by Jane Henry
“Yes, sir,” I say with biting sarcasm. “Since you’ve taken me to heel I suppose that’s the right response.”
His only reply is a low growl and a firmer grasp on my hand. We march down the hallway and toward the street, and I realize I’m holding my breath. Devin and Nichole distracted me for a bit but now I’m feeling the walls close in on me again. It’s fucked up, but I need to get out of here. The hallway seems hot, the heat oppressive, pushing on my chest like a too-thick blanket, muffling my ability to breathe deeply. I focus on the click-clack of our shoes on the linoleum and breathe through my mouth so I don’t have to inhale the smell of the school that makes me sick.
I’m anxious and hate this.
I’m fine meeting the teacher and the kid. And cookies and facing off against the she bitch. Now I’m freaking out.
“Zoe.” Brax’s voice seems distant and hollow.
“Mmm,” I respond, keeping my lips pressed tight so I don’t make a fool of myself in front of everyone, keeping the nausea at bay by focusing on the doorway. This is utter bullshit. Last year I landed myself in a drug cartel sting that was so highly charged, I thought my partner was gonna wet his pants. I was the one that led it, I was the one who brought down the ringleader and held him at gunpoint while my fellow officers cuffed and apprehended the suspects. And now all I’ve done is confronted his bitchy ex in a school and I can hardly keep my shit together?
I tug my hand away from him and smack open the door to the school so hard it creaks on its hinges. I grab it as it swings back, welcoming the smack on my hand with the force of its return. The sharp hit on my palm grounds me somehow, clears my brain, and when I get outside I take in huge lungfuls of air as if I’ve just surfaced from being underwater. My head swims. Instinctively I step to the side, bend my knees, and rest my elbows on my knees, breathing in deep.
“Zoe. Jesus, Zoe.” Braxton is right next to me, reaching for me, but I push him away. I hardly want anyone to see me, let alone touch me.
“Hey, you alright?” The breath fills my lungs and my vision clears, blood rushing to my head. I inhale and exhale, then venture to lift my head and look at him.
“Sorry about that,” I whisper, shaking my head and looking away so I don’t need to read the concern in his eyes. “I don’t know what happened.” It’s not exactly a lie. I suspect I know what happened, but I can’t focus on the whys right now.
He watches me with concern, his lips pulled tight, his strong jaw clenched. Is he angry with me? I take in another breath. “I’m fine,” I insist.
“Is it because of what she said?” he asks, frowning.
I snort out a laugh. “About bringing me to heel? Clearly, she doesn’t know me very well if she thinks you’ve done that. I might not be up on the lingo, but even I’m smart enough to know what the implication is there.”
His stern features soften, and the dimple dots his cheek with his smile. “Damn right about that,” he mutters. “Would take a man with cast iron balls to bring you to heel, and even then, you’d likely cut them off.”
I laugh out loud, shaking my head. “Yeah, whatever,” I say, but a part of me is a little sad. I think I might like some of this submission thing. I definitely like the dominance thing. Don’t they go hand in hand? But now’s not the time to talk about it. We’ve got way, way bigger fish to fry.
“Let’s go,” he says, extending his hand out to me. But he doesn’t take mine this time. He waits for me to take his.
This conversation isn’t over. I know that and I’m guessing so does he, but we have time to figure this out. I take his hand and we walk like that to the car. We’ve got a long ride ahead of us.
Chapter 9
Braxton
She’s sleeping quietly next to me, soft, whiffling snores making me smile to myself. She’s got her arms tucked under her like a little girl. Is she cold? I reach out and gently brush my finger on her arm, but she’s warm. Still, I flick on the heat and put it up just a notch. I want her comfortable. I like that she’s relaxed enough to rest like this.
We’ve almost arrived. The drive took five hours, including our stop for dinner at a roadside diner. I think the burger and fries did her good and she relaxed into a nap afterward. The pale pallor of her face after leaving the school has lessened, and the familiar pink flush is back. I’m glad. I hated that look on her face.
We have a lot to talk about.
