by Jane Henry
“Our physical reactions are often in direct response to our emotions,” he said. “It's been proven that a physical change can bring about an emotional change. Laugh when you're angry, and you'll become happy. Smile when you're sad, and you'll lift your spirits.” He paused, his hand resting on the top of her head as his voice deepened. “Unclench your fists when you're angry, and your anger will abate. Kneel to me when you're not feeling submissive, and your body will start to tell you otherwise.”
She couldn't help but admit that maybe he was on to something. She'd begun to feel calmer. She smiled to herself.
“So when I'm angry or getting irritated, you don't need to spank me,” she teased. “You can just go all soft on me and have me kneel and stroke my hair?”
“I didn't say I wasn't going to spank you.”
She felt a spike of her pulse as she stilled. Shit!
She felt his low, rumbly chuckle before she heard it, as his hand continued to stroke her hair.
“It will take a long time for you to learn to submit to me, baby. Right now, you find it easiest when it excites you. When you have gotten in trouble, it's been difficult for you, but manageable, because you know in your heart you deserved to be punished. And you also know you want that discipline from me. It's when you're angry that you struggle the most, but we'll work on that. Notice I didn't say you. It will take both of us. You, having the self control not to be rude to me, and me, having the balls to find out why you're angry.”
She nodded, listening to what he said. He was speaking the truth. His control over her was darkly erotic, and she craved it. Although she'd disliked knowing she let him down when he'd punished her, if she was honest, it was the stern discipline from him she craved the most. It was that part of him, that he had strength to control his own emotions, and to exercise self control when he punished her, that he cared enough about to teach her to behave, and that he loved her enough to make sure she didn't do anything to hurt herself… all of it, was so deeply attractive to her.
“Are you still angry?” he asked.
“No,” she murmured into his lap.
“Good,” he said. “We'll work on this. I want you to identify what it is that triggered your anger. That's the key to finding out how you'll avoid it going forward.”
She nodded. “I don't know why I was angry. I think… I think it was because I was hurt.”
“Hurt?” he asked, seeming confused.
“Yeah,” she said. “The col—” she paused. He'd forbidden her from bringing it up again. How could she say it? “The thing I told you about that would make me sound like a freak. You told me not to bring it up again.”
“That was a knee-jerk reaction,” he said. “I shouldn't have said that. Go ahead. Tell me.”
He was apologizing? She sunk further into his lap.
“It just—there was something Little Lady said. I forget exactly what it was now, but something she said just really… spoke to me. And when you dismissed it so quickly, it hurt. That's all. And I don't really know what to do with that hurt.”
He didn't say anything for a moment, as his hand traveled over her head.
“First, the collars. I'll read what Little Lady said. I'll think about it. Okay?”
She nodded into his lap. “Thank you,” she whispered.
“Second, you're worried about responding in anger. Remember what I told you. It's normal to be angry. It's normal to be hurt. It's what you do with your anger that matters.”
“Right. Okay. Well, if I'm angry with you, or hurt, is it okay for me to take a breather before I talk to you?”
“Depends on the situation. We'll deal with it case by case.”
For some reason, that made her giggle.
“Case by case. Okay,” she laughed.
He leaned over and gave her a playful swat.
“Brat,” he muttered.
That made her giggle harder. She lifted her head up off his lap and took in his eyes, dark as the night sky. She felt suddenly shy at the look he was giving her.
“There she is,” he said softly. “She's back. Funny what a little attention and a smack on the ass will do.” His lips quirked. She ducked her head. He leaned over and kissed her forehead, but then she suddenly remembered what he'd said.
I didn't say I wasn't going to spank you.
She gulped. She'd uttered a disrespectful “fine!” to him. Little Lady would be punished for that, she knew.
Would she?
“Am I in trouble?” she asked. “You said… I wasn't sure…”
“Not this time,” he said, and to her surprise, she felt a jolt of disappointment.
Disappointment? A moment ago, she'd been panicking about being in trouble again.
Did she want to get in trouble?
Well, no.
But she wondered how committed he was to this. He'd told her she wasn't allowed to be disrespectful to him. And yet, he was choosing to allow her to be disrespectful? How would that work? But as her questions arose, she pushed them down.
“All right, I'm gonna take a look at the forum a minute while you get your stuff around to go to the Regional.”
She stood to go, nodding. She wondered if he'd go right to the conversation on collars and see Little Lady's comment—shit! She froze. Her conversation with Little Lady! She'd told her his real name. She grimaced, turning back to Paolo.
“Um… babe?”
“Mm?” he grunted, typing in the password on the laptop.
“I… uh. Well, I have something else to tell you.”
He raised questioning eyes to hers as she reluctantly shuffled back over to him.
“I, um. Oh, gosh. Well, maybe, I might have… well…” she stuttered, bravado failing as his eyes narrowed and his jaw set. She took a deep breath.
“I might've made a mistake and sort of messed up and accidentally told Little Lady your real name,” she blurted out. She squeezed her eyes shut.
“Eyes on me,” he ordered.
They flew open. She winced at the look on his face.
“What did I tell you about revealing our real names?”
