Come Back to Me (Bound to You Book 2)

by Jane Henry

  “I don't ever want to hear you belittle yourself,” he chided. “Never. You are not selfish. It's not a childish request. If you do act like a selfish child, yes, you'll find yourself draped over my knee for a good spanking. But needing me is not selfish or childish. You are important to me. Don't you ever forget that.”

  She nodded, tears springing to her eyes. “Yes, Sir,” she whispered.

  “Focus on me,” he ordered in a husky whisper. Her tear-filled eyes stayed trained on his.

  “There's nothing wrong with needing more from me, bonita.” He leaned closer, his voice deepening. “Believe me when I tell you, very soon I'll be requiring more from you as well.” Her eyes widened slightly. “The only way we're going to learn our way is by making some mistakes. My job is to catch you, and yours to be obey him. And my instruction to you is clear. Hold nothing back. Do you understand?”

  She nodded. He paused, letting his words sink in before he asked his next question.

  “Is there anything else bothering you?”

  She nodded. “I know you want me to obey you right away. Is that why you asked me to leave the forum?” She frowned. “I was in the middle of a conversation with Little Lady.”

  Ah. So she was unhappy he'd made her leave the forum before she was ready. Fair enough.

  “I won't always give you an explanation, Meredith. You do what I say, and when it's necessary, I'll explain.” When and how she would conduct herself on the forum was a serious topic he'd reserve for another time, another day, and until then, she would not be allowed to visit.

  “But now, we have some business to attend to.” Her eyebrows drew together, but she merely nodded.

  Lowering his hands, Paolo cupped each of her satin-covered breasts. He smoothed his thumbs over her nipples and watched as she inhaled. She remained stock still. He watched her reaction closely. Her eyelids lowered; her breath coming in shallow gasps. He grew harder. He pinched her nipples and she started, but then the softest moan escaped her lips and her eyelids fluttered closed before opening a moment later. He circled his fingers over her hardened nipples as he continued to talk.

  “This weekend, I have plans for you,” he murmured, maintaining eye contact as he pinched, flicked, and teased her nipples. “I cleared our calendar. We have no visitors. No guests. We're not running any errands. This weekend, your time is mine. This weekend, I will challenge you. Push you, even. You will go over my knee, not once, or twice, but any time I demand it. I will expect a “yes, Sir,” when you speak to me. I will tell you what to do and when. Am I clear?”

  Her eyes opened. She blinked. “Yes, Sir.”

  Pleasure swept through him at her eagerness to obey. He took one hand and gently guided it under the soft edge of satin, his finger grazing the bare skin of her breast. “Good girl,” he whispered. His finger flicked over her nipple, and she inhaled sharply. Her breathing was becoming labored. “What I expect is that you will listen to what I tell you. You will make every effort to obey. And when I ask you to tell me what you're thinking or feeling, I demand complete honesty. Do you understand me?”

  She nodded again. “Yes, Sir.”

  He nodded. “Good. Now tell me what I just said.”

  Her eyes widened. “Um. I… need to listen and obey.” He waited for her to finish, and when she didn't, he leaned over and delivered another stinging swat.

  She gasped.

  “Focus, Meredith,” he commanded sharply. “Obey my instructions, and respond to every command with 'yes, Sir.' What did you omit just now?”

  She blinked. “Oh, gosh,” she said. He fought to keep the stern look on his face, as she was so cute when she realized her mistake. “Yes, Sir. I forgot to say 'yes, Sir.' I'm sorry.”

  He smiled. “You'll catch on.”

  It was time. It was time to begin. He was going to push her to the edge, start the weekend off right, train her to obey him, and demonstrate his strength.

  “Stand,” he commanded. She obeyed.

  He put both hands on her waist, and pulled her firmly over his lap.

  ***

  Meredith could hardly contain her excitement as she bent across his knee. From the corner of her eye, she saw the edge of the black leather disappear as he lifted it in his hand, and arousal stirred down low in her belly. Her breathing became labored as she felt his hand on the hem of her nightie. Gently, he lifted until he'd bared her to him, and his large, rough hand glided over her naked skin.

