Milestones

by Hensley, Alta

  She’d placed her trust in him and she loved him, but that didn’t mean submitting to his authority was always easy.

  On Monday, two days before the exhibit, she called Darla to make arrangements to stay at her apartment. Just in case Marcus changed his mind, she told herself. Except that wasn’t the exact truth. The truth was, she still felt suffocated under his overprotective thumb. She needed to get out of the house and back in her element, and she didn’t want Marcus to cancel his classes to babysit her.

  Freedom dangled in front of her like a piece of forbidden fruit. If she reached out to grasp it and tear it from the vine, what would happen? She wondered how Marcus would react to her disobedience. She wasn’t trying to earn a punishment spanking. Not this time. She simply wanted to prove she could manage on her own. Her paintings would sell even if she wasn’t present for the exhibit, but she enjoyed the functions and rubbing elbows with those who appreciated her artwork. It gave her purpose when she worked in her studio, knowing people enjoyed and respected her creativity.

  “Of course you can stay the night,” Darla said, gushing with enthusiasm. “In fact, you can stay longer if you’d like. Other than work during the daytime, my schedule is free.”

  “Thanks, sis, but I’ll just be staying the night.” Stephie ended the phone call and glanced at the clock in her studio.

  Four in the afternoon. Marcus would be home at six-thirty. She rushed to their bedroom and pulled her long-neglected suitcase from the back of the closet. She threw it open on the bed and hurried to pack for her possible trip. Guilt ate at her, gnawing at her harder with each item of clothing she tossed into the suitcase. Ignoring the clenching of her stomach, she zipped it up and carried it to her car, placing it in the trunk.

  There. It was done. All she had to do was figure out if she intended to follow through with her plan or not.

  To go to New York or not to go. To disobey Marcus or not to. To take a chance or not to.

  To take a chance. Yes, she had to. She had to prove she wasn’t delicate. She was a survivor, and she was capable of driving five measly hours and finding her way home the next day, happy and unharmed. If he spanked her for it, so be it. But she hoped her illicit adventure up north would open his eyes and make him realize she could handle her own affairs. Before her illness, she’d never asked for permission to leave town for a day or two. A few days or a whole week, yes, but a small trip relating to her business – never.

  Wednesday morning arrived. She awoke to the beeping of Marcus’s alarm clock. Sunlight streamed through the sheer curtains, spilling across the comforter. He smashed a hand against the clock, silencing it, and snuggled up against her body underneath the warmth of the covers, spooning her from behind. Stiffness poked at her bottom, and she smiled to herself. He’d been insatiable since the punishment spanking last Saturday. The intimacy between them had rekindled, stronger than ever.

  She frowned. The actions she planned to take this morning would disrupt this honeymoon period. She wavered for a moment, then pressed her lips together as her determination returned. She could do this. She would. The consequences awaited her in a few days, and she’d face them head on. She’d face Marcus. She only hoped he understood her reasons for leaving and prayed his disappointment wasn’t too great.

  A firm squeeze to her backside jerked her from her thoughts. Marcus yanked her panties down and sank into her wetness. She arched her back and thrust her bottom back, allowing him deeper penetration. His cock filled her, and desire whirled through her in delicious waves of pleasure. His teeth sank into her shoulder and she moaned.

  He used her body. He grabbed her hips and pumped into her, growling with a fierceness that shook her insides. Reveling in each rough touch, each slam of his cock into her pussy, she met him thrust for thrust.

  “Touch your clit, sweetheart. I want to feel your tight little pussy clamping down on my cock while you come.”

  His naughty words thrilled her. Propelled her to the edge of oblivion before her fingers even reached her throbbing clit. A few swirls over the engorged nub and she was writhing, clamping down on his thick member while he rode out his own release. She felt his cock convulse as his hot seed filled her up, and her nipples tightened and tingled as she came hard, whimpering his name as the orgasm crashed upon her, pulling her under and draining the energy from her limbs.

