A wisp of soft hair had escaped Miranda's bun. It tickled down the side of her ear, making Ana's hand itch all the harder for the tactile pleasure of brushing it back.
Slipping around the trailing arms of a healthy ivy spiraling down from a hook in the ceiling, Ana sat down on the sofa. She folded her misbehaving hands in her lap, clutching them tight to keep from doing something inappropriate. "Okay." Her heart felt like it was dancing in her chest. "What do you want to talk about first?"
Please let it be the sleeping arrangements. Already the slow flush of heat was moving up from the molten coils that her stomach had become to burn her face. She tried not to let it show, but from the moment Miranda sat down beside her, she knew her cheeks had to be a bright, betraying pink.
"First things first." Miranda's smile softened as the two women faced one another. Ana squeezed her fingers so tightly that her knuckles turned white. She was afraid to let go, even for just a minute, lest she reach for her. Maybe she was a foregone sexual conclusion.
"I'm glad you came," Miranda finally offered, the curve of her lips calling to Ana, seeming as sweet as they were forbidden. "I've been looking forward to this for—"
Ana's phone buzzed and she jumped, grabbing her leg first and then quickly wrestling it out of her pocket. As if she wasn't already embarrassed enough. She slapped at the screen, fumbling to reject the call and hitting the volume control instead. No longer on vibrate only, the shrillness of her ringtone blasted through the room.
Crossing her legs, Miranda folded her hands in her lap and watched Ana flounder.
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry." Ana quickly shut the volume off again, only to hit 'talk' instead of 'reject'.
In an instant, Peyton's voice filled the quiet room. "Ana, where are you? I've been worried sick!"
Ana disconnected the call, but now her hands were shaking and instead of that seductive molten warmth inside her, all she felt was mortified. "I'm very sorry. She keeps calling, and I…" She stopped when Miranda held out her hand.
She waited—calm, confident, as if she knew her unspoken command would not be disobeyed. She didn't have to say a word. There was quiet authority in that waiting hand, and even Ana, who had never experienced anything like this before, could see it.
It only took a half second before Ana complied. It was rude to take a call in front of someone else, but it still felt like a mighty concession when she laid her phone into Miranda's waiting hand. As if Peyton knew her only link to Ana was being cut, the phone rang again, right there in Miranda's open palm.
Her long fingers closing around the device, Miranda glanced once at the screen and then decisively shut the phone off. She laid it upon her knee, folding her elegant hands over the top before looking at Ana again. Her smile held no censure at all. "Let's start by making a rule between us."
"Okay." Ana locked her hands together, stubbornly refusing to even look at that phone. Miranda wasn't scolding her, but she still felt every bit as chastened as one of her own preschoolers, slinking off to serve time in the 'thinking' chair.
"Neither one of us will lie to the other. For the next eight days, we'll make that commitment. You may ask me anything. If it's something too intimate and uncomfortable to be answered honestly, then I will tell you so. And you may do the same with me, agreed?"
Of all the things Ana had expected her to say, that wasn't one of them. Where was the scolding—the 'no more phone calls' or 'no more Peyton'? In spite of herself, some of the rigidity eased from her back and shoulders. "O-okay. I can do that."
Standing, Miranda crossed the small living room, brushing past the long-hanging tendrils of the spider plant to slide open the middle drawer of the desk it was shielding. Laying the phone inside, the tall woman glanced back at her, as if to gauge how painful this might be, before easing the drawer shut again. "It's here if you want or need it, but for the next week, whenever we are together, the mobile stays in this drawer. That's rule number two. Agreed?"
Ana relaxed even more. "That sounds wonderful, actually."
"If you need privacy to make a call, you can take it into the bathroom or my bedroom."
"Okay."
Miranda returned to sit beside her once more. "I also have a request I'd like to make, if it won't offend you."
A tiny spark of sheer electrical awareness shot up from Ana's fingertips when Miranda took her hand. They zipped through her like tiny bolts of lightning, jolting every inch of her until Ana could barely sit still beside her. "What kind of request?" She felt breathless. "You won't offend me."
