by Cara Bristol
Like an ostrich with its head in the sand, Melania had tried to ignore the knowledge of what marriage to Jared would entail, but she’d known. Jared had made it clear before they married, and their wedding ceremony had cinched it.
“I, Melania LeAnn Jackson, promise to gladly and obediently submit my heart and body unto the loving hand of my husband…” The marriage vows she’d pledged came back to her. Most of the guests probably hadn’t understood the significance of the unusual wording, but she and Jared had.
Domestic discipline required work. It was like her job as a court reporter. She didn’t look forward to taking depositions every day, but she did because she had made a commitment to her employer and because, frankly, there was a payoff at the end of the week. But once committed, she didn’t get to choose her assignments or opt out of completing a job because she didn’t feel like it.
She had promised to submit to Jared. To obey him. He’d vowed to cherish her, protect her, and fulfill her needs, including those of guidance and correction. Sometimes that meant he would spank her. The payoff was she would grow and mature. And she would always come first. Indulged and disciplined, cosseted yet reprimanded, Melania would be the nucleus around which the marriage orbited. For a girl who’d grown up pampered and sheltered, wasn’t that what she needed?
Melania’s sobs subsided to hiccupping shudders, and she clutched Jared’s wet pillow. Since the spanking, she and Jared had grown even closer. That was to be expected in a marriage, but she sensed his discipline of her had sped up the process. Her willingness to submit and trust further strengthened the bond forged by their love and commitment to each other.
Until she had severed it.
She cursed herself for not putting away the suitcase. She never intended to confess what she’d contemplated ever so briefly, so why had she abandoned the bag when Jared could find it?
It was almost as if she wanted to get caught.
Melania’s heart skipped a beat. She raised her head from the wet pillow.
She wanted to get caught!
Jared had considered the entire shoe incident closed; her disobedience and the discipline were over in his mind. But not in hers. Because she’d considered leaving him, her conscience wasn’t clear, and she wanted no secrets between them. She couldn’t bring herself to tell him the truth, but she felt guilty about what she’d almost done. Subconsciously she wanted Jared to discover the suitcase, forgive her, and wipe her slate clean.
Except only the first part had occurred. Jared had found the bag but had been so wounded by her perceived desertion that he was kicking her out.
If only she could do it over again. Rewind the clock, push a Reset button or something. Melania’s stomach clenched. As awful as the spanking had been, she’d gladly, joyfully take one now if Jared would forgive her.
Melania bolted upright. Her heart thumped as a tiny seed of hope sprouted.
Would that work? If Jared spanked her, would that restore their marriage to what it had been?
* * *
Jared slumped at his desk, his head in his hands.
Melania was planning to leave him. She had denied it, but her suitcase had confessed the painful truth. Her passion and devotion, her playfulness during the mock spanking, her attendance at the Wives Auxiliary meeting—all of it meant nothing. Nothing! She had been playacting, stringing him along until she could make proper arrangements. What a fool he was. The whole time he had believed she loved him and was learning to embrace domestic discipline with eager submission, his wife of six weeks had been biding her time, waiting for her father to return so she could leave. The realization turned his blood to acid, burning and scarring from the inside out.
He hurt. He hurt so bad, he knew nothing could fix this.
When she walked out the door for good, he didn’t know how he would stand it.
He could force Melania to stay. Conner Jackson would support his position as master of the house and not allow his daughter to return. But how long could Jared keep her if she wasn’t happy? Until the next spanking? Any time he disciplined her, he would wonder if that would be the last time he’d see her, if she would run away. His authority would be taken hostage by uncertainty.
Jared could try to give up domestic discipline. But if his wife didn’t respect him when he put his foot down, how would she respect him if he didn’t? He wasn’t sure he could relinquish his authority to the degree that would make Melania content. Dominance and control were ingrained in him. Abandoning domestic discipline would be comparable to jettisoning expectations of fidelity. Little by little the lack of discipline, the longing for it, would erode the foundation of their marriage until it crumbled into a heap of dust.
