Complete Me (Bound to You Book 3)

by Jane Henry

  Placing it to the side out of view should Meredith come into his workshop—she was due home any minute—he pulled out the order sheets for the custom order he was working on that weekend. Word had gotten out that his work and Robbie’s was top-notch, and orders were keeping him busy. It felt amazing to do what came so naturally to him, and fulfilling the orders in a timely manner meant his ratings had gone up significantly. A good name in the industry allowed him to increase his starting prices, and custom orders meant the pay grade was competitive. He felt satisfied knowing the work he was producing was far and away superior to the shoddier, factory-made shelving available in the local home improvement stores.

  He heard the car pull in the driveway, and he smiled to himself. She’d pulled in slowly and carefully, as he’d instructed her to do so. Good girl. He stretched his arms up over his head and yawned. He’d been in the garage for hours now, and his stomach growled with hunger. As the car door slammed, and he heard Meredith whistling, he pushed the paddle toward the back of the worktable and turned to face the entrance.

  She opened the door and grinned at him, waggling her fingers. She looked tired but as lovely as ever, wearing a thin, a light blue sweater that accented the color of her eyes, her hair pulled back in a ponytail that made her look young and fetching, the black pants she wore accentuating the curves of her ass, with cute little black heels. Damn.

  “Hey, gorgeous,” he greeted, as she held a pile of mail in one hand and her purse in the other.

  “Hey,” she greeted. “You have a good day?”

  He nodded. “You?” he asked as he crooked a finger and beckoned her over. She placed the mail on a shelf behind her and her bag atop it as she walked over to him. He looped a finger into the belt of her jeans and pulled her onto his lap. It was his signature move and never failed to get a squeal out of her. She draped her arms around his neck and he kissed her, hard and fast, his fingers fisted in the hair at the back of her head.

  “Welcome home,” he murmured. “I see you drove into the driveway like a good girl.”

  “Like the boring, deliberately careful girl you trained me to be, sir,” she said, her eyes twinkling. “The next thing you know, you’ll have me wearing sensible shoes and ordering the early bird special when we go out to dinner.”

  She squealed as he played his part and turned her over, landing a punishing swat to the seat of her pants.

  “You naughty little thing,” he said, but she was determined, as she spoke to him over her shoulder.

  “And yes, sir, I look both ways when I cross the street and never take candy from strangers!”

  “Brat!” he said, his eyes locating the newly-made paddle on the workbench as he gave her another, intentionally lighter swat with his hand, a few love pats as he held her in position and hooked a finger around the leather loop of the paddle. Before she could see what he was doing, he raised it and whack!

  He’d tested it thoroughly on his thigh first, as he never spanked her ass with anything until he’d tested it.

  She yelped out loud.

  “Oh my God!” she squealed. “That is not your hand!”

  “Nope,” he chuckled.

  Whack! He gave her another calculated swat, enough that he knew she’d feel it for a good long while, but lightly enough that he knew it would not be terribly painful. He’d intentionally used a lightweight wood that would pack a good sting but be gentle enough to be used for good girl spankings. Still, he knew it certainly did sting.

  “What is that?” she wailed as he gave her another hard swat.

  “What, baby?” he said, feigning ignorance.

  “What are you spanking me with?” she yelped, scissoring her legs as he gave her another wallop.

  “What?” he said. Whack! “This?” Whack!

  “Yes,” she cried.

  Chuckling, he flipped her back over so she was sitting upright and the second he released her, she leapt to her feet, her little hands rubbing her bottom as she stared at him and looked around wildly to see what manner of beast had nipped her ass.

  He twirled the pretty little paddle in his hand.

  “Lovely, isn’t it?” he asked. She frowned, but he could tell she was pleased. She did love to be spanked. Squealing, squirming, and trying to get away was part of playing hard-to-catch.

  “Oh, it’s just gorgeous,” she muttered sarcastically, her eyebrows furrowed as she continued to massage her backside.