"I would like to give you that hug I promised."
"Oh." The word fled her lips upon the shakiest of sighs. A low pulse thumped to instant life in the pit of her belly. She had to fight to stay where she was. Every inch of her ached to help Miranda close the distance by scooting in closer, but it wasn't until Miranda held out her arm, offering instant comfort and security, all while allowing Ana to choose whether she wanted to accept or not, that she found she could move.
It couldn't be this easy.
In a state of dreamlike disbelief, Ana slipped in under the taller woman's arm. Her inclination was to curl up next to her, pull her feet up on the couch under her and lay her head upon her shoulder as if she belonged there. It felt so much like coming home. Miranda smelled like lavender and mint, a scent that instantly became Ana's favorite. She closed her eyes, losing herself in the allure of being with Miranda, the only person who understood her—all of her, from her sexuality right on down to this strange desire she'd always had for spanking.
Twin fingers played in the short bob of Ana's dark hair as Miranda leaned back against the sofa, pulling Ana with her. "This has been a long time in coming, hasn't it?"
"What has?"
"This," Miranda said simply.
Ana opened her eyes, the weight of the arm across her shoulders suddenly seeming to gain in heaviness.
"May I ask a question?" Miranda asked, when Ana didn't reply.
"Sure." Ana tried to sit up, but Miranda hadn't yet released her and the hug was starting to feel a little like a prison.
"I meant it when I said this vacation was offered from one friend to another. It has no hidden obligations. I am not expecting anything from you apart from the honesty we have already discussed, and if this moment right here is as intimate as we ever get, then that's fine, too."
That should have reassured her, but for some reason all Ana could hear was the unspoken 'but' lurking at the end of that statement. She had a feeling that 'but' would involve Peyton.
"But," Miranda softly pressed, creating an instant fist in the pit of Ana's stomach. "We need to be on the same page as to why we're both here."
The weight of Miranda's arm felt ten times heavier than it ought to. Pushing upright, Ana forced herself to confront Miranda.
"Yesterday, when we talked, I understood you and Peyton were no longer a couple. Has that changed?" Miranda spoke without accusation, but guilt pricked at Ana as if with needles.
"No." She tried to smile, but her mouth wasn't cooperating.
"It's perfectly all right if it has."
"No, really." Rubbing her forehead, Ana laughed softly as if to prove this was no big deal, and then struggled to find a way to explain something she honestly couldn't even explain to herself. "We did break up. But then she started calling me. I haven't answered, so she keeps calling. I-I'm pretty sure it's because she has stuff in the apartment and I'm not there to let her in. I didn't tell her I was leaving, and she's trying…" Her voice steadily rising with frustration, Ana caught herself. She held her breath a moment, before letting it all out again, her shoulders sagging. "She's trying to guilt me into letting her come back and I-I… I don't want that."
"What do you want?" Miranda asked, reaching up to smooth a stray lock of brown hair back from Ana's cheek.
Wasn't that the million dollar question? Ana didn't realize she was holding her breath until a wild laugh broke from her too-tight throat. Not happy or amused, but high-pitch
ed and nervous.
"I don't want you to think I'm weird," she said, and it was the worst possible thing she could have admitted just then. It was too revealing, too personal. Too honest. "I-I don't think I could take it. What I want is too strange."
Tsking, Miranda tipped her head. When she opened her arms, there was no more hesitation. Ana moved into her embrace, curling against her side in relief to rest against Miranda's shoulder. The shoulder fit her as if they'd been tailor-made for one another.
"Oh, my lovely." Miranda gave a gentle laugh, her breath ruffling Ana's hair. "I guarantee, whatever you say I will have heard it a thousand times before."
"Yeah, but that doesn't mean you won't think it's weird."
Was it her imagination, or did a feather-soft kiss just brush upon her brow?
"Shall I go first?" Miranda offered. "How about if I name something that I like, and you can name something that you like. We will see where we have common ground?"