  “Ah, my handprint, pink against the white of your ass,” he murmured. “This is beautiful. My mark on you.”

  His mark on her.

  She closed her eyes. It was so relaxing, being over his lap like this. She was so ready to feel his strength. She was so ready to submit to him once again. And she loved the thought of him leaving his mark on her.

  “One of the plans I have this weekend is to find your threshold for pain,” he said.

  Oh my God!

  What the hell would that entail? It sounded freaking sexy and terrifying all at once.

  “We need to devise a system for you to communicate with me,” he continued. “When I ask, I want you to give me a number. We'll use a scale of one to ten, one being mild and ten being as much as you can stand. All you need to know for tonight are the numbers. Tomorrow, we'll discuss safe words, but tonight there will be no need.”

  Why would there be no need? But no, it wasn't for her to question. Her job was to obey.

  “Yes, Sir,” she said. She felt his large, warm hand trail across her bare skin. She was sensitive where he'd swatted her, but already the pain of those quick swats had begun to fade.

  She wanted more. The feel of his palm stinging her bottom had been shocking—immediately mortifying, but hot. It all was. His command. His desire to discipline her. His power. Between that and his fondling her, she already felt about ready to come out of her skin. And now, spread over his lap, as he layered one delicious command after another over her, she felt herself growing heady with excitement. Blood pounded in her ears. He shifted beneath her, spreading his knees apart.

  “I want you in this position,” he said, as he gently pushed one of her legs over his own, so that she was straddling one knee, his leg firmly against her torso, her upper body sprawled on the bed.

  Oh my. This felt different. It wasn't as relaxing as her whole belly over his lap, but it was hotter, as she felt her own arousal against the heat of his leg. He shifted one knee as she straddled him, and the shift put more pressure between her legs as he trailed one hand over her bottom and lower still, until he was fondling her. She closed her eyes as her breath caught.

  “Holy shit,” she murmured. His hand cracked down so suddenly and so hard she fairly leapt off his knee.

  “No swearing this weekend. I don't want to hear a single curse word out of your mouth. I will spank you, and it won't be pleasant. Do you understand me?”

  “Yes, Sir,” she said quickly, eager to obey, but growing headier even still from having been swatted again. He stroked the bare skin he'd just spanked as warmth spread through her.

  I will spank you.

  “Bonita, what are you to do when I spank you?”

  What was it again? She was having a hard time concentrating. All she could think of was his hand between her legs, the way his knee felt, her bare skin still stinging, and warm. Her focus was hazy. What had he asked? She had to think quickly before she earned a spanking.

  Oh!

  “Numbers,” she murmured. “You want me to scale how much it hurts, Sir.”

  “Very good,” he said. And without another word of warning, she felt his hand raise, and she started as she felt a soft flick against her bare skin. It didn't hurt. It almost tickled.

  “One?” she said tentatively. His only response was to raise his hand again. This time, the flicks were harder and she felt a series of little stings along her bottom.

  “Three,” she said, swallowing, and licking her lips. She wanted more. She needed to feel him. She felt frustration mounti
ng as he teased her, the soft folds of leather caressing her bare bottom, thighs, and lower back, over and over again. She'd expected much more than this. The damn thing was called a flogger. A flogging was supposed to be serious stuff. Why didn't it hurt?

  He flicked it again, and again, this time harder, and all over, not just one swat, but several, over her thighs and bottom, and she felt her arousal pulsating. No, this didn't really hurt. She hardly felt pain at all. To her surprise, she felt her anticipation building. His knee between her legs. The soft caress of buttery leather. The little tingles of pain as he flicked the flogger on her naked skin. She felt his hand raise again, prepared for another series of tingles, unprepared for the sudden sharp thud.

  She yelped, fairly leaping off his knee. She gasped as he pushed her back down, one of his hands holding her in place as he raised his hand again and delivered another searing swat.

  “What the hell was that?” she yelped.

  Another whack.

