Scarlet Fever
Page 7
“You burned the canoe paddle, too?”
“Why would anyone need a paddle, if they didn’t even have a boat?” she asked sweetly.
He pulled her up, and used the wooden slat to deliver two quick swats to her rear end. The two blows were apparently test swats. The third one wasn’t.
“OW-W-W! *#&$(^*$#*! You goddamned son of a…”
“Say it, and I add another twenty,” he said. “Minus the long-johns and the black lace knickers, this time.”
“You…” She stopped abruptly. “You can't spank me any more."
He looked genuinely astonished. "Why ever not?"
"Because… well… I just figured it was a substitute for… the other."
"Oh," he nodded wisely. "So I was just smacking your bum because I secretly wanted to fuck you."
"Right," she responded emphatically.
Cameron nodded some more. Then with no warning he drew her into his chest and kissed her hard. "Let me break it to you, my lass. Spanking is spanking, and fucking is fucking. And sometimes the twain shall meet, but never doubt that there's room a' plenty for both in your life."
The kiss deepened, and Anne realized that she was going to be fucked for the fourth time in less than eight hours. And that there was absolutely nothing she could do about it. Then… “What was that?”
“What was what?”
“That noise, from…”
They looked up at the same moment, and saw a plane overhead—a silver one, wagging its wings.
* * * * *
“When we land at Regina,” he explained, over the noise of the rescue plane’s twin engines. “I’ll leave you in my quarters, then report in, where I’m sure I’ll be asked to explain in excruciatingly tedious detail what happened to Her Majesty’s airplane, and why I shouldn’t be drummed out of the Force for burying it in the mud. In my absence, feel free to bathe, eat, sleep, read, launder what remains of your wardrobe—whatever you wish. Please try to get some rest, though, because when I get back, you and I have several unresolved issues to discuss.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Such as?”
“First, there’s the matter of the spanking that I was about to administer before we were rescued.”
“Was that what you were doing? Because I seem to remember it a bit differently. I don't think spanking is what you were doing.”
“Maybe not. But I'm sure you deserved one. And I'm of a mind to give you one, just for good measure. And then I'm going to make love to you afterwards.
Anne snorted, not wanting to give the least indication just how hot both his threat and his promise were making her. “Not only do you not understand women, Sergeant, but you have an amazing ego. Do you really think I’m going to be in the mood to hop in bed with you, after getting my ass set on fire?”
“No, I imagine you’ll call me quite a lot of names, first, and then sulk a bit, but before the evening is out, I believe you’ll convince yourself that it’s time to move on to the next step.”
“What next step?”
“Getting married, of course. There’s a good deal of paperwork involved in marrying
a member of the RCMP, especially for someone who’s entered the country illegally. I expect you’ll have to be investigated at some length.” He grinned. “I will, of course, volunteer to do the strip-search, should that be required.”
“You want to marry me? After knowing me for only two weeks?”
“Well, as a Crown policeman, I can’t very well live in sin. It wouldn’t look good on my record. But, if you insist, we’ll have a long engagement. Maybe a full month.”
“Anything else we need to discuss?”
“Yes,” he said quietly. “And this is serious, I’m afraid. You need to understand what it’s going to mean, being married to me. It won’t be easy.”
“No kidding!” she quipped.
“Regina is just a temporary assignment for me, Anne. My own post is farther north.”
She felt a twinge of nervousness. “How much farther?”
“Remember Fort Honolulu?”
“There?
“Farther.”
“I see.”
”No, you don’t. I love what I do, but it can be a hard life for women. A very hard life.”
“What do you do, up there?”
“Pretty much everything. It’s a two-man post. We enforce the law, of course, but there’s a lot more to it than that.” He chuckled. “I delivered my third baby two months ago.”
Anne smiled. “That’ll come in handy. Obstetricians charge an arm and a leg in Boston. But I have a question. If you’re in love with me, why do you have to spank me? Can’t we simply let that go, in light of our coming engagement?”
“Unfinished business. Justice delayed is justice denied, you know. A Mountie always gets his man— or woman. And I make it a point never to break my word.”
“That’s a crock, Sergeant,” she growled. “And you know it. I think you just want to spank the daylights out of me. I think you’re not satisfied with the spankings you already delivered, which, as I recall, weren’t exactly a walk in the fucking park.”
“The secret to doing a job well,” he said solemnly, “is to get sufficient practice. And that last expletive isn’t helping your case, by the way.”
Maybe because she thought he had a point, and maybe because she was understandably eager to get to the next step, Anne knew that she’d agree to what he was suggesting. While he was busy at headquarters, she bathed, unpacked and washed her things, ate two frozen TV dinners, a can of soup and two small cans of tuna, a half-jar of stuffed olives, an entire package of Walker’s shortbread, and most of a giant wedge of extra-sharp cheddar cheese that looked dried out but still good. After that, she rummaged through his desk, found his Visa card and called for a large pepperoni pizza and an order of buffalo wings. Then, feeling warm and adequately-fed for the first time in two weeks, she settled down on his comfortable couch with a heavy wool tartan blanket and two fluffy pillows, and fell blissfully asleep.
What the Sergeant returned he spanked her twice - just for good measure - he assured her both times - and then made love to her until she could hardly walk.
* * * * *
They didn’t wait the full month, but moved into his snowbound quarters at a place called Pigeon Creek two weeks later—not properly married, since the “bride investigation” would take considerably longer, but feeling like newlyweds, nonetheless. While she was unpacking her luggage, she came across a family heirloom, and wrapped it up as an engagement present.
He unwrapped the prettily wrapped antique hairbrush, and gave her a curious look. “Have you done something I should know about? Already?”
“It was my great-grandmother’s,” she explained. “When she gave it to me, she suggested one hundred strokes, every night.”
He smacked the flat side of the brush in his palm, and winced. “A hundred seems a bit harsh,” he remarked, smiling. “A full dozen, applied with proper diligence, should do nicely. Two dozen, in extraordinary situations, and certainly not every night. Once every month or so should be sufficient. Now, about that name you called Inspector Davidson…”
THE END.
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