  “Just like my girl,” he said. “Petite but sturdy, able to withstand much spanking, and truly one of a kind.”

  Despite her mock affronted look, she smiled.

  “You think I’m one of a kind?” she asked.

  He chuckled. “Hell, yeah,” he said. Her eyes flicked back to the paddle in his hand. She nodded.

  “It’s not so bad,” she said and he grinned. He knew it wasn’t. That’s why he’d made it.

  “I won’t use this one if you’re in real trouble,” he said. “I’m making a much sturdier paddle for that purpose. A fraternity paddle. Oak on one side, fortified with solid maple on the other. Varnished, heavy and one-foot long. The instructions call it The Enforcer.”

  Her eyes widened, and she gasped. “You are not,” she protested, her hands folding in front of her. “You’re teasing me!” But when she met his eyes, his brows raised and she swallowed.

  “Oh my God,” she whispered. “Paolo… I… are you really? That sounds—”

  He burst out laughing at the look of pure panic on her face.

  “No, baby. God, no,” he said. “I have no need for something like that. Seriously, girl, those things must be made for people with cheeks of steel. Not for my baby. I well know how to get my point across if you’re naughty and need a real spanking without needing weapons.”

  She nodded. “Oh, yes, you do,” she said, nodding her head vigorously. He could deliver a sound spanking without the use of a hefty paddle. Hell, he’d gotten his point across with his hand on many an occasion, but he knew she fantasized about all sorts of spanking, so he’d fulfilled those fantasies.

  “You,” she said, wagging a finger at him. “You tricked me!” She took a step over but her foot caught on an extension cord and she went sprawling, her hands reaching instinctively to brace herself on the mammoth table saw in front of her.

  “No!” he bellowed, and before he knew what he was doing, he’d pushed to his feet and reached for her, grasping her around the waist and pulling her back toward him so that she fell easily into his lap, narrowly missing a collision with the saw. They panted in silence for a moment and he squeezed his eyes shut. He was always meticulously careful about locking his tools down, but if she fell just the right way…

  When he opened his eyes, she was looking at him strangely.

  “Paolo,” she whispered.

  He held her tight and nodded, still not sure he trusted his voice.

  “Yes?” he asked.

  “You stood, honey,” she whispered.

  He blinked. Whoa. She was right. He had stood.

  “I did,” he said, and he swallowed again. “God. You’re right. I did.” She stood up and looked at him.

  “Have you been standing and not telling me?” she asked, looking at him not accusingly but curiously. He shook his head. He did have limited mobility and could make the shift from the chair to bed and similar transitions, but he always held onto something. Could he stand without holding onto anything? Months of therapy hadn’t yet gotten him to the place where he could.

  Meredith watched him.

  “Try,” she whispered. He swallowed, pushing himself up from his chair and when he did, he stood.

  She clapped her hands to her mouth and her eyes watered.

  “You can,” she whispered.

  The feeling… the feeling was incredible. Not holding onto anything, he realized he could actually bear his own weight. He sat back down carefully, grinning at her.

  “Well, look at that,” he said.

  “This means—we need to call the doc
tor!” she said. “We should get you back into therapy, because—”

  He shook his head. “It’s promising, baby,” he murmured. “But we don’t know anything yet. This could just be momentary strength. They told us at my last follow-up that I’d passed the six-month mark, and that I likely wouldn’t gain any more mobility than I already have.”

  He hoped he would, but didn’t want to get his hopes, and most especially Meredith’s, up.

  “Let’s get some food, baby,” he said, taking control of the situation before she got carried away, as she was wont to do. He grinned at her. “Let’s go to Angelica’s. They have those early bird specials you speak so fondly of.”

  She blinked, then smiled and nodded.

  He’d look into contacting his doctor later.

  ***

  Meredith watched Paolo as they ate dinner at Angelica’s. He was more quiet and reserved than usual, and she suspected he was dwelling on the fact that he might have use of his legs again. The possibility was one they’d dismissed, since they’d passed the six-month mark and had been told that return of mobility was unlikely.