Ana nestled in, tucking one hand up under her cheek with the steady thu-thump of Miranda's heart beating against her flesh. "Okay."
"I am a dominant woman, and I'm drawn to submissive women."
That seemed like such an obvious statement and yet, it struck an immediate chord within Ana.
"I… I think I am a submissive woman," she admitted, though her voice dropped to a whisper as she finished, "I like dominant women. Although I haven't met many. Mostly, I read about them in books."
"That's all right." Miranda rubbed her arm. "Everyone starts out inexperienced, including me. You're in the perfect place to remedy that particular problem, if it could even be called that—a problem, I mean." Another whisper-soft kiss brushed Ana's brow. This time, there was no mistaking it, especially when Miranda's seductive lips lingered along her hairline. "I like to spank naughty little girls because they need or want it."
"I've never been spanked before." Ana's breath caught deep inside her chest, as if trying to stop her before she could admit, "But I've fantasized about it for as long as I can remember."
"Tell me what you picture when you imagine yourself getting spanked."
Her breath caught all over again, her chest squeezing down so hard it physically hurt. "You said you would go first."
"This is my fantasy. You, sitting on my couch and talking to me."
Ana lifted her chin, but she wasn't brave enough to look up, afraid of what Miranda might see in her eyes. "Just talking?"
"Mm." Miranda's soft hum made Ana's stomach clench and shiver. Naked wanting all but dripped from those dulcet tones, and it sparked an answering flow that flooded molten from her womb. Ana squeezed her thighs together, trying to stop the wetness, but already she could feel the tickle of telltale moisture slipping through the lips of her sex. "No, lovely. My fantasies do not stop at talking, but your heart is bruised from your last relationship. I won't pressure you for more than you're ready to give."
It took a lot of scraping to work up the courage to ask, but Ana had to know. "What if I want you to?" She lay against Miranda's side, her head on the taller woman's shoulder, while she waited breathlessly for an answer.
"To pressure you?"
"Maybe."
Miranda kissed her brow again. "Tell me your fantasy."
Ana tucked her cheek into the groove between Miranda's shoulder and her own hand. "I… It's silly, really."
Miranda stroked her arm. "Is it for pleasure or punishment?"
A tiny blossom of heat unfurled within her stomach. "Punishment… in my fantasies. But is it strange that I don't think I'd want it to happen like that in real life?"
"No," Miranda said, giving her a squeeze. "It's normal."
"It is?"
"Oh yes. Almost all submissives imagine themselves being disciplined by someone who loves and cares for them enough to correct misbehavior. Even those who prefer their spankings given as occasional swats during the heated moments of sex often fantasize about stern, or even severe, discipline. It's a natural aspect of being submissive. Or of being dominant, too, frankly."
"You think about that?"
"Of taking you across my knee and giving you a good, sound spanking? I have, yes. Absolutely I have. But there is a world of difference between fantasy and reality. I would not cross that line without a good reason, and never without talking to you first." Squeezing her arm again, Miranda looked down at her. "Tell me your fantasy, lovely."
Ana drew in a shaky breath. She lowered her chin, tucking her mouth between Miranda's shoulder and her hand again, more comfortable now that Miranda seemed to think this all normal. Still, Ana would have found it easier to remove her clothes than to share her most private dream. "I come home and… and you're waiting for me."
"Me specifically, or any dominant woman?"
Isn't it obvious? Another sliver-sized piece of her soul felt cast out into the broad light of common knowledge and judgment. "It's been you for a long time now."
"Not Peyton?"
"Peyton never spanked me. She called it abusive and weird."
Miranda cuddled closer. "That was her opinion, not mine. I make a living out of fulfilling people's desires to be spanked. Go on. Tell me more."
Ana melted into the sweet-scented arm around her shoulders. "You're waiting for me to come home, because I've done something wrong. Something I knew better than to do, and which you told me not to. I don't know what, really. Sometimes I think of an excuse, but most of the time I don't. I know I'm in trouble the minute I see your face."
"What do you do?" Miranda's fingertips began to play up and down the upper portion of Ana's arm.