Melania didn’t want him. Plain and simple. He couldn’t live with her, make love to her, even spank her, knowing she didn’t love him and longed to be elsewhere. He’d hate himself if he forced her to do something against her will, and she would grow to hate him for it as well.
A hard lump of misery clogged his throat. Their marriage could end swiftly, or it could die a slower, even more painful death, but he didn’t doubt it was over.
A knock, so quiet he wasn’t sure he had heard it, rapped outside his office. Jared snapped his gaze to the door. The knock repeated a little louder. He clenched his fists, which blanched his knuckles. Melania. Twin ropes of longing and despair tightened around his neck. He had to give Melania credit for her courage to tell him to his face she was leaving.
Women respected strength. Seeing him shattered would arouse, at best, her pity, but most likely loathing. Not love. That didn’t exist.
He sat up straight in his chair and raked a hand through his hair. He threw back his shoulders and used his bulk to present an air of authority. His stomach tightened into a knot.
“Come,” he barked.
The door eased open. Barefoot, Melania tiptoed into the room and shut the door. Her nose was pink, her eyes red-rimmed and swollen, her hair mussed. Her old, ripped jeans hugged her like a second skin. The T-shirt she wore had been washed so many times, it was near transparent, and he could see her breasts. She looked so young, so innocent, so beautiful, he wanted to punch something.
He eyed her balefully. “What do you want?” he snapped.
She flinched.
“I, uh, wanted…” Her shoulders drooped. “I wanted to tell you…”
If he hadn’t known the pain in his chest was caused by grief, he’d swear he was having a heart attack. He glowered at her. “I don’t have all day.”
Her lower lip quivered, and a sheen of tears shimmered in her eyes. Self-loathing joined the wave of emotions rolling through him. He deserved to have his ass kicked.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry. I want to make it right.”
He sensed the genuineness of her remorse, but it didn’t change reality, wouldn’t alter the outcome. He didn’t want her capitulation out of pity or guilt. He wanted her submission out of love. “You can’t make it right. Go back to where you belong. Go home to Daddy.” Unable to bear her departure, Jared swiveled in his chair, turning his back to her.
He balled his hands into fists. His heart knew he’d lied. Melania didn’t belong with Conner. She was his, goddamnit.
He heard a shuffle as Melania moved toward the door, then a quiet click as the knob turned.
Jared balled his hands into fists. Pathetic asshole that he was, he couldn’t prevent himself from wanting to crawl after her like a whipped dog. At the last second, he turned his chair to catch one last glimpse of her.
His wife’s slender shoulders squared, and she turned to face him. “I want a spanking.” Her voice quavered, but her gaze was unflinching.
Jared didn’t flinch either. He reeled. If he’d been standing, her quiet, quivering words would have knocked him on his ass.
“A spanking?” Like a fucking parrot, he could do nothing but mimic her words.
She nodded. Her face flushed pink.
“This isn’t a joke, Melania.
” He glared at her. Christ, his chest hurt.
“I’m not laughing.” She stiffened her spine; her posture would have made a drill sergeant proud. “I believe I’ve earned a spanking, and I’m asking you to provide it.” If he didn’t know better, he’d swear that was conviction he heard in her voice.
Fuck it all to hell. This was the last thing he had expected her to say, but it changed nothing. He slammed his fist on the desk. She recoiled. Misery, anger, and love churned with such force, he couldn’t think straight. He had to get some air before he said something—did something—he would regret.
He leaped to his feet, sending his chair flying. He stabbed a finger toward the couch across from his desk. “Sit there, don’t move, and wait for me.”
Jared stormed from the room, hoping she would obey, praying she wouldn’t so he wouldn’t be forced to make a heart-wrenching decision.