  “Penny for your thoughts?” she asked quietly, as he picked at his lasagna. She sipped her glass of wine, swallowing the cool liquid. It was sweet and pleasant, but heated and warmed her to the tips of her toes. Sort of like a spanking, she mused, stifling a giggle.

  He shrugged. “I’m thinking about what I’m going to do to you tonight,” he said, his eyes narrowed, lips twitching. She felt warmth creep to her cheeks, and knew it wasn’t from the wine.

  “Oh?” she asked innocently. “Going to give me a foot rub?” she asked innocently. “Or feed me grapes and fan me?”

  He shrugged, and when he spoke he didn’t take care to modulate his voice. “Well, you’ve already been spanked, so we can scratch that off the list. Now I think you could do with a little light bondage. Maybe a blindfold…”

  “Paolo!” she gasped, her eyes flitting from side to side to see if anyone had heard him.

  “What?” he said, forking a bite of lasagna and chewing methodically. “I was looking online and found some things that look sort of interesting. Have you ever wondered what clamps feel like?”

  “Paolo!” she repeated in a strangled voice. He chuckled low and reached for her hand. “Relax, baby,” he said. “God, you’re so easy to tease. So gullible. And I love when you blush.” He waggled his eyebrows up and down. “I’d do anything to warm those cheeks red.”

  “Oh my God,” she muttered under her breath, closing her eyes momentarily. He was too much.

  He continued to eat in silence, still chuckling to himself, as she inhaled and tried to bring the conversation back around.

  “It’s just that—you seemed sort of—like you didn’t want to pursue the whole thing with walking again.” She took a deep breath. “Do you?”

  “Do I want to walk again?” he asked, eyebrows raised incredulously.

  “Yes,” she whispered, suddenly wishing she hadn’t brought it up.

  “Of course I do,” he said, as he took another bite of lasagna and chased it with a pull from his bottle of beer. “But I’m not getting my hopes up either,” he said. “I’m happy with the way things are. They aren’t what I’ve always hoped for, but I’ve adapted, you know? And I’m cool with whatever happens.”

  She sighed. “Okay, good,” she said, as she took another sip of wine herself. Her chicken parm was delicious but she was feeling full, and only wanted to polish off her wine. It had shocked her seeing him on his feet, and her mind was racing. But she also wanted to assure him…

  “You know it doesn’t matter to me, right?” she asked.

  He looked up from his plate of food, another fork of food hanging in mid-air. He waited for her.

  “I mean, I… it’s just that.” She took a deep breath. She had to just spit it all out already. “I’m perfectly happy with the way things are and don’t need a thing to change,” she said in one breath all at once.

  “Happy with your hot guy who wields a paddle?” he asked, his eyes twinkling.

  “Will you please stop,” she hissed. “God, it’s embarrassing.”

  “Stop what?” he said, as the waitress came over to the table with another beer for him, and seconds after she left, his eyes mischievously glinting at her, he continued. “Saying things like spanking and paddle?”

  “Paolo,” she hissed. He chuckled, but he stopped.

  He reached for her hand. “I know you’re okay with everything, baby. And we’ll see what happens. I’ve read about incomplete spinal injuries at length, and I know they’re completely unpredictable. Could be that I had use of my legs for a short while, but I may not again for some time.” He shrugged. “Or ever. Who knows. And in a way, I’m sort of glad that we began all this after I was injured.”

  She looked at him in surprise. He was glad?

  “Why is that?” she asked, genuinely curious.

  “I’m stronger than you are, I know,” he began, giving her another teasing look. She squirmed and smiled. It turned her on to think about how much stronger he was, but she focused on looking at him and paying attention.

  “But doing all this with you—” he waved a hand. “You could run away from me and I wouldn’t be able to stop you. I don’t have the ability to physically make you submit to me. But you choose to. You choose to submit not because I overpower you but because you want to. And that means everything to me.”

  She smiled softly at him. “That’s true,” she whispered. “I love that. It’s about making the choice.”

