by Megan McCoy
“Now, fetch your hairbrush.”
When she handed him the hairbrush, she caught the flicker of a smile on his face, before he composed himself and said calmly, “Now, bare your bottom and present yourself for a spanking.”
She yanked down her trousers and knickers again and bent over his knee. The hairbrush landed on her right cheek almost immediately. It was so much sharper than his hand, pain radiated through her. Three sharp smacks followed, and she instinctively wriggled and kicked out.
He trapped her waist with his left hand, holding her firmly in place across his lap. He peppered her bottom with the hairbrush, and Holly fought back an urge to shout out, beg him to stop, tell him she didn’t want this, not at all. The awareness that she really wanted and needed this – however much it hurt – kept the words from spilling out. Instead she emitted yelps and finally a long moan.
When he’d finished, he cuddled her on the sofa. She’d expected sex to follow, and was surprised when he said, “I’m going to start making dinner. You can start working on that essay.”
“But…”
“You thought that we would end up in the bedroom.” He winked at her. “No, that comes later, perhaps after another spanking with you tied to the bed. For now, this is discipline, so get writing or I’ll have to apply the hairbrush again.”
7
Engagement Party
Six weeks later, Holly and Jerome held their engagement party. They’d rented a boat for the night, so they celebrated with family, friends, food and champagne while floating down the Thames, under London’s bridges, past ancient buildings like the Tower of London and lively modern-day restaurants, clubs and bars.
Dinner was served in the cabin at eight o’clock, so Holly and Jerome spent the first hour up on the deck, mingling with their guests. It was up on deck that Jerome met Erika and Matt for the first time. When Holly introduced them she said quietly, “You’ve read one of Erika’s books.”
“Have I?” Jerome frowned, trying to recall a thriller or sci-fi book he’d read by someone called Erika.
Holly giggled and whispered, “She writes under the name Georgia Burns.”
Jerome almost choked on his champagne.
“I hope you enjoyed it,” Erika said.
Holly had only met Matt once before, very briefly, when he’d picked up Erika after one of their drinks sessions. He was a serious-looking man, with short dark hair, glasses and a neatly trimmed beard. It was hard to imagine the more outgoing Erika across his knee for punishment.
In the past six weeks, Holly had realised Erika was right about domestic discipline not always running smoothly. Holly and Jerome’s initial success with it was almost like a honeymoon period of a new relationship. Now, as with an ongoing relationship, there had to be more give and take. After her second punishment spanking over Christmas, Jerome and Holly had worked out their rules. Holly wasn’t to lie to Jerome, or to trick or test him into spanking her. They’d discussed what should happen if she had an overwhelming need to be spanked in a disciplinary way, but had done nothing deserving of one.
“You could ask me to spank you,” he suggested.
Holly shook her head. “That’s not the fantasy. You taking control is the fantasy. If I have to ask for it, I’ll feel I’m in control.”
“You know what really irritates me?” he said.
“What?”
“It’s a really silly thing, but the way you squeeze the toothpaste from the middle of the tube annoys me. Not enough to make a big deal of it, I’m sure I do things that irritate you…”
“Oh, yes,” she said, with a grin.
“But how about if you need a spanking and we’re at your place or mine, you just say you’re going to brush your teeth, then I’ll take a look at the toothpaste, and spank you for squeezing from the middle of the tube. Would that work?”
“Maybe,” she’d said. “It’s worth a try, anyway.”
So, they’d fallen on that if Holly wanted to be spanked. But both had busy jobs and Jerome was sometimes too exhausted for a disciplinary session. Sometimes Holly was in the mood for a cuddle rather than a spanking when she was snappy or short-tempered with Jerome because of work stress. As Erika had warned, there were occasions where domestic discipline failed to satisfy one or both of them. But they were both trying, and were being patient with one another.
Now, Jerome mumbled something about Erika’s book being interesting before being interrupted by Graham and his wife, Joanne. Holly introduced Erika, Matt, Graham and Joanne to each other, then Graham turned to Jerome.
“Guess who are talking very animatedly together?”
“Who?” Jerome asked.
“Mia and Kane. Looks like something might be going on there.”
“That’s good,” Jerome said. “At least they’ll understand each other’s lifestyle.”
Matt cleared his throat, and Jerome flushed slightly. Holly and Erika grinned at each other over their champagne flutes.
“So, are you a travel writer too?” Matt asked Graham. “It sounds like an interesting job.”
Soon, the three men and Joanne were discussing their travels. At least, Jerome and Graham were interrupting each other with comical travellers’ tales while Matt listened, apparently genuinely fascinated, and Joanne made comments like, “Oh yes, this is a funny tale, Matt. You’ll love it.”
Holly and Erika drifted away from them.
“I love your dress,” Erika said.
“Thanks,” said Holly. She was wearing an off-the-shoulder long red dress, but she’d wrapped herself in a cream shawl while she was on the deck. “Your dress is fab too.” Erika wore a black and white polka dress under a black shawl.
