do you truly want to spend the rest of your days with me?”
“Forever.”
“Are you going to accept deserved punishment graciously and without recrimination, wherever and whenever I deem it appropriate?”
“Yes, Tom, always.”
He fell silent for a moment, then drew back slightly so that she could see his expression. His eyes glinted with a mischievous sparkle and an unreadable grin tilted his lips.
“Good, because, Phoebe, I’m going to hold you to that promise right now.” He patted her behind again. “Now, you wait right there, don’t move a muscle until I tell you to, understood?”
She nodded dumbly, her heart pounding with renewed vigour. What the hell was he up to now? He wove through the shuffling crowd to the orchestra’s conductor and tapped him lightly on the shoulder. The conductor smiled and nodded, then wound up the waltz with a flourish. Turning, he tapped his microphone and called for silence. Tom slipped out of Phoebe’s sight into the motionless crowd.
“Ladies and gentlemen, may I beg your patience for a few moments? Would you be kind enough to clear the dance floor briefly?” He smiled and gestured with his baton.
As the crowd complied and the dance floor slowly emptied, Phoebe’s heart crashed to a stabbing halt. Tom walked onto the floor carrying a high-backed chair, which he placed with deliberate precision right in the centre. A limelight flashed across the room and found Phoebe, blinding her momentarily. She froze in horror. Jesus! He was going to spank her right here and now! In front of all these people!
Her eyes adjusted and she saw Tom standing by the empty chair, arms folded across his chest. He’d draped his jacket over the back of it, just like he always did at home—part of the spanking ritual. He stared straight at her, his expression unreadable, then he unfolded his arms and crooked a finger at her. She felt all eyes upon her, willing her to go to him, as though everyone knew what was about to happen and hungered to witness her humiliation and pain. Her legs moved, almost involuntarily, as if he was drawing her to him with an invisible chord. Every fibre of her being screamed at her to run away before he shamed her in front of all these people, but she could not break the spell that held her. In just a few agonising moments, she was standing before him, staring up at his expressionless face with dread in her heart and desperate entreaty in her eyes.
He stepped forward and took both of her hands in his. He gave her a long hard look before speaking. “Are you going to keep the promises you just made me, Phoebe? Because this is your last chance to change your mind.”
The unspeakable humiliation of what would happen should she say ‘yes’ failed to cloud her decision. She wanted him more than anything else in the world—even at the expense of her career, if need be. The choice was clear.
“Yes, Tom, I’ll keep my promises,” she replied calmly.
He beamed her a joyous smile and his eyes glistened with diamond-like tears. Then he turned her and sat her down on the chair. She frowned her confusion. He chuckled and brushed her cheek lightly with a long finger. Then he put a hand in his trouser pocket and withdrew a velvet box. Dropping to one knee, he opened the box to reveal an exquisite heart-shaped solitaire.
“Marry me, Phoebe, and you’ll make me the happiest man alive.”
Phoebe very nearly fainted with shock, and her eyes and mouth gaped in tandem at the sparkling gem. Tom placed a finger under her slack jaw and snapped her mouth shut for her.
A ripple of amusement filtered around the onlookers.
“Well, will you have me?” he asked softly.
Phoebe gazed up at him. He looked terribly nervous despite the calmness of his tone. A lump rapidly formed in her throat, but she swallowed it down and deftly wiped the tears from her eyes before they spilled onto her cheeks.
“Yes, I’ll have you,” she whispered brokenly.
His cool blue eyes fluttered to a close and he heaved a tremulous sigh of sweet relief. Then, lifting her hand he slipped the ring onto her finger—a perfect fit. He stood her up, wrapped his arms around her and kissed her with fiery passion that quite took her breath away. The crowd cheered and clapped, whilst a few of the more lovey types took the opportunity to weep a few pretentious tears.
Phoebe felt kitten-weak at the knees, her heart and mind still reeling with shock and delight, but Tom’s kit bag of surprises wasn’t quite empty yet.
“And now, woman,” he whispered, “you are going to get the spanking of your little life!” With that he hefted her over his shoulder, gave her a resounding slap on the behind and marched resolutely through a raucous crowd full of appreciative men and blushing, envious women, whilst the orchestra played them out with Love and Marriage.
Tom carried her like a sack of potatoes all the way to the bridal suite, despite her repeated pleas to at least allow her the dignity of walking to her fate. Nothing doing. She had to suffer the giggles and whistles of all who witnessed her undignified position and the numerous smacks he landed on her bottom for protesting. By the time he’d shut the door of the room behind him, she was fair screaming curses and battering him with her fists.
He dropped her unceremoniously onto the bed and began unbuttoning his shirtsleeves. “Stay exactly where you are, Phoebe!” he barked as she started to get up.
She was pouting thickly and her brow creased into a topographical mass of ridges and hollows. “You couldn’t resist that, could you? You just had to embarrass me, didn’t you?”
He grinned wickedly. “Yes, my love, I did. And richly deserved, you pretentious little brat! But don’t worry, I don’t think the press got too many compromising angles before I got you into the elevator!” he said, breaking into laughter.
Phoebe squealed with fury, rolled onto her tummy and began pummelling the pillow with frustration. Then, mid-tantrum, he grasped her by the ankles and pulled her to the end of the bed. He sat on the edge, pinned her at the waist and lifted her gown to reveal black stockings and minute silk panties.
“And who were these meant to titillate, Phoebe?” he growled. “Mr. Smiley perhaps?” he hissed as he delivered a half dozen sizzling slaps to her backside.
“No! Never! Ouch! I never!”
“Oh, come now,” he said, punctuating each word with a smack. “Phoebe! They must have been for someone, because they certainly weren’t for me, were they?” He continued spanking hard and fast, concentrating on the sit spot with unerring accuracy and vigour, whilst Phoebe screeched and blustered and begged.
“Ow, Tom, Please! No one but you! You know that! Ow, please stop! I’ve had enough!”
“You’ve had enough,” he snarled, and spanked harder than ever to prove his point, “When I decide you’ve had enough! Do you understand!”
Phoebe wailed and sobbed as he continued with the punishment, accelerating the stinging slaps when she instinctively whipped a hand around to protect herself. When her behind was as red as a fire engine and at least as hot as a brush blaze, he stopped, flipped her onto her back and straddled her, pinning her arms above her head.
“You are mine, Phoebe, do you understand?” he barked, eyes aflame with the ferocious jealousy he’d felt as he watched her flirt with the American.
Phoebe managed only a nod between gasping sobs.
He continued to glare furiously, holding her wrists so tightly she could not move one inch from his grip. Then the anger faded from his eyes and he shook his head, sighing deeply.
“If we live to be a hundred, I swear you’ll still be spending at least ten minutes a week across my knee, woman!” He smiled then and winked. “And you still won’t be satisfied!”
Phoebe laughed and cried simultaneously and Tom released his steely grip. He scooped her up in his arms and rocked her like a baby, kissing her tears away.
“I’ll love you forever, you infuriating woman! You’re one in a million, Phoebe, and you always will be.”
The End
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Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Ebook Offer
Blushing Books Newsletter
About Blushing Books
One In A Million Page 10