by Roz Lee
No way am I buying into any of her bullshit. The woman is straight-up crazy, letting a man tie her up and do God only knows what to her. “Well, if it works for you….”
“It does work for me, thank you very much.” Her smile dazzles in the dim light. “But my way isn’t your way.” She cranks the wattage down a bit and turns a penetrating gaze on me. “What’s going on inside your head? And don’t give me any crap. I’ve known you forever, April. Is there something going on between you and Brendan?”
“No!” The moment the denial crosses my lips, I see my turmoil reflected in Beth’s eyes. “It’s nothing. I’m just feeling restless. Wondering if we’re doing the right thing.”
“Getting married, you mean?”
“Yeah. It’s crazy.” It’s like someone spun the combination lock, releasing all the tumblers. Everything I’ve been thinking since I read the book she gave me comes spewing out of my mouth—unfiltered. Mid-rant, Beth steers me to another dark corner. The couple making out scurry away faster than cockroaches when someone turns on the light, leaving the bench for us. Taking both my hands in hers, my long-time friend lets me ramble on. When I finally run out of words, she digs a tissue out of her purse and hands it to me.
“Feel better now?”
“Y-yes.” I’m fighting the tears burning the back of my eyeballs. Fuck, what a mess.
“I’m sorry, April. I gave you that book as a joke. Sort of. A lot of people take domestic discipline seriously, but I never thought you would.”
“I thought it was pretty funny, too, until I really read it. It made a lot of sense, and now I can’t stop thinking about what it would be like to live that way.”
“Look, I’m not a relationship expert by any means, but you need to tell Brendan everything you just told me.”
“I can’t do that!” I’ve imagined confiding in him, but the imaginary outcome is never good.
“Why not? The two of you have to work this out together.”
“You’re right. I need to tell him. But what if he doesn’t want to spank me? What if he thinks I’m weird or something?”
Beth wraps her arm around my shoulders, tugging me close. “Look, I have an idea. Feel free to say no, but at least consider it, okay?”
“Sure, okay.” I nod while my brain scrambles to keep up.
“Why don’t you and Brendan come to the club? Just for a visit,” she adds. “You know, look around. Maybe if he sees some people using the spanking bench, he’ll get the idea on his own, and you won’t have to say anything but, yes, please spank me.”
“I don’t know.” Oh yeah, I do know. I can feel my cheeks heating, and all I’m doing is imagining what goes on at Colton’s club. No way am I stepping inside, alone or with Brendan. I might want to be spanked, but that’s as far as it goes. “I’m not kinky.” Even I can hear the defensive denial in my declaration. “At least I never thought I was.”
“Who knew sex could be this confusing?” Beth laughs at her joke. “But, seriously, there’s nothing wrong with kickin’ things up a bit. If the chili isn’t hot enough to sizzle your taste buds, no one’s gonna eat it, so you drop in a couple of peppers to spice it up. Same goes for sex.”
Leave it to my best friend to relate my award-winning chili recipe to sex. “I hear what you’re saying, but I’m still not kinky.”
“I don’t think I’m kinky either. Maybe a little off-kilter, some would say twisted or bent, but whatever I am, I’m not plain vanilla. And I’m betting you aren’t either.”
“Am I vanilla?” I invent recipes for a living, so if anyone knows how powerful vanilla is, it’s me. But many equate the flavor with being bland, or worse, the absence of zest. As scary as it is to think I might be kinky, the idea of being predictable or ordinary is scarier. And thinking about losing Brendan terrifies me.
“Don’t answer out loud, ’cause I don’t want to know—but do the two of you ever do anything besides missionary? If you do, then you aren’t vanilla.”
Brendan is creative in bed. I’ve even joked he could write his own book—The Cowboy Kama Sutra.
“The answer is written all over your face, girlfriend.” Beth shakes her head. “Don’t ever play poker for real money. Even a novice at the game could clean your clock.” She shifts on the bench. “Look, you need to quit putting labels on your sex life and get on with enjoying it. You do enjoy it, don’t you?”