Her heart fluttered. “You said not to,” she whispered. He gave a curt nod, as he put the laptop down on the chair next to him and folded his arms across his chest.
Why was he allowed to do that and she wasn't?
Sigh.
He was the dom.
“Why do you think I don't want our real names revealed?” he asked.
“Because people could find out who we are,” she said. That was pretty obvious.
“Yeah,” he said. “Not everyone on here is trustworthy. Not everyone on here has good motives. I don't trust them.”
She nodded.
He looked at her steadily, as if trying to determine what to do next. “I'm not going to punish you this time. But don't ever let that happen again. I won't be as merciful next time.”
She felt intermingled relief, but a reprise of doubt at his words, as he told her to go and get ready. She turned, her thoughts muddled and confused.
He'd want her to come to him with her confusion. But she couldn't. She didn't know where to begin, what she felt, and certainly not why. She wished she had Little Lady's phone number. It would be so nice to call her up, ask her for help, and seek counsel from her more experienced friend.
Taking a deep breath, she walked down the hall, retrieving the bag with the return she needed to make. She grabbed a sweater from the closet, and slung her purse over her shoulder.
“Ready when you are!” she called to Paolo.
“Be there in a minute, babe,” came his reply. “Hey, Kirstin messaged you. I'll give you your phone when I come out. You can message her back. No making plans for today, but you can stay in touch and make plans for next week.”
She frowned.
“Fine,” she muttered under her breath. But out loud, she only yelled out, “Okay. Got it.” She stood waiting for him. Used to being in control of herself, she wasn't sure she liked the roller coa
ster of emotions she seemed to be riding. She felt stripped of her privacy, as her emotions, conversations online, and the thoughts in her head were laid bare, and felt confused by her own reaction. If she feared being punished, then why did she feel so disappointed when he decided not to punish her?
It didn't make sense.
Was this really something she wanted, after all?
***
“Get the blue one,” Paolo growled.
Meredith stifled a giggle at his impatience. Pushing aside the doubt she felt before they'd left, she'd shoved down her feelings until they stopped bothering her. He'd bought her a new bag, and new sandals for the warmer weather. But already, Paolo's eyes were glazed over and he ran a hand over his brow as if they'd been shopping for hours. He hated shopping. In his defense, they'd also exchanged her sneakers and braved a horde of raucous teens to get ice cream cones at the kiosk in the center of the mall that sold premium, homemade ice cream. She'd pushed his shopping mall limits.
“You sure?” she teased. His eyes narrowed. She couldn't help it. He was so hot when he got all growly. And what could he do to her in the middle of the mall, anyway?
She picked up the pink skirt and held it up in front of the mirror. “I think the pink one accentuates my…” she turned in the mirror, eyes dropping to her backside.
“What'd I say?” he interrupted. Her eyes widened in mock surprise. She knew she was playing with fire, but couldn't seem to stop herself.
“Get the blue one,” she repeated innocently.
“Then why're we still having this discussion?” he ground out. She leaned over and placed her mouth next to his ear.
“Because you're hot when you get like that,” she whispered.
She barely stifled a yelp as he tugged a curl of hair and yanked her head down. “Is being over my knee hot?” he whispered.
“Yes,” she admitted.
He released her, shaking his head with narrowed but playful eyes.
“Incorrigible,” he said. He took his hands, and clapped them, but not in a way one would clap as an audience. He took one hand, held it straight in the air, and slowly and deliberately slapped the other hand in a “clap” clearly reminiscent of a spanking.
Swat!
Oh my God!
He raised his eyebrows to her. “Get the blue one,” he repeated, his eyes twinkling.
Meredith felt heat flame her cheeks.
“Okay,” she whispered, acutely conscious of the fact that they were in public. He narrowed his eyes in warning.
She looked around them, scooted over to him and whispered in his ear. “Yes, Sir.”
Meredith turned to go to the register and gasped as he sent her on her way with a playful but resounding swat. Did he not care who saw him? Really! She glanced quickly around, but if anyone had seen him smack her ass, they weren't showing it.
As they left the department store, she thought he'd lead them to the exit, but instead he went back into the mall.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
“Kitchen supply store,” he said, eyes still twinkling at her.
“You look like you're ready to go home,” she said, concerned that he was getting tired.
“I'll be ready to go home when we get what I need at the kitchen supply store,” he countered irritably, his eyes growing stern. He gave her a sidelong glance. “You're pushin' it, woman.”
She thrust her chin out, barely stopping herself from coming back with a childish “Oh, yeah?”
Her reaction surprised even her.
She knew she was pushing it. But she could hardly contain her desire to want to push it. He'd been all “this is the way things are going this weekend”. He'd spanked her, stood her against a wall and she'd had a taste of his belt. He'd ordered her up early to fetch breakfast and twice given her a time frame to obey him. And then what? She'd talked back to him and given him an attitude. She'd disobeyed him by revealing their real names. And he'd let her off the hook. Twice.
She was angry at him for letting her off the hook.
And she was angrier still at herself for being angry at him for letting her off the hook.