Melania jumped as the door crashed closed and shook the windows. She exhaled the breath trapped in her chest. The high-backed studded leather sofa was large enough to comfortably seat four men. It was too large to seat one woman whose feet didn’t touch the floor if she scooted all the way back. She perched on the edge and folded her nervous hands.
How long would he make her wait? Was he going to spank her or not? Did he still want her to leave? What if he spanked her but threw her out anyway? Melania gnawed on her lower lip.
She would have thought if he was going to spank her, he would have done it immediately. Why hadn’t he? He was certainly angry enough to want to hit her. She’d never seen him so mad. Or hurt. He’d looked at her as if he couldn’t stand the sight of her, and then he stormed out. Melania’s eyes filled with tears. A spanking was her last hope, and it wasn’t going to work. She twisted her hands in her lap.
No. She sat up straighter. She needed to remain positive. Her daddy didn’t raise a quitter. Conner Jackson would paddle her behind himself if he thought his daughter would give up so easily. Jared hadn’t told her to leave—at least not this time. He’d ordered her sit here, but he hadn’t ordered her to get out. It wasn’t over until it was over. Melania sniffed and dashed away her tears with the back of her hand.
The room smelled like Jared, a mix of leather, cigar, wood smoke, and his own irresistible masculine essence. She inhaled and let the scent fill her. Sometimes when she awakened at night while Jared was asleep, she would lie there and breathe, savoring the smell of him.
She took another deep breath, and her tension released—until she spied the paddle hanging on the wall next to the spanking bench. A simple, inanimate object in a man’s den. It could have been a fishing rod, a pool cue, or a dartboard. Except none of those items were implements. Implement. She’d learned a new word at the Wives Auxiliary luncheon. If things went her way, she would feel that particular implement striking her bottom. Her stomach quickened with fear, hope, and a curious, nervous excitement. How was it possible to want something and dread it at the same time?
The paddle was a rich, beautiful, solid piece of wood as smooth as glass, the swirling grain adding depth and dimension to the simple shape. One of these days she would touch it, hold it in her hands and stroke the smooth finish. But not today. Not when she’d been ordered to sit here.
She wanted to do the right thing. Although she’d gotten a few spankings during her childhood, she’d deserved many more than she’d actually received. She’d been able to twist her father around her pinky and wheedle her way out of punishment most of the time. That was no way for a wife to act with her husband.
Would the spanking hurt as much as the last one? She had a hunch it would hurt more. Jared would paddle her extra hard and extra long for the way her immature reaction to the first spanking had hurt and disappointed him. She took a deep breath. It would almost be a relief to accept her punishment, to let go of all the errors and missteps and start fresh. It was time to stop acting like Daddy’s spoiled little girl and become Jared’s wife and partner. She desperately hoped Jared would give her the chance.
She eyed the paddle. If only it didn’t have to hurt so much.
Chapter Ten
Jared marched into his home gym. He stripped to his briefs and channeled his turmoil into pumping iron, going through a full workout of curls, extensions, and dips, hoping if he tired his body, he could exhaust his emotions as well. If—and it was a big if—he decided to spank Melania, he needed to subdue his anger and quiet the hurt.
Forty-five minutes later, his muscles quivered with fatigue and perspiration slickened his skin, but his emotions still churned, and his mind still wrestled to make the facts compute. Melania had been—was—planning to leave him. What good would a spanking do? Domestic discipline only had a positive effect if a wife was committed to the marriage, to her husband. Melania was not.
Some couples practiced spanking as playful, erotic foreplay, but for Jared it represented a lifestyle choice, a commitment to the belief that men and women, while equal, were different. Men hunted; women gathered. Men fought; women nurtured. Men dominated; women submitted. If those natural roles got off kilter, spanking put them back on track. It oiled the system, kept it flowing smoothly. Domestic discipline might not be PC in this day and age, but it worked.
But when he’d reddened her ass for real, she’d packed her bag and called Conner. No amount of wishing would change reality; Melania was not cut out for the rigors of domestic discipline.