On the way here, we talked as if we’d known each other for years. We talked about bands we liked, movies we’d seen, classes we took in college, our favorite places to vacation and our favorite ways to pass the time. We talked about clothes and shoes and cars and limos, rock bands and pop bands and grunge bands, where we’ve traveled to and where we’d like to go. She’s easy to talk to, and even has a sense of humor when she doesn’t feel threatened. She made me laugh so hard recounting a road trip she took with friends in college that I was wiping tears away by the time she was done. But there was plenty we didn’t talk about.
Her past. Mine. Kinky things that pique her curiosity at the club.
Us.
I pull off the Bourne Bridge, only a mile away from the little hotel I booked. Cape Cod is a small, coastal area south of Boston, a little cape that juts out into the Atlantic.
“Hey, sleeping beauty.” I gently nudge her, smiling to myself when I remember how hard she can be to wake up. She grunts and rolls over, the seatbelt leaving a red mark against her chest. “Zoe. Almost at the hotel, babe.” Still, nothing. I poke her again, shaking her shoulder, keeping an eye on the GPS, and my voice gets deeper. “Hey. Zoe. Wake up. We’re almost there.” I marvel to myself that she can sleep as well here as she can in bed. I mean, we’re in a freaking car. It’s a little annoying, though, when you need to get someone moving. I shake her shoulder again, earning me a grunt. She mumbles something incoherent. I take the final turn to the hotel, then when I’m driving straight again I reach over and give her ass a sharp slap.
“Hey!” she bolts upright. “Dude, that’s so not even fair.” She adorably rubs her ass and frowns at me.
“Like waking the fucking dead,” I mutter. “Gonna start waking you with a riding crop.”
She glares.
“What? It’ll work better than a bugle,” I muse.
She looks out the window, and though it’s dark out, the streets are lined with streetlights that still cast a glow on the old-fashioned sidewalks outside quaint mom and pop stores that are dark now that they’re closed but illuminated enough we can see the hand-tooled signs for ice cream, shoes, and a hardware store.
“Wow,” she breathes. “This is cute.”
“You haven’t seen anything yet,” I say to her with pride, as if I own this place. It is one of my favorite places to go, though. “Tomorrow, I’ll take you to the beach.”
“That’s not why we’re here, though,” she says quietly.
“I know. But it doesn’t mean we can’t see a little while we’re here.”
She nods and rubs the heels of her hands into her eyes, yawning widely. “How long was I asleep?” she asks on a yawn. I take the turn into the winding drive that brings us to our hotel.
“About an hour. Feel any better?”
“No. I feel exhausted,” she says with a laugh.
“Well let’s get you to bed, then.” I park the car and go around to open the door for her. She steps out and stretches, lifting her arms straight up in the air with an adorable yawn. I can’t help but lean in and hug her, before bending down to brush my lips over hers. As if surprised, her arms reach around for me tentatively, then with more confidence, before her mouth parts and she welcomes the kiss. Too soon, we pull away.
“What was that for?” she whispers.
“You just looked pretty,” I say, releasing her so I can grab our bags. A few minutes later, we’re checked into our room, taking the elevator to the top floor. It’s got a small but well-furnished lobby, and its well past quiet hour so it feels like we have the place to ourselves. I slide the
key in the slot, open the door, and usher her in. The door shuts with a click behind us.
Immediately, she kicks off her shoes and face plants into the bed. I toss the bags next to the wall, kick off my shoes, and join her in bed, kneeling with my knees on either side of her. I bend down and whisper in her ear. “Don’t you think you ought to take these clothes off?”
“So tired,” she mutters. “Do I really need to?”
I give her a playful smack on the ass. “I can help you,” I offer. I lift my knee so I’m on the other side of her and can now tug off her top, followed by her leggings. She wriggles a little to help me but is otherwise dead weight on the bed.
“You really are wiped,” I say with mock regret, reaching for the latch on her bra. “It’s too bad I promised you a spanking when we got here.”
Her eyes still closed, one corner of her lips quirks up. “That can wait for the morning,” she says, but her voice holds a note of hope.