  “Mmm,” she murmured, already sleepy again. Except she couldn’t fall back asleep. Not today. To keep up with appearances though, she needed to tap into her acting skills. Luckily feigning sleep wasn’t so hard.

  Marcus chuckled and withdrew his cock from her pussy. He patted her bottom playfully and kissed her cheek. “Go back to sleep, sweetheart. I’ll give you a call later.”

  “Okay, I’ll talk to you later,” she said, inflecting as much dreaminess into her voice as she could manage.

  He kissed her again and headed for the shower.

  Twenty minutes later, he pressed a kiss to her forehead and said good-bye. She maintained her deep, slow breathing and kept her eyes pressed firmly shut. She remained in bed, quiet, as she listened to him venture down to the kitchen, heard the slam of the front door a short while later, and finally the revving of his car engine and the crunch of tires over gravel.

  She hopped out of bed and sprang to the window, catching sight of his car disappearing down the long drive. The trees swallowed it up.

  Marcus was gone. The vine holding the forbidden fruit lowered directly in front of her face. She wavered again, but only for a second, before reaching out to pluck it. She showered, dressed, grabbed a mug of coffee for the road, and rushed out the door.

  Her heart raced as she approached town, but she navigated around the small college where Marcus taught to decrease her chance of running into him. Sometimes when the weather was nice, he took his classes outside. Her heart finally slowed down after crossing the bridge leading out of town. The highway appeared a few miles later, and she merged into it with resolve thrumming through her.

  ****

  Marcus frowned at his phone. He’d called Stephie ten times now, texted her, and left messages. One on her cell phone and another on the house phone. Where the hell was she? He pushed the worry down, or tried to at least. Maybe she was blasting music in her studio and couldn’t hear the phone. That had happened a few times before. Except she’d never missed ten calls in a row.

  Christ. He ran a hand through his hair and glanced at the clock in his office. His next class started in forty minutes. He had just enough time to race home and look for her, then race back to campus. If he was late, his students would leave after fifteen minutes. The ever popular fifteen-minute rule.

  He sighed and ran a hand through his hair again.

  He grabbed his keys and locked up his office. The drive home felt like five years, especially when he called Stephie a few more times only to get her voicemail. Again and again. Hi, this is Stephie. Thanks for calling. Please leave a message after the beep.

  Madness would consume him if he had to listen to that message one more time.

  His hands tightened on the steering wheel and he pressed the accelerator to the floor, racing around the turns in the winding country roads. He’d paddle her good for this, he decided. He’d told her to expect his call, and he typically called every day around lunchtime, so it wasn’t as if she shouldn’t anticipate his call.

  Worry gripped him when the house came into sight. Her car was missing from the driveway. Sick with concern, he ran into the house calling her name, just in case.

  Silence.

  The bed was made, the kitchen spotless. The blinds in her studio were drawn, evidence that she hadn’t worked at all today. Unless…

  The air rushed from his chest. It was Wednesday. The day of the art exhibit in New York. Marcus bolted to her closet and flung it open, searching for her bags. Of course, she had so many different suitcases in varying sizes, he couldn’t tell if one was missing. He made a mental note to take inventory of them later, lest she go missin
g again.

  Another call to voicemail made his blood boil and he staggered on the edge of madness, but a second later the worry returned and helped rein in his emotions, calming him enough to think rationally. What if something had happened? He vacillated between anger and concern as he considered his options. After canceling his classes for the rest of the day, he called Darla’s work, only to be told she’d taken a personal day. Darla didn’t answer her cell phone or apartment phone, either.

  Fuck.

  He snooped around on a desk in Stephie’s studio until he found all the information he needed. The time and location of the exhibit. He couldn’t imagine where else she’d gone. Her cell phone battery couldn’t have died: she kept a car charger on hand. If she didn’t answer, it was because she chose to ignore his calls.

  After grabbing his keys, he locked up the house and raced to his car. Please let her be okay. Please let her be safe.