As she glanced at him, wondering if he was at all aware of her inner turmoil, but she realized he was fixated on pushing his chair, his eyes fixed straight ahead.
Suddenly, Meredith was filled with the overwhelming longing to be home, alone with him. She didn't want to be at the damn mall. And what was her problem, anyway? They'd had awesome sex. She'd been dominated, just like she'd been fantasizing about. She'd even had a chance to chat with her friend, and he'd brought her to the mall and bought her new shoes and a bag.
What woman in her right mind would be irritated with him? She was spoiled, that's what she was, acting selfishly and foolishly, pushing him by not being compliant, and seething for some unknown reason in silence next to him. She continued to berate herself as they entered the kitchen supply store.
Tell him, her conscience seemed to prod her. But stubbornness prevailed.
No.
“Meredith, go to where they have the dish towels and grab half a dozen. Ours are getting ratty and we need some new ones.”
She knew how he wanted her to respond. She knew ideally she should say a discreet and humble, “Yes, Sir,” and do as she was told. Instead, she scowled as she turned her back to him and headed over to the towels, muttering, “I don't see why, as the ones we have are perfectly acceptable and they charge highway robbery here.” But if he heard her, he didn't react.
She begrudgingly did as she was told and picked out six of the cheapest ones she could find. The prices were outrageous. It would be an easy matter to find better ones online for half the price, but she had her instructions. She whipped them into the hand basket and turned to go back to Paolo, but gasped when she almost rammed into his chair. She hadn't realized he'd followed her. He was looking at her strangely.
“You all right?” he asked, brows furrowed.
“I'm fine,” she spat out.
He gave her a long look. “Let me see what you chose,” he said quietly. Barely containing her scowl, she removed the package of towels and showed them to him. He reached out and fingered them.
“Not those,” he said. “They're scratchy and ugly, and won't absorb a thing.” He moved over to the towel display, and reached out to a plush towel that was twice the cost of the set of inexpensive ones. It was nice, thicker, and lined with a silky ribbon that would coordinate perfectly in the kitchen. She frowned.
“Those are way overpriced,” she protested.
“I like them,” he said, his eyes narrowing dangerously.
“I don't,” she lied.
“Get six.”
Pursing her lips together, she did as he said. “Yes, Sir,” she said out loud, putting her fingers to her forehead in a mock salute. His lips thinned to a straight line. He spun around on his chair and moved quickly to the other side of the store.
“This way,” he instructed. She followed. She knew she was pushing it. Hell, she knew she'd already pushed him too far. But she didn't care. What was he going to do? He wasn't going to punish her. He'd already proven that he wasn't up to the task of disciplining unless it was on his terms and when he thought it necessary. Whatever. With a huff, she followed him, but she froze when she saw him in front of a large display of wooden spoons.
Shit.
She looked at him and quaked at the look he was giving her. Angry. Stern. Simmering.
She was so in trouble.
Given the way he was looking at her, she was taken aback at his tone when he spoke.
In a calm, almost soothing voice, he said, “Do me a favor, baby. That spoon up there on the fifth rack. Can't quite reach it. Be a doll and hand it to me, will you?” He was all charm, even giving her a flirtatious wink when she widened her eyes in surprise at him.
What the hell?
She felt suddenly uneasy, but she obeyed.
“This one?” she asked, pointing to a small bamboo spoon with a sl
ender handle.
“No, darlin',” he crooned. “The bigger one to the left. My hands are too big for that one. I need to have one with a good grip, and I like the flat handle on that, because it won't slip.”
Ice prickled her spine as she moved her hands to the left and got the larger spoon. It was solid, with a flat, square surface area, and varnished, like a paddle in the middle of the damn kitchen store. She gulped.
“This one?” she croaked, swallowing because her mouth had grown suddenly dry.
“Perfect, honey. Yeah, that's exactly what I'm looking for. Be a good girl and get that one for me.” The words dripped from his mouth like warmed honey.
Meredith became aware of a salesperson approaching them, a young, petite, college-aged girl with curly dark hair cropped short. She had a small silver nose ring and a swirly tattoo that curled around either side of her neck. She was positively goggling at Paolo.
“Can I help you get anything?” she asked in a dreamy voice, her question directed not to Meredith, but to Paolo.
He gave her a winning smile, and Meredith watched as the girl melted before her eyes. Paolo did look good, his strong arms crossed on his wide chest, the sleeves of his black t-shirt stretched tight over the bulge of his biceps, his salt-and-pepper beard making him look strong, sexy, and masculine.
He's mine, chickie.
The thought surprised her, and she bit her lip to stop from smiling. She was in deep, and now was not a time to smile.
He uncrossed his arms and reached for the spoon Meredith handed him. He fingered the spoon, and looked at the girl. “Have you ever used this line of utensils?” he asked.
The girl chattered on, her hands moving as she spoke animatedly about the utensils.
“Oh, yes, I highly recommend them. They're top of the line, really. They're a bit pricier than the others we carry, and don't come in assortments like some brands, because they're meant to be chosen with individual taste in mind. You can choose precisely the tool you need for the job at hand.”