“Thanks,” Erika said. She lowered her voice. “So, is it all going okay? You know, the…”
“That thing we do?” Holly grinned. “Yes. Ups and downs like you said, but definitely good overall.”
“Perhaps we could go out for a drink one night, the four of us. Matt and Jerome could get to know each other better.”
“Yeah, maybe Matt could be a bit of a sounding-board for Jerome, the way you’ve been for me.”
Erika laughed. “I don’t think men really have heart-to-hearts the way women do, but maybe.”
Holly tried to imagine Jerome sitting with Matt, asking for his advice on how best to approach discipline in some previously un-encountered situation and chuckled as well. “It’s good for him to see that other people in the lifestyle don’t have two heads, anyway.”
“Holly.” Holly’s mum appeared at her shoulder. “They’re ready to serve dinner now.”
Everyone made their way downstairs to the cabin to find where they’d been seated. Holly and Jerome sat at a table with their parents. After the goat’s cheese with mixed leaf starter, they all tucked into poached salmon, potatoes and vegetables followed by strawberries and cream.
After dinner, everyone’s glasses were filled up with champagne and Holly’s father rose to his feet. “Holly and Jerome have told me they want everybody to enjoy themselves and not have to listen to long speeches,” he said and everyone laughed. “So, I’m going to do as I’m told and just say how delighted we all are that Holly and Jerome are engaged. They’re a great couple and I’m sure they’re going to have a very happy life together. So, while you’ve all got your glasses filled, and before the cake comes out to be cut, I want you all to raise your glasses and toast them with me.” He raised his glass. “To Holly and Jerome.”
The party guests rose to their feet, raised their glasses and said as one, “To Holly and Jerome.”
Everyone drank and as Holly looked around at the cabin, at all her family and friends gathered together to celebrate her engagement, she caught Erika’s eye.
Erika winked.
Holly grinned back.
Of all Holly’s friends on this boat, Erika was the one who knew the least about her. She hadn’t known her as a kid, they hadn’t gone to university together, they didn’t even work together.
/> And yet, thanks to the internet and that thing that Holly and Jerome now did, Erika was also the one who knew the most about her.
She raised her glass in Erika’s direction before taking a second drink of champagne.
And Erika did the same back.
They both knew that in the long years of marriage that lay ahead, domestic discipline would form a part of Holly and Jerome’s life together.
And that was just the way Holly had always wanted it.
The End.
Bethany Leigh
Bethany Leigh lives in Australia, where she divides her time between the keyboard and the beach. She started writing spanking romance in 2013, when she submitted a short story to an online magazine. When the story was accepted, she wrote several more, which have since been published in two collections by Blushing Books, along with four novels. Bethany’s books cover a range of genres – romance, crime, historical and alternate universe – but they all involve a wilful heroine getting her bottom spanked by an exasperated hero.
Check out her website here: https://bethanyleighbooks.wordpress.com/
Or follow her on Twitter: @bethanyleighaus
Don’t miss these exciting titles by Bethany Leigh and Blushing Books!
At Dead of Night
Betrothed
Freedom
Writing as Kate Carlton
Her Convict Constable
Anthologies
He Demands Discipline
12 Naughty Days of Christmas 2016
12 Naughty Days of Christmas 2017
12 Naughty Days of Christmas 2020
Audiobooks
At Dead of Night
Eve’s New Year
12 Naughty Days of Christmas 2020 - Book 12
Gray Gardner
Published by Blushing Books
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©2020
All rights reserved.
No part of the book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher. The trademark Blushing Books is pending in the US Patent and Trademark Office.
Gray Gardner
Eve’s New Year
eBook ISBN: 978-1-64563-852-0
v1
Cover Art by ABCD Graphics & Design
This book contains fantasy themes appropriate for mature readers only. Nothing in this book should be interpreted as Blushing Books' or the author's advocating any non-consensual sexual activity.
Chapter 1
Silver Creek Ranch Lodge, The Day After Christmas
“Jesus!”
Eve Childress jerked backward and nearly lost her footing on the old, musty smelling hardwood floors. Not because of the magnificent mountain view out of the twelve foot round top windows. Not because she’d just been told by the nice attorney standing next to her that in the following five days she could appraise every item in the large ranch house and claim what she wanted.
No, she leapt out of her skin because of the tall, shadowy figure with a matching pair of dark eyes staring back at her in the doorway of the long, wainscoted hallway.
“Yes,” sighed the attorney, typing into her phone and giving Eve a tight smile. “He has that effect on most people. Mr. Friendly.”
“Another relative coming to strip this place down to the studs,” he growled, a smile on his lips, but his voice emoting an altogether opposite feeling. “Congratulations on being named in the will. You are one among twenty of the vultures come to pick at the corpse of the Silver Creek Ranch.”
Eve pushed her black glasses back up her nose and frowned. “I’m only interested in preserving the historical integrity of this place. It should be on the national historic registry. For starters.”