"Bowing my head, I can't look at you, so I look at the floor when you start to scold me."
"Because you were a very naughty girl," Miranda said, a strange twist of sternness creeping in among those otherwise innocuous words. "You have a well-deserved spanking coming, don't you?"
That familiar prickling sensation crawled up the backs of her thighs to consume the curves of her bottom. Ana gave a delicious squirm, as embarrassed as she was tantalized. "Yes. When you come to take my arm, I don't fight it."
"Where do I take you?"
"The nearest chair. Sometimes it's in the kitchen; sometimes the living room. Sometimes you take me to the bedroom." Ana's heart fluttered, dancing nervously in her chest. Emboldened, she reached for Miranda's hand, wanting simply to hold it. Miranda wove their fingers together. "When you take me to the bed…" Ana's voice stumbled, her voice dropping in a husky range. "I mean bedroom…" Bedroom! Bedroom! What am I doing, suggesting Miranda take me to bed? "When you do that, my punishments are always more than just spankings."
More double-entendres! At this rate, their second meeting was going to involve someone bringing a U-Haul.
"Spankings that happen in the bedroom should involve more," was all Miranda said. "Someday you will have to tell me all about those extra bad-girl punishments. But for now, I want to hear what happens when I take you to the living room and spank you, perhaps on the couch as we are right now."
That blossom of heat in Ana's stomach became a bonfire of awareness. It spread through her in waves, down into her legs, up into her chest. It quivered, dwelling in the base of her womb like a living thing, and moving all through her sex in pulses of pure stimulation.
"You sit down first. In the center. Leaving no room for me to do anything but stand in front of you. You tell me… you tell me you l-l-love me." Furious heat rushed her face. Admitting that part of the fantasy this early was inappropriate, but that's how it always happened in her mind, and Miranda did ask her to tell the truth. "You say you're disappointed in me."
"And that would be true," Miranda murmured, her fingertips playing up and down over the curve of her shoulder. "I will always find your bad behavior disappointing, but never beyond my ability to correct. Here, stand up, my lovely."
Ana didn't realize how lost she was in the retelling until Miranda removed her arm. The pit dropped completely out of her stomach. Her breasts felt swollen, heavy, her ni
pples straining against the soft cotton of her bra, aching to be touched. In somnambulistic obedience, Ana rose. She turned, looking down at Miranda and seeing nothing but the threatening pleasure of her waiting lap. In her daydreams, she couldn't remember Miranda's lap looking this ominous.
"What happens next?" Miranda asked, easing over what few inches it took to center herself upon the couch cushions.
Her knees dipped, buckling just a bit. "You take m-my pants and panties down," she quavered, excitement, nervousness, eager anticipation all waging a vicious war in every one of her nerves. It became dreamlike all over again when she watched Miranda's hands take hold of the front of her pants, pulling her in to stand on shivery legs between Miranda's knees.
"Disciplinary spankings should be given on the bare bottom," Miranda told her, unbuttoning the top fastening and lowering the zipper. "Do I ever tell you that in your fantasies?"
All Ana could do was nod as she watched Miranda peeling the denim of her jeans down over her hips. Her mouth ran dry. It had taken more than twenty minutes that morning to select her sexiest, skimpiest panties. She remembered laughing at herself, at the absurdity of spending so much time choosing lingerie Miranda would likely not see. Ana wasn't laughing now though. The Miranda of her dreams had already hooked her fingers into the thin stretch of purple cotton and lace that wrapped her hips. Forget panties; Miranda was about to see a whole lot more.
Her brown eyes locked on Ana's, Miranda took them down, dragging her bikini underwear down to the middle of her thighs. Had Ana cried "Stop," she had no doubt in her mind that Miranda would have. But Ana didn't. Instead, she whispered, "Yes, you do."
"That's because it's what you need." Miranda left her panties at half-mast, letting her hands stroke back up Ana's naked thighs to settle on her hips. "Your subconscious knows this. What else do I say?"
"You tell me to lay myself across your lap."
Ana Adored Page 8