I reach for the elastic on her panties and drag them down over the curve of her gorgeous, rounded ass. “I don’t think so, baby.”
She doesn’t protest as I pull her panties down her thighs, over her knees, then gently over each of her feet so now she lies naked on the bed in front of me. I toss them on the floor with the rest of her clothes, then join her back on the bed, leaning on one elbow, so I can take in her curves that are on full display. I run one hand along the swell of her ass, then down to her thighs with firm strokes, as if massaging the skin awake. I love the feel of her soft, sensual skin beneath my hand, satiny smooth and creamy white.
I’ll fix that.
Not yet, though.
As I massage her gently, kneading her skin with soft, firm strokes of my fingers and palms, she sighs softly. “Thought you were asleep,” I tease, moving my hands back to her ass.
“Mmm.” She makes a noncommittal sound. I push her thighs apart and run my hands down her inner thighs in slow, circular motions, letting the sides of my hands just graze the sweet spot between her legs before moving downward. She tenses as I draw my hands up her thighs again, her breath hitching. I smirk to myself, moving my hands up and watching as the closer I get to her pussy, the more she tenses.
“You need me to touch you there?” I tease, drawing my fingertip up the center of her leg, tracing around the underside of her ass, then down again between her thighs.
“Mmm,” she says again. Without warning, I lift my hand and slap her ass again.
“Ow!” she protests.
Well, that’s better than “mmm.”
My dick tightens in my pants at the sight of my red handprint painting her ass.
“Told you you were getting a spanking tonight,” I say with a hint of warning in my voice just before I slap her ass again. To my surprise, she pushes up on her elbows, lays her chest flat on the bed, and arches her back, gifting her naked ass to me.
“That’s a good girl,” I approve, positioning myself to one side so I can hold her firmly under my hand, before I spank her again, taking time in between each stroke of my palm to fondle her, to slide my hands down her breasts and to her nipples, back to her ass, then down between her soft, sweet folds. “You need this.”
Her breath hitches and her eyes stay closed, but she tenses now, waiting for my palm. I spank her again and again, my hand branding her every time my palm connects with her skin, building a heated rhythm so that I can feel the heat emanating from her now-reddened skin. I kneel behind her, but she wiggles her ass in protest. I know that sign well. She needs more.
I push myself off the bed and reach for my belt buckle. At the sound of the jiggling, her eyes fly open and her mouth parts in silent protest.
“Don’t worry, Zoe. I’ve got you. I won’t give you more than you can handle.” Fear and apprehension blossom in her gaze as she watches me swish the belt through the loops and wrap it around my hand, tucking the buckle in my palm so I have a strap. She should be a little afraid. That’s part of the whole experience.
“Well, now I’m awake,” she mutters. I grin at her. So fucking sweet.
“Good girl,” I say. “Keep your chest down, Zoe. If you get up too quickly I could hit the wrong place.” Belts are flexible, and my aim has to be just right. I want to paint that ass red. A few lashes to her thighs will hurt, but if I do it just right, she’ll like it. Tomorrow, we’ll investigate what we need to, and spend some time together, but tonight, we need to reconnect, and what she said earlier leads me to believe this is the way we need to begin.
“Ass up.” My voice takes on a grittier, dominating edge. I can almost taste how good it will feel, and I’m already hard. I stand behind her, snap the belt on my thigh for a quick check, and watch as she jumps just a little, then melts back onto the bed. Slowly, her fingers grip onto the bedspread and clench, her knuckles turning white.
“Sometimes it helps to be reminded who’s in charge, babygirl.” It’s my only warning before I bring back the belt and snap it on her perfect ass. She arches, her chest heaving forward, and she makes a little mewling noise.
“Back in position,” I order. Like a good little girl, she listens. I spank her again, watching in pleasure how the lash leaves a red line across her ass. Like an artist painting a canvas, I lay a second, then third stripe. She’s humming softly, somewhere between a moan and a whimper. She’s taken her first stripes bravely. I lean over and run my hand over the slightly raised marks. I haven’t spanked her hard enough to welt badly, but she’s new and will likely bruise. Leather burns, then fades to warmth, and I feel it’s the most erotic implement I own.