Mr. Friendly quirked an eyebrow and placed his hands on his trim, jean-clad hips. “You’re in a historical society?”
“Society?” she mocked, her head pulling back. “I’m employed by the National Historical Commission. My one and only job is and has been to restore and preserve our nation’s history. What’s your job?”
“Uh,” the attorney said in a shaky voice, eyes volleying back and forth between the pair. “He’s the, uh, foreman.”
The foreman, Mr. Friendly, remained silent but Eve had plenty to say in the silence that ensued.
“Well, you’ve done an adequate job of maintaining the residence. I can’t speak for the rest of the property since I haven’t seen-”
“You’ll stay in the house,” he interrupted, taking a step forward and pushing both Eve and the lawyer back into an antique console table, its contents shaking as they hit it. “We have wild animals and an unstable, hazardous mine on the property. For starters.”
Eve glared at his mocking tone but cleared her throat and straightened her shoulders. In her line of work she’d dealt with much nastier and much more sophisticated filth than this, er, unfortunately handsome, angry man.
“Thanks for the caveat, foreman. I’ll be sure to stick to the house.” She took a step forward and placed her hands on her hips, mocking him.
His dark eyes raked over her before his lip pulled in a tiny, almost inconspicuous upward movement. Almost like a real smile.
“See that you do, Ms. Childress. You won’t like what happens if you disobey me.”
He turned to leave but paused as she called after him, “Oh, you’d be surprised how often I hear that.”
He shook his head and grinned for real before exiting the house.
“Holy shit, no one’s ever stood up to Bradley Daniels.” The attorney’s voice was a little shaky.
So that was Foreman Friendly’s name, huh? Eve exhaled and turned to the terrified attorney. “What was your name again?”
“Mellie Simson. Go on and do your thing. I won’t bother you, and neither will he. This is a 6,000-acre ranch. He’s too busy to get all up in your business. See you in five days.”
Eve nodded and stood in the old, lonely eight-bedroom house. Her cousin, William Childress, like a cousin by really long distance, had never had any children. She still called him Uncle Bill, though. Her other cousins, Nelson and Boone, had inherited the other two ranches left in the very long, very complicated will. Since she wasn’t directly related, she guessed she’d been lucky to get the opportunity to appraise the hundred and fifty year old property.
Her dad’s dad had been the brother to William Childress’s dad. Maybe. She wasn’t completely sure of the generations. She’d only seen the place every three or four years during Christmas, and remembered playing with all of the cousins, but that was it. She had to alternate holidays between relatives and step-relatives and only really got to see Bill Childress’ ranch a handful of times. But every visit had been magical. Snow, decorations, family, and, oh yeah, presents for all the cousins, little and big.
Why had he selected her to pick and choose through the things in his will? How had he known she worked for the historical commission? They hadn’t kept in touch. Like, at all.
She dug in during the next day, using her colored dot sticker system, cataloguing photos on her I-Pad and writing entries into her little pink book she kept. The Wi-Fi was spotty, so she had to coordinate each numbered photo with each hand-written entry. Nothing she hadn’t dealt with before.
Everything was fascinating to her. The hand-carved chairs, the oil paintings, the Native American woven table runners, the worn quilts; to her, everything was invaluable, but she knew everything did indeed have a price. There were so many memories that had at one time meant so much to people, or maybe even just one person, but she still had to assess what it would cost in the present, authenticated or not.
“Have you even eaten today?”
Eve dropped the magnifying glass she’d been staring throu
gh for the last however many hours, as she scrutinized the stitching and thread of the tassels on an area rug, and squealed as she brought her hand to her chest. Christ, he could sneak up unannounced, couldn’t he? She frowned down at the dirty boot standing on the yellowed white tassel she’d just been looking at and wrinkled her nose at the smell before jumping up and growling at him.
“Get off, foreman! Do you realize how valuable this is?” When he didn’t move, she pushed her hands into his chest. When that only solicited a small grin from him, she raised her hands in surrender and tried reason. “This is an authentic Persian rug. From Persia, an old referenced area in modern day southern Iran. As in, it doesn’t exist anymore. As in, whoever bought this had to have either been really friendly with a traveler from the Middle East or traveled there themselves. Either way, the stitching and thread provide a story remarkable enough to get everyone back at work excited. And I’ve just scratched the surface in here…”
“Yeah, but have you eaten?” His figure still darkly loomed over her in the large, cold, dimly lit living room.
“Yes, Mom, I ate a pack of peanut butter crackers for lunch.” She rolled her eyes and opened her pink notebook to catalogue the Persian rug find.
The friendly foreman slowly but forcefully pulled it out of her hands and tucked it under his arm.
“What the hell!”
“It’s midnight.” He raised a brow as if to dare her to question something as certain as the time.
She sputtered out in disbelief, but turned her head over to the tall grandfather clock in the corner of the room. Then she looked down at her watch and pushed her glasses back up her nose. Oh. It was midnight. She pressed her lips together and looked back down at the rug.