  Oh, God!

  “Seven!” she shouted. He paused. She was shocked to find she felt even more aroused than before. But it had hurt! A lot. How could she be so turned on? And how had he made the soft leather implement hurt so badly?

  “Paolo!” she said. He paused, his hand resting on her lower back. “That hurts!”

  “Well, yes. I assumed that's why you rated it a seven. Yes, of course it hurts.”

  “I wasn't expecting that!”

  Another pause. And when he spoke, his voice was low and stern. “Did I tell you you were to know everything I was doing?”

  “Well, no,” she said. She wanted to turn around, look at him, see what he'd spanked her with, but he held her firmly in place. She had the distinct feeling that questioning him when she was over his knee getting spanked was probably not the wisest idea. “But you told me I had to communicate with you! And that fu—” she caught herself just in time. “That seriously hurt!”

  “I'm spanking you, Meredith. I know it hurts. Is there anything else you need to say before I continue?”

  She paused. “No, Sir.”

  “Good,” he continued. “But I'm telling you now, little girl, you're getting dangerously close to a tone I don't like, and you don't want that to happen.”

  Little girl.

  Her irritation dissipated. There was something about his tone, the way he held her, his command of the entire situation, that she felt attracted to. Though she chafed against his correction, at the very same time, a small voice in the darkest recesses of her mind silently begged him.

  Do it again.

  She felt his hand rise, and braced herself for the impact of another stinging swat, but she felt again the tingle of the little suede tails flicking against her. She felt him lifting higher, and when he spanked her again, this time the tingles were sharper. He rained down swat after swat, flicking the leather rapidly, so that she was peppered with sharp stings. One after another, sting after sting, her skin was on fire, burning, the sensation of the sharper swats mingling with flicks of softer strokes driving her mad.

  He unleashed another burning swat and she gasped, but then his hand was between her legs again. Was she supposed to be rating? She couldn't. Her mind was too foggy. Her body begged for him to do something, anything, to bring her to climax. She was so close. One stroke of his finger, or—Oh, God!—his tongue, and she'd soar. Flames licked through her, her whole body yearning for release, her thighs warm and tingling from being spanked, bottom burning, her nipples hard against the bed as she whimpered into the quilt. And yet he continued to spank her, over and over again, not seeming to care for a rating anymore, simply intent on delivering a deliciously thorough spanking.

  He paused, and she gasped as she felt the bite of his palm spanking her bare skin. She grew impossibly more aroused. Again and again, the sensation delicious but painful, so different from the feel of the implements he'd used, he spanked her with his hand, sharp blows that resounded in the silence of their room. She yelped as he delivered a swat on the upper part of her thigh, right below the curve of her bottom. It was particularly sensitive there. Again, he spanked the same place, and again, she felt the sting of pain followed by sensual warmth. He paused.

  “I want a number, Meredith,” he said, but his voice wasn't sharp but a gentle reminder.

  “A number?” she murmured in a fog. “Ten. Whatever fucking number means yes, do it again, this is amazing.”

  He let loose a volley of hard, punishing swats, and she squirmed and writhed.

  “Watch that mouth, young lady.”

  Whack!

  Then his hand descended slowly and deliberately again, hard and biting, but she was so hazy and overcome with an almost drowsy arousal, she barely squirmed.

  “Yes, Sir,” she mumbled.

  Where was she? The room spun. She felt warmth and delicious, drowsy arousal. Every inch of her was on fire. She was vaguely conscious of him lifting her, placing her on the bed, pillows beneath her head as he held her. She felt his hand thrust between her legs, and his mouth came to her neck. She gasped as his teeth sank into the tender skin just above her collar bone, but at the same time his fingers were moving, circling, and she was so ready for him. His fingers found their way to where she longed for him to touch. And then she was soaring. She came so hard her hips bucked involuntarily as he stroked, his mouth lapping and sucking on her neck. She clung to him, wanting more, hips rocking beneath his hand as he brought her to ecstasy.