I don’t have to think about my answer for even a second. “Oh my God, yes!” I blurt out. There is absolutely nothing in the world to compare to what I feel when I take Brendan inside me. He fills up my body and my heart.
“Then the man is doing something right. Thank God.” Taking both my hands in hers again, she waits until our gazes lock. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned from my time with Colton, it’s that communication is key. Brendan loves you, or he never would have asked you to marry him. And I’d bet my bottom dollar he’ll do just about anything to make you happy. Tell him everything you’ve told me. Trust me, there isn’t a man alive who doesn’t want to try something new when it comes to sex.”
“You know, domestic discipline isn’t all about sex.”
“I know, but sex can be a big part of it, if you want it to be. Promise me you’ll talk to Brendan.”
I nod quickly, trying to convince myself to take her advice. “I’ll try.” I’ve got to do something.
Beth glances at her watch. “I’ve got to go. I’m here for you, anytime.”
“I know. Thanks.” I hug her tight before she scoots off, leaving me alone in the darkened alcove. I take a deep breath and dab at my tear-filled eyes. I don’t know if I can do what she suggests, but I feel less burdened and less alone.
After a few minutes collecting myself, I head back to our table.
Sticking to my resolve not to let alcohol interfere with my thought processes tonight, I’m working on my third diet soda when I spot Brendan’s best friend, Scooter. I’m trying to remember what his real name is—Charles, Carl, something like that—when he saunters up and asks me to dance. I’ve known Scooter as long as I’ve known Brendan, so I can’t say no, and my fiancé wouldn’t want me to. Scooter follows me to the dance floor, taking me in his arms for a rowdy romp that has me laughing until I’m breathless.
“Do they call you Scooter because of the way you dance?”
“Nope.” The red flush creeping over his face has nothing to do with exertion, and suddenly, I remember the story. I throw my head back and laugh.
“Instead of crawling, you scooted around on your diaper, didn’t you?”
“One of these days I’m going to meet a woman who hasn’t heard that story, and I’m going to marry her.” The music segues into the next song. To torture me for my comment, he spins me around the room until I can’t wipe the smile off my face.
When the music ends, I head back to the table to catch my breath. I’m almost there when I see the love of my life. Brendan leans against the railing separating the dance floor from the bar, looking like every scrumptious flavor rolled into one irresistibly edible treat. His hair is the darkest chocolate, his skin butterscotch from hours in the sun. His eyes are the rich, dark hue of the finest vanilla extract. His raspberry lips curve into a half smile. As I approach, he shakes his head and opens his arms to me. I walk straight into his embrace. Behind me, Scooter acknowledges the handoff.
“Bren.”
“Scoot. Thanks for taking care of my woman.”
The Rockin’ O
His woman. The words fill my heart with love. I’ve never wanted to belong to anyone but him.
“No problem,” Scooter says. In my head, I see him tipping his hat and moving on, his duty done.
“Babe.” Brendan’s arms enfold me against the starched white cotton covering his chest. “I knew I’d find you here.”
His heartbeat against my cheek is a reminder of how steady this man is. “I didn’t want to be alone,” I say, squeezing my arms tight around his waist. It’s like hugging a slab of marble that’s
been sitting in the sun all day—solid and warm. He’s wearing my favorite aftershave, the one with base notes of nutmeg and vanilla. My body reacts instantly, softening and preparing to take him inside. For a brief second I’m ashamed the thought of breaking our engagement ever crossed my mind. I could never be happy without Brendan. The hard part will be finding a way to be happy with him.
“I showed up at your place, tired, but needing to hold you before I went to sleep, and where do I find you? At The Lone Star, dancing the night away with my best friend. I should spank your pretty little ass for that.” There’s a teasing quality to his voice I recognize even as his hand lands on my right ass cheek hard enough to make me jump.
Warmth spreads from the point of contact all the way to my pussy and out to the tips of my fingers and toes. My nipples tingle and perk up. God, that feels good. Too good. I clamp my thighs tight, and bury my face in the placket of his shirt, hoping he won’t hear the moan I can’t hold back. Blood rushes past my ears so fast the music playing is nothing more than a faint suggestion.
