by Jane Henry
What if he was a total creep?
She glanced at the clock, and marched into the coffee shop. Her heart thumped. There, in the shadows, where she couldn't get a good glimpse of a face, sat a man with dark hair, wearing a blue shirt. Her stomach churned, and her palms grew sweaty. Why did he sit with his back to the door? Was it him? It had to be. He was the only man in there that met the profile description. With every bit of courage she had, she stepped toward the table.
He turned, and as he did—before his eyes came to rest on her, before they could make eye contact—she got a good glimpse of his face. With a gasp, tucking her head down so he couldn't see her, turning on her heel as quietly and as quickly as she could, she raced to the entrance of the shop, pushing past everyone in her way, desperate to get to the exit before he saw her. She heaved the door open, ran onto the sidewalk, so shocked and confused, her mind became a muddied mess. She could see her car in front of her. She had to get to her car. She had to leave, and she had to leave now. She fumbled in her bag, extracting her keys, and as she raced to her car, she felt her phone buzz in her pocket. No, no, no. This was all wrong. This wasn't supposed to be what would happen. A message from Mr. Brookstone?
Turn around and come back in here.
She stared at the shop. Her phone buzzed again.
She turned and looked at the door. She wouldn't. She couldn't!
Now. Before I punish you for being late.
Meredith opened the door to the shop as if on autopilot. She heard the jingle of the door shut behind her. She felt frozen in place, as Paolo turned to face her, his dark eyes piercing right through, every bit as intimidating as she ever imagined her lover to be. He was staring at her, pinning her in place with his eyes, stern and foreboding. A muscle twitched in his jaw and his dark eyes narrowed. The blue t-shirt stretched tight over his chest as his arms crossed in front of him.
He spoke in a low, deep voice, barely above a growl. "Come here, Meredith.”
She instinctively obeyed.
Chapter Eight
"Sit down, please," he said. She slid the chair from the table, and folded herself into the seat, as her legs gave way and her heart pounded. She felt dizzy with nerves. Tucked back in the corner, where she hadn't seen before, was the gleaming chrome of his chair. Paolo was still staring at her. He reached down to the seat next to him, picked something up, and slid it on the table in front of her.
She looked down. It was a glossy Brookstone catalog. She'd begun getting them in the mail, after she'd ordered some gifts for Paolo for Christmas. She raised her eyes to Paolo.
"This came in the mail the day I found you on the forum," he said. "It's how I chose my name for the forum."
He folded his hands on the table and leaned forward. "I've known what you were up to the entire time."
"You did?" she whispered. "Mr. Brookstone was a lie?”
He leaned over and his voice dropped. "Mr. Brookstone was very, very real." She opened her mouth to speak. She felt ashamed. Betrayed. Confused. But he held up his hand to stop her. "I'm doing the speaking now, bonita," he whispered, and what was usually a term of endearment now felt like a slap across the face. "You will listen. You'll have your chance to speak when I am finished." He paused and leaned in. "Do you understand me?”
She nodded, and gulped.
"Let's not speak of lies, Meredith," he hissed.
She'd always imagined being in the presence of a Dom to be attractive, and hot. Now she found herself exactly where she'd imagined—in front of her own husband, who was stern, and foreboding—and she found it incredibly intimidating. Consumed with guilt, she wished she could somehow explain it all away. She wished she could close her eyes and wake up and find out it was all a dream. She jumped as a waitress came to the table.
"Can I get something for you two?" His eyes went to hers in a silent command, and she sat silently as he ordered for both of them, instinctively understanding she'd not been given permission to speak. She felt as if she had no choice but to obey him completely. Paolo smiled at the waitress, and to Meredith's surprise, her heart thumped. He was attractive when he was stern and in charge.
"I'll have a medium black coffee, and my girl will have a medium hazelnut coffee, with cream and one sugar. Please bring me a blueberry muffin, and a chocolate-filled croissant for her."
Her favorites.
How did he know? But of course he did. How many times had she underestimated him? How many times had she taken things into her own hands, when he'd been fully capable of handling them himself? If she hadn't been ordered into silence, she'd have ordered for herself without a thought to him knowing what she wanted. Her mind swirled as a torrent of unanswered questions plagued her.
The waitress left, and he leaned forward, waiting a beat before he spoke. When he did, his voice continued in a low, deep rumble. He reached for her hand, and she tentatively offered it.
Was he going to lecture her? Was he going to tell her they were over, he was done, it was time for them to seek separation? Despite the fact she'd thought she'd been building a relationship with another man, she hated the thought of losing Paolo. She also felt bereft. The man she knew was her temporary Dom was not. He was her distant husband, and it now seemed as if everything would go up in smoke.
"That night you fell asleep with your phone by your side," he said, "I hated how you'd retreat from me. But the more you retreated, the less capable I felt to bring you back to me. I hated myself. How could you ever love me again? I felt as if I were half the man you married." She opened her mouth to speak, to contradict him. How could he have ever thought such a thing? It wasn't true! She loved him. But his eyes narrowed and he put a finger up. "I told you no. I swear to God, if you speak now, I'll push this table to the side and haul you over my lap right here and now."