  As she came back down, she felt him drawing her close. He couldn't hold her hard enough. She wanted to be so deep in him they were inseparable. “Please,” she murmured, still weak from the intensity of her orgasm. “Please, Sir,” she said, vaguely aware that her requests should be polite, “Please come in me. I want to feel you in me,” she begged. Barely seconds after having climaxed, her core ached to have him fill her. She longed for the intimate feel of him in her. She was vaguely aware of him removing his jeans, the sound of his belt buckle hitting the floor, as he anchored himself on her hips and plunged into her.

  Her head fell back on the bed as she moaned and he took her, hard and fast, his head falling to her neck as sweat beaded on his neck. He panted, getting closer, and she felt him fill her, every inch of him, completely filling her mind, her body, her skin and her thoughts, all Paolo, nothing but Paolo. As he groaned in his own release, she felt the certain and undeniable acceptance of utter completion.

  Chapter Six

  Paolo watched the light peeking from below the edge of the window shade. He could tell it was still very early in the morning, but didn't yet turn his head to look at the clock, as he didn't want to wake Meredith. She was snuggled too closely to him, and he was afraid if he turned too quickly he'd disturb her. He listened to the distant musical sound of birds chirping outside the window, and the soft breathing of Meredith sleeping beside him. He rubbed his eyes, remembering the night before with a slight smile.

  At some point in the night, the blanket he'd tucked over her before bed had fallen off, or maybe she'd kicked it off. It was no wonder she was warm from the blanket. She'd practically draped herself over every inch of him. He smiled to himself as she rolled over, and the fabric of her nightie pulled up so that he could just see the curve of her bottom. Gingerly reaching a finger to the edge, he pulled it just a bit higher. She was still faintly tinged red, but the stripes from the flogger had faded and were barely visible.

  He wondered what she'd look like Monday morning.

  As he watched her sleeping form, he mulled over the plans he had for her. His mind replayed the night before. After a night of delicious escapades, she'd been drowsy, sated in every way, half-drunk on sex and submission, she'd draped an arm over him and whispered, “I'm so glad you're back.”

  She'd been in a dead sleep mere moments later, while he'd stayed up watching her sleep and processing what she said, wide awake. And now, awakened early, he was thinking about her comment.

  I'm so glad you're back.

  He'd never gone anywhere,
of course. What had she meant? He wanted to probe, ask her, fish into the recesses of her mind and heart and discover what it was that had prompted such a comment. But she'd been far too sleepy last night, and his plans for her this morning would take some time before they'd have a chance to talk.

  Where had he gone?

  He knew she was referring to the time he'd pulled away form her after the accident. He'd known, of course, that she'd been wounded by his own retreat, and had sought comfort elsewhere, lying about her marriage, and committing to obey Mr. Brookstone. When he'd punished her for what she'd done, he'd made every effort to forgive her. And he mostly had. The occasional sting of her betrayal lingered, but he'd focused on the here and now, giving her what she needed, and paving a new road for them. He hadn't been innocent, after all, and felt he'd partly pushed her to desperation but failing to meet her needs as her husband, her partner, and lifelong companion.

  He'd forgiven her when he spanked her.

  But what would it take for her to forgive him?

  He'd taken her over his knee for her offense. She'd asked his forgiveness. He'd cleansed her offense with a punishment, and she'd made amends with the acceptance of his discipline. But she wasn't the only one who'd done wrong.

  And he wasn't the only one who'd come back.

  He'd denied her needs at a time when she needed him most. And yes, his reasoning was somewhat justified—having sustained a loss like his was no laughing matter—yet he'd left her bereft.

  And shit like that didn't disappear overnight.

  As her dominant, Paolo was not subject to punishment, of course. So how would he make amends? He gently ran his hand over her back, so gently he was barely touching her. She sighed, moving closer to him in her sleep. And as she moved her body close to his, he knew.

  She had forgiven him. She hadn't forgotten, and her doubts would continue to linger. But she was willing to give herself to him. She was willing to put what had happened behind them, willing to take the next step forward. She was willing to trust again.