  Just to be sure she’d left town, he circled around her favorite spots – an Italian restaurant where she often met a friend for lunch, her hair salon, and the local art gallery. He didn’t spot her car, so he drove out of town and merged onto the highway.

  His heart grew heavier with each mile, and his anger and frustration mingled with his profound worry. After the blissful week they’d spent, he couldn’t believe she’d turn around and disobey him so gravely. He’d offered to take off work and drive her to New York. She’d refused, and she hadn’t brought the topic up again, so he’d assumed she no longer wished to go.

  Dammit, he should’ve known better. He should’ve double-checked with her. His knuckles turned white under the tight grip he maintained on the steering wheel. He glanced down at his pained hands and lessened his grip. Staring at the road ahead, he wondered how long ago she’d left the house. Perhaps he’d catch her on the highway.

  As it happened, he had no such luck. Mile after mile, he still hadn’t spotted her car. Bright purple, it stood out like a sore thumb. No way had he missed it. He’d even scoured rest stops looking for her, but she’d obviously gotten an early start. She might even be in New York already, perhaps lunching with her sister.

  The thought of her sitting in a posh restaurant footloose and fancy free while he frantically searched for her reignited his anger. Even before her illness, before they’d had to take a break from domestic discipline, she’d never done anything half as naughty as running off behind his back.

  First he had to find her and confirm her safety. Then he needed to lay down the law.

  Chapter Four

  The forbidden fruit she’d picked earlier now tasted bitter. Stephie tried to concentrate on Darla’s tale about her most recent ex-boyfriend begging to be taken back, but her thoughts drifted and her stomach soured. It was two in the afternoon. She wondered if Marcus had noted her absence yet. He’d probably called her. He always called between his classes around noontime. Would he worry when she didn’t answer and return his calls?

  Her tummy flipped. Hell yes, he’d worry. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat as the waiter brought their post-lunch coffee.

  “What wrong?” Darla asked. “Are you listening to me?”

  “Yes, I’m listening.” Stephie sipped her coffee.

  “So what should I do? Should I take Eddie back?”

  Uh oh. Stephie honestly didn’t know why Darla had broken up with this Eddie guy in the first place. Her thoughts had been completely on Marcus. But her sister appeared desperate for advice, and Stephie didn’t want to disappoint her. Especially since she’d taken a personal day at work so they could spend some time together before attending the exhibit tonight.

  “Do you trust him? Do you love him? Does he make you feel special and like you’re the only girl on the planet who matters to him?” Stephie asked, and her eyes widened with the knowledge of what she’d just done. Described Marcus. The husband she’d disobeyed and would have to face sooner or later. Knowing him, probably sooner. She’d bet her already sore bottom he was currently en route for New York. She’d turned her phone off, but she suspected it would buzz with a slew of messages and texts after she turned it back on.

  Darla twirled a blonde curl between her fingers and sighed. She stared up at the ceiling. “No, Stephie. I don’t trust him. I want to, but I guess I know I never will. He makes me happy sometimes, but it’s not love. I just want to find Mr. Right, you know? Like you and Marcus. You two are so obviously in love. I’m totally jealous.” Darla smiled and shrugged. “Guess my big sister will always be smarter than me, huh?”

  Stephie laughed. “Can I get you to put that in writing?”

  “Never!” Darla smirked, and the waiter soon appeared with their check.

  The two of them spent the rest of the afternoon shopping. Stephie knew she should turn on her phone, but the thought of facing Marcus scared her. She wasn’t frightened of him, but she dreaded to hear the disappointment in his tone. Sure, he’d sound angry, but after five years of marriage she could detect all the layers of his emotions. He’d try to be strong and hide his vulnerability, as he’d done during her illness, but she’d still detect it tinging his voice with a soft, wavering note.

  Evening arrived, and Stephie and Darla had just enough time to dash back to Darla’s apartment to get ready. After slipping into a flowing, dark purple dress, Stephie finally turned on her phone.