Wondering what is happening to my body, I clench fists full of Brendan’s shirt. He’s gone still except for the erection growing and pressing into my belly. One broad, callused hand finds flesh above the waistband of my jeans—slips lower to cup my ass skin to skin. “Christ, babe. I never thought you’d like that.”
Leave it to my man to read my reaction for what it is—flaming desire. I don’t have a clue how to play this, whatever it is. All I know is, the playful spanking lit me up. I haven’t been this horny in recent memory. Desperate to hold onto this feeling, I chance looking up and get lost in the depth of his gaze.
“You want to play this out, babe?”
God, yes. I bite my lower lip and dip my chin in a barely there nod. One hand on the small of my back, the other still cupping my ass beneath my jeans, he snuggles me closer. His chin rests on the top of my head. His unmistakable erection presses between us. My breathing matches his, shallow and rapid. I don’t really know what’s going to happen, how he intends to play this out, but knowing he’s as turned on as I am gives me courage. I can see this through if he’s with me.
“Stay with me, babe.” He slips his hand out of my pants, pushes me away. The sparkle in his eyes and the way his lips fall short of flatlining clue me in a second before he grabs my hand. “I told you not to leave the house tonight.” He grabs my purse off the table and shoves it at me. Instinctively, I clutch it to my breasts.
“You know what happens when you disobey me.”
Before I can signal my girlfriends with a wink or even an eye roll, he’s dragging me toward the front of the bar. I have no idea what happens when I disobey Brendan, but God, it promises to be good. I’m dizzy with excitement as he pulls me across the dimly lit parking lot to his pickup. It’s one of those giant rigs with as much room as a car. Instead of opening the front door, he opens the back. Without letting go of my hand, he hauls his ass up into the seat then pulls me in after him, and shuts the door.
He pats the seat beside him. “On your knees.”
My mind whirls with possibilities, none of which seem likely given the upright citizen I’m with. He grabs my purse, tosses it into the front passenger seat then leans over and cranks the engine. Cold air pours from the center console vent.
Braced with one hand on the driver’s side headrest and my other hand on the backseat, I’m trembling with arousal. As he sits back, I move to straddle him, but he stops me with a palm flat on my stomach. “You’re in enough trouble as it is, sweetheart. Don’t make it worse.”
Oh shit. His voice, dark, menacing, and dripping pure sex has me dripping, too.
Capable fingers work the button loose on my jeans. A second later, he slides the zipper down. “Lay across my lap, babe. You’re long overdue for a spankin’.”
Everything inside me quivers. I want this so much I can’t think straight. He flashes me a reassuring smile before peeling my hand off the headrest and guiding me down.
“Give me your wrists.” He helps himself to both, bringing them together at the small of my back. Raising his hips and almost tossing me off in the process, he grabs a bandana from his back pocket and secures my wrists. “You okay?” He’s got one hand on my ass, the other in the middle of my back, making lazy circles.
“Fine,” I say, though I’m doing my best to free my hands.
“Calm down, babe. I’m not going to hurt you. Let yourself go and enjoy.”
Goddamn tears. I want this so bad, yet I’m struggling. I can’t help myself. Mid-struggle, I remember Beth’s words earlier. There’s nothing I can do but enjoy…it’s freeing.
I quit tugging on the bindings. The idling engine is a low, constant rumble. Air chills my skin where, without my jeans to hold it in place, my blouse has ridden up. Rough denim abrades my midriff. There’s a pair of dirty boots on the floor, inches from my nose. I can’t see them in the darkened cab so much as I can smell them. This isn’t romance, but it’s the most erotic scene I’ve ever been a part of. I press my cheek against the leather seat and let my shoulders relax.
“That’s it, babe. Let me take care of you.”
Rebellion flickers bright. I can take care of myself. I do take care of myself. I’ve built my catering business from the ground up without anyone’s help. The voice of reason steps in, reminding me I’m not alone anymore. Not since I met Brendan. Everything I’ve done, he’s been at my side, cheering me along, bolstering me when times are rough, celebrating with me when things go right. Taking care of me in his own special way. Besides, isn’t this exactly what I’d been mooning for less than an hour ago? With a sigh, I release the tension from my body.