  He nodded and rubbed the pad of his thumb over her folded hands.

  “But I can still take you,” he said with a shrug.

  She snorted. “Um. Yeah. You can take me. Not sure what you’d do if I hid all your new toys, though,” she muttered.

  He raised an eyebrow. “You could hide them all, but what’s holding my pants up, baby?” he asked. She giggled, no longer worrying about being overheard.

  “I could get rid of all your leather belts and just leave those cheesy canvas ones that came with your shorts,” she teased.

  “You could,” he said, brandishing his hands, palm-up on the table. “But what would you do about these monstrosities, eh?”

  She convulsed in laughter. “Nothing,” she giggled. “Absolutely nothing. Point made.”

  He nodded, forking one more large piece of lasagna. “I don’t care how old we get, or how frail I get or how naughty you are, where there’s a will there’s a way.”

  She grinned. “That there is, handsome.”

  ***

  Meredith groaned under her breath as she pulled into the parking lot of Paolo’s doctor’s office. It was a large brick building, and on one side was the physical therapy unit and the other, his primary care. They’d spent more frustrating days here than she cared to count over the past year, and they were coming on the one-year anniversary of the accident that had changed their lives forever. She swore under her breath as she circled the lot for the third time, and Paolo’s hand clasped on her knee.

  “Meredith.” One word. Low, and stern, and she cringed. She wasn’t allowed to swear, and she knew it, but she felt she was doing a pretty good job keeping her temper under wraps. Her nerves had been shot since she woke up. She hadn’t slept well at all, and the possibilities that lie ahead with today’s visit had her nerves on end. In her mind she’d been cursing up a storm, and the mild swear word she whispered under her breath showed remarkable self-control, in her humble opinion.

  “Yes,” she whispered through gritted teeth. She waited for what she’d come to expect—his reminder to behave, or a stern reminder that she would be punished if she misbehaved. But it did not come. Instead, his warm hand lay firmly on her knee and she felt a bit of the tension ease out of her.

  “The handicapped space,” he murmured. “Did you forget?” He pointed to where three vacant spots with the wheelchair logo sat in the front of the large ramp in the lot.

  She swallowed.
She had. So wrapped up in the hope for normalcy again, she’d completely forgotten that he was still in the wheelchair, and the handicapped tag on their rear view mirror gave them permission to park in the larger spaces in front. As she pulled into the spot closest to the door, he squeezed her knee.

  “You’re nervous, baby,” he said. “And there’s nothing to be nervous about.”

  He’d had an upcoming visit with his therapist slotted for three days after the day in the garage when he’d stood of his own accord, and he had not allowed her to reschedule for a sooner visit.

  “There’s no need to make a bigger deal of this than necessary,” he’d explained. And she didn’t understand. Why wasn’t he making a bigger deal of this? The potential that he could walk unencumbered again was a huge opportunity, life-changing even. And yet, he’d shrugged it off as if he were going to get a haircut. She’d lain in bed the night before, imagining the possibilities. He would walk again, no longer depending on the hefty chair that was cumbersome and awkward. They could stroll down by the boardwalk and the beach again in summer, hand in hand, instead of being relegated to the rickety wooden bridge and pathway. She missed the feel of the sand in her toes, wading into the water’s edge with Paolo by her side as they gathered shells and listened to the squawk of gulls amidst the sound of the crashing waves.

  He would drive again. Paolo had always insisted on being the one behind the driver’s wheel when they were together, and though at times it irritated her, she missed that. She missed relaxing in the seat next to him, looking out the window or chatting away, as he expertly navigated through traffic. It sort of made her feel protected and cared for, when he was the one driving.

  He would stand at the stove again, cooking his mama’s version of frango na púcara, the chicken dish “cooked in a pot” with chorizo, wine and tomatoes. He cooked even now, and she’d done her best to rearrange the kitchen so that herbs and seasonings and whatever he needed were within arm’s reach. But it was more challenging cooking from his wheelchair, and he did it less frequently.