  It nearly convulsed and buzzed out of her hand.

  Oh sweet heavens, she should’ve at least had the courtesy of leaving Marcus a note. But she hadn’t. She’d been selfish and naughty. Tears clouded her eyes, and she blinked rapidly to hold them in and keep her emotions in check. They had to leave in five minutes. She couldn’t dissolve into a mess. It was her big night. Her first big night in forever, and she planned to own it. To show Marcus she wasn’t a dainty thing to be coddled and kept hidden from the world.

  She couldn’t bear to listen to his frantic messages, but she scanned the texts. She blinked back more tears and ended up wiping a few away. Dammit. He was worried sick and it was all her fault. She opened a new text and typed his name in.

  I’m okay. Please don’t worry. I’m with Darla in New York. We’re leaving for the exhibit soon. I’ll call you later. Love you.

  Send. She immediately shut the phone off, knowing if she spoke with Marcus before the exhibit, she’d show up with raccoon eyes from crying away her mascara. Her illness had been no secret, and she didn’t wish for her solo debut back into the art world to be tainted with whispers and curious stares. She’d attended a few functions with Marcus by her side, always the supportive husband, but this was her first time without him. Darla didn’t count as a babysitter.

  Rather than navigate through the congested city streets and fight for a parking spot, they opted for a taxi. The exhibit buzzed with people by the time they arrived, and Stephie worked the room after greeting the curator. Darla stuck by her side, until a good looking young man who reeked of money began flirting with her. Stephie winked at her sister and went in search of a cocktail. As she crossed the room with the drink in hand, her eyes locked with a pair of intense, dark brown ones.

  Marcus.

  Her heart stopped and all noise in the room faded into the background. She attempted to recover from the shock of seeing him, but it was no use. She felt rattled down to her bones. How had he known where to find her? She hadn’t mentioned the location of the exhibit. Insides quaking and churning, she approached him on shaky legs. The heels she’d slipped into wobbled beneath her feet. He closed the distance between them and grasped her forearm with a gentleness that warred with the anger flaring in his gaze.

  Goosebumps crawled across her arms and a shiver prickled her spine. He stared at her and his calm anger unnerved her further. Agitation radiated from his whole body. His jaw tensed and she repressed a shudder.

  This was bad. Very bad. She’d seriously screwed up. She was in so much trouble.

  Or was she really? He’d given her one actual punishment spanking since they’d resumed the DD side of their re
lationship. It could’ve been a fluke. Maybe he wouldn’t actually chastise her.

  She’d find out soon enough.

  “Good evening, Marcus,” she said, almost a whisper.

  “Good evening, Stephie.” His tone was as hard and unforgiving as his eyes.

  She stood taller and lifted her chin. “Thanks for coming to the exhibit, but as you can see, I made it just fine. You didn’t need to go to the trouble.”

  The hand on her forearm squeezed. His eyes flashed. A warning.

  “You’re my wife. I’ll always go to the trouble.” Again, his livid yet quiet tone struck fear into her heart. If he spanked her for this disobedience, it would be one hell of a spanking.

  “How-how did you find the exhibit?”

  “I looked through your desk.”

  “Oh.”

  “Oh indeed.”

  She gulped and glanced around the room. No one had taken notice of their strained conversation. Darla was still busy flirting it up with Mr. Moneybags and hadn’t noticed her brother-in-law’s arrival.

  Stephie gestured to a bench against the wall between two large paintings. “Should we sit down?”

  “All right. Might as well. After all, you won’t be doing much sitting for the next few days.”

  She stifled a gasp at his threat. He guided her over to the bench, and they sat side-by-side, staring out at the crowd. Spotlights shone on the surrounding paintings but weren’t directed near the bench, so it provided a safe, quiet area for them to talk in private.

  Except Stephie didn’t know what to say. ‘I’m sorry’ rested on the tip of her tongue, but a simple apology wouldn’t repair the damage she’d done. Marcus placed a hand on her thigh and cleared his throat.