“Good girl.” With a quick jerk to my waistband, he bares my ass. Breathing is no longer an involuntary muscle action.
To keep from blacking out, I have to remind my lungs to function. The only part of my body operating without conscious thought is my pussy. It’s clenching and creaming, throbbing. The darkened cab is as private as is possible in a crowded parking lot, but still…I’m bare-assed lying across Brendan’s lap with my hands tied behind my back. Excited doesn’t come close to describing the complicated brew of feelings swirling through my head. I’ve never been spanked, not even as a child. My parents didn’t believe in that sort of discipline. I don’t know what to expect, but my inexperience doesn’t keep me from wanting this. No. It’s more than wanting. I need this with every fiber of my being.
I need Brendan to be assertive, to dominate me. The need is so new and radical to my way of thinking, it scares the hell out of me. I’m skating on the edge when Brendan strokes the back of my head, running his fingers through my hair. I nearly jump out of my skin.
“You know I’ll never harm you.”
God, yes, I know. Brendan doesn’t have a mean bone in his body. I nod, whimper out something that might be an affirmative.
“I’m going to spank you because you went out to a honky-tonk without me by your side to protect you. Scooter is harmless, but a beautiful woman like you can’t take chances. Do you understand?”
Fuck. He’s gone caveman on me, and it’s so freakin’ hot I want to cry. I blink back tears. “Yes, sir.” My voice breaks on the honorific I had no idea was going to come out of my mouth.
The hand toying with my hair stills. He knows as well as I do—something significant just happened. We’ve always shared power in the bedroom—neither of us claiming more than the other. With two syllables, I shattered the structure of our sexual relationship. I press my lips together, fighting the urge to retract, or at least explain. But I don’t want to take it back, and I can’t explain what I don’t understand.
After what feels like an eternity, he grabs a fistful of my hair and tugs. At the same time, one callused digit traces the cleft of my ass from top all the way to the warm, damp recesses of my pussy. A groan fills the silent cab. Mine? His? Who the fuck cares? I wiggle my ass around. I need more. So much more.
“Don’t move.” Brendan clamps
down on one cheek. He’s never used his strength to subdue me, not until now. And, God, I love it. He always makes me feel like a woman, but at this moment I feel feminine—a distinction I didn’t know existed. “I’ll start with ten strokes.”
Holy smokes. He massages both cheeks, alternately plumping and smashing them. My skin is ice cold from the air-conditioning vent blowing right on me, so everywhere he touches is like an electric blanket—all warm and cozy, but with an edge of excitement. This isn’t the first time he’s played with my ass. He claims it’s one of his favorite parts of my body, but this is different. This time, he’s going to spank me.
The first blow lands with a loud crack that splits the chilled air like thunder in a snowstorm. It’s followed by another on the other cheek, equally as hard and startling. “Fuck!”
Brendan’s deep, masculine chuckle is mildly irritating. He’s still got a grip on my hair, preventing me from shooting him the death stare. Since he’s massaging my abused ass, I’m willing to forgive him. “That potty mouth of yours earned you two more. Can’t have the future mistress of the Rockin’ O cursing like a cowhand.”
I’m torn between indignation at the extension to my punishment and laughing at the name of his family’s ranch. Generations ago, the first O’Donnells on Texas soil probably had no clue how the name would sound in the twenty-first century. To hear the stories, they most likely didn’t think the place would still be around nearly two-hundred years later. But it is, and it’s thriving, despite the name—which no one, least of all Brendan who will inherit it all, seems inclined to change.
“Are you laughing at my ranch, soon-to-be-Mrs. O’Donnell?” Humor laces his question as he jiggles my ass cheek. This is the man I love—playful and not the least bit intimidating in bed. “Damn, if my handprint on your ass doesn’t look better than the Rockin’ O brand. Maybe we should change the brand.”