Jared set down the weights and wiped the sweat from his eyes with a towel. A heaviness greater than the iron he’d pumped settled on his chest. He needed to clean up and tell Melania their marriage wasn’t going to work.
Back in their master suite, Jared ignored the elephant beside the bed and charged into the bathroom. Ending a marriage was like ripping off a bandage; it was best done quickly and cleanly. Delaying the inevitable would make it more gut-wrenching. He showered in record time. He’d left his clothes in the gym, so he reentered the bedroom to get a new set. He avoided the suitcase as he extracted a T-shirt and a pair of jeans from his dresser and pulled them on. He didn’t bother with underwear.
He could avert his eyes, but he couldn’t control his brain; it lingered on the suitcase, remembering how he had found it, Melania’s clothes haphazardly shoved inside.
She was so neat and orderly; it was unlike her to have tossed in things willy-nilly.
Jared swore at his weakness and moved to the suitcase. Staring down at it, he glowered at the contents. He could see a thick winter sweater as well as a couple of bikinis in the jumble. He frowned and dropped to his haunches. Melania had packed a half dozen panties but zero bras. A bottle of hair conditioner but no shampoo. And although he was no expert on women’s fashion, it appeared she’d made no attempt to match tops with skirts or pants.
She hadn’t planned a damn thing.
The truth smacked him in the face.
Since finding the suitcase, he’d believed she’d orchestrated a premeditated departure, getting her ducks in a row, waiting for the right moment to desert him. But she hadn’t.
This suitcase belonged to a woman who had panicked in a moment of stress. There was no premeditation here.
Jared swallowed over the thick lump in his throat. Melania was an adult with a career and could take care of herself. She didn’t need her father’s support to leave. She could have left at any time.
But she hadn’t. She’d experienced a moment of anxiety, shoved her suitcase under the bed, and forgotten about it. Truth—and hope—swelled his heart, filled his chest cavity.
Melania wasn’t going to leave him. She had decided to stay. Was that what she had tried to explain to him in the bedroom when he ranted at her and then stormed off? He’d been so hurt, he hadn’t let her speak.
He recalled her loving, receptive response to him since the spanking, her attendance at the Wives Auxiliary meeting. That wasn’t the behavior of an uncommitted wife. She was just a woman who was a little immature and needed discipline to channel her impulsiveness.
The disci
pline he could provide. The discipline she’d requested. The fact that she asked for something she had found unpleasant demonstrated her committed acceptance. What an idiot he’d been. Instead of accepting his responsibility, he’d allowed his fears to cloud his judgment and left his wife hanging in limbo. For Melania to follow, he had to lead.
He should have known what she needed and provided it before she asked. Instead of storming out in a snit when he found the suitcase, he should have addressed the issue proactively—turned her over his knee and spanked her immediately.
He’d accused her of failing to live up to her promises, but he had been derelict in living up to his. As her husband, it was his duty to correct her behavior. But first he had to correct his own.
Jared remembered his wedding vows: “I, Jared Michael Traynor, promise to protect and guide my wife with a loving heart and a firm hand, to anticipate and fulfill her needs above my own…”
He needed to step it up and act like the head of his household if he expected Melania to fulfill her vow as his wife. He couldn’t change the past, but hopefully he could create a future.
Jared took a deep breath. He would be leading them through rough waters. This would be the final test. If Melania was sincere about her commitment to domestic discipline, to her role as a submissive wife, spanking her would prove it. Her response to this disciplinary session would determine once and forever if their marriage was solid, if they would make it as a couple.
* * *
The office door was flung open, and Jared’s broad shoulders filled the frame. Melania tensed, every muscle going on yellow alert. She licked her dry lips and eyed her husband warily. She felt like a schoolgirl waiting in the principal’s office. She’d been there a time or two during her younger years, but she’d never felt this nervous. Of course, the stakes hadn’t been this high before.