“You hanging in there?” I ask her. We haven’t talked about consent or safewords or any of the trappings of consensual BDSM yet.
“Yes,” she says, her voice low and husky, and I can tell just from her tone she wants more. Maybe even needs more.
“If this gets to be too much, you need a safeword.”
“Vanilla.”
I huff out a laugh. She’s chosen a hell of a safeword.
“Vanilla?”
“Yup.”
She doesn’t even need to ask me what a safeword is. Someone’s been doing her homework.
“Got it.” I move back and let the lash fly once more. She hisses and arches with each strike of the belt, but the time between arching and presenting again for the next stripe lessens. She’s warming into this. With every smack of my belt, I’m taking her deeper into a place she needs to be, the place where she trusts me to lead her. Where she’ll let go of what’s on her mind, lost in the power of sensation. Every stinging lash will clear her mind, as the push and pull of pain then pleasure releases endorphins into her body.
Some women like to be fucked to forget what bothers them. Zoe favors drink. I’ll give her the taste of something better.
Rearing back, I spank her harder this time, a welt rising on her skin, but she barely flinches. I place the belt on the bed and take a moment to massage her reddened, striped skin, applying gentle pressure that will reduce bruising. She’ll mark from this, but most submissives like a little mark anyway.
I take my position behind her, drunk on wielding power over such a strong, powerful woman. She’s the one who gives me control. She’s the one that chooses to trust me. My dick’s so hard it’s painful, but I stay in control behind her. She needs more, and I’m happy to be the one to give this to her. The slow, steady thrum of leather striking bare skin fills the room, her moans softer now, when I finally decide she’s had enough. I lean down, gathering her short, silky black hair between my fingers and tugging her head to the side. I lean down and brush my lips along her temple. Her lips quirk up in a smile, her eyes closed tight.
“You liked your spanking,” I whisper against the shell of her ear. “You took it like such a good girl. If I touch your pretty little pussy, will I find it wet and wanting?”
She nods eagerly. “Yes,” she whispers.
I reach for her hair and give a gentle but firm tug. “That’s yes, sir.”
Her features tighten
just a bit, her eyes still closed but her lips ever so slightly thinned. “Yes, sir,” she whispers, then her whole countenance softens as she welcomes this new change.
Yes, sir.
What this girl gives me is priceless.
I tug her head back again and watch as her mouth parts open in pleasure. I bend down and run my tongue along her neck, tasting the sweet, salty skin, then I kiss her. Her pulse beneath my lips pounds steady, her body tense with lust and anticipation. Still holding her hair firmly in my left hand, I shift so I can dip my fingers between her thighs. As before, I stroke the tender skin between her legs but don’t go any further. This time, her thighs are painted with her desire. Her legs spread so far, the sweet, heady smell of feminine arousal hits my senses. I groan, unable to tease her any longer, and plunge my fingers where she wants them.
“Fuck yeah, that’s a good girl,” I groan. “Such a sweet, wet pussy. Someone likes my belt.” Two fingers deep, I work her hard. “Getting you to behave will be hopeless,” I say, a wicked grin tipping my lips up. “Someone likes her whippings too much.”
She hums with need, her lips parted. “Yes, sir,” she moans, her back arching, legs spread further apart.
“You’re perfect,” I groan, releasing her just long enough to reach into my wallet for a condom. She whimpers when she loses my touch.
She nods, tugging against my hold, and a shiver courses through her. Mouth slightly parted, I watch as her grasp on the bedspread tightens.
“Fuck me,” she grinds out in a hoarse whisper. “Please Brax.”
I let her hair go and spank her naked ass.
“Sir! Please, sir.”
“Good girl,” I whisper, releasing her hair and lining up behind her. “Say it. Say this pussy is yours. It belongs to you.”
Her words jumble in a haze of lust, pleading. She’s near incoherent with want. “This pussy’s yours,” she says, then lets out a moan as I enter her with a savage trust. A half-sob colors her next sentence. “It—it—belongs—to youuuu.”