Her pulse spiked and her eyes widened.
He wouldn't!
Would he?
Had he just threatened to spank her? She gulped, sufficiently warned back into silence, as he gauged her. He'd spank her here? But there was a resolve in his eyes, a determination she hadn't seen before. Perhaps she'd just never noticed it. He looked serious enough that she decided no way would she push her luck. He continued.
"And when I ever saw the cover of your book, it did something to me. And I realized then what a wedge I'd driven between us. Normally, you know I don't give a shit about what you read. But this time it was different. It was like a wake-up call to me. I looked it up. And I couldn't believe what it was about. At first, I thought you were just reading a romance, and who really cared what the content was. But then, I felt guilty. I'd abandoned you when you needed me most." His voice cracked at the end, and the stern gleam in his eyes softened.
She looked down, swallowing against the lump in her throat that threatened to dissolve into tears. He'd known. He'd known the whole time. The whole time she was lonely, and hurting, he'd known, and he'd felt responsible. She vacillated between wanting to shake him, to put the blame on him and leave herself scot free, and easing his guilt. She wanted to tell him no, it wasn't his fault, she'd been the one to retreat too, and she forgiven it, all of it. But still commanded to be silent, she waited for him to continue. It was harder than she'd thought.
The waitress brought their coffee and food to the table. He smiled at her and thanked her. He pushed her coffee over to her but kept the croissant in front of him.
"You may have your coffee," he whispered. "But no treats until later. We will take this home."
Her eyes widened. She hadn't given consent to Mr. Brookstone to control everything she did. Why did Paolo think it okay to? His eyebrows raised at the look on her face and he leaned forward, his voice dropping an octave.
"You do know this is the fourteenth day of our agreement, don't you?" he said in a low whisper. "You've pledged to obey me. And I fully intend on upholding my end of the bargain, and making you uphold yours, until our agreement is up. You'll do what I say. I'm not rewarding you right now. No. There will be no rew
ards until later."
Her breathing became more shallow as her mind teemed with questions.
I fully intend on upholding my end of the bargain.
She knew he was going to punish her.
But how?
When?
And if he was going to punish her, that meant he wasn't going to leave her... didn't it?
She could hardly contain her nerves. Her hands shook. He watched as she clasped her hands on the table to quell the shaking.
"Drink your coffee," he ordered. She obediently took a large sip, feeling the hot liquid calm her churning nerves. She wondered. Was it the coffee that calmed her nerves? Or was it being given a command, something to do, the only choice to obey or not? He continued.
"The next day, I decided while you were out, to do a computer scan to clean your computer up a little. You left it all there, Meredith. Everything. Your log-in name, the forum, all of it. And I couldn't help it. Curiosity got the best of me. As soon as I knew what the forum was about—and believe me, it all came as quite a shock—I was immediately afraid for your safety." His eyes narrowed and his voice took on a scolding edge. "Do you have any idea how dangerous it is interacting with anonymous people on a forum like that?”
She shook her head. He exhaled angrily, his eyes flashing. "You're not to go back to a place like that ever again unless I'm with you. Do you understand me?"
She nodded. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and his voice had gentled somewhat when he spoke again.
"At first, I couldn't understand what it was all about. But I did what you did. I asked questions. I read. When you were at work, Winston and I wrote back and forth to each other, and he answered every question I had. But you hadn't spoken to me yet. You didn't bring any of it up. So I decided, stubbornly I'll admit, that because you weren't being honest with me, I would let you keep all of it to yourself."
She nodded. Why hadn't she mentioned it to him? Why had she made the decision for him, already deciding before she even talked to him, how he would respond? Why, why, why? So many bad decisions. So much regret. Oh, how she wished she could go back and do it all again.
"That night, Meredith. The night I asked if you were married."
She squeezed her eyes shut, willing him to stop, but a vicious whisper from him shook her.
"Look. At. Me.”
Her eyelids flew open again. He was leaning forward now. "I know what I did wrong, Meredith. I know how I wasn't the man you needed. I let my own hurt drive me from you, and for that, I apologize. The night you said you were available, I knew. I knew how badly I'd let you down. I knew how I'd failed you. But I was so angry. You have no idea how hard it was to keep that anger inside. I couldn't tell you why I was angry. But I had a chance. You gave me the chance, to be your leader. To show you that I did care about you, and that I did want to protect you. You wouldn't talk to me anymore. I knew you wouldn't confide in me. But I could earn your trust back by being an anonymous stranger."
She nodded. It all made sense now. It all fit so perfectly. Every time she'd messaged Mr. Brookstone, Paolo had been in another room. Paolo had simply used another device to communicate with her. She was open and honest with Mr. Brookstone, because Paolo was right. She felt it easy to talk to Mr. Brookstone, far easier than talking to her distant, unpredictable husband.
"I told you my name was Rick. I did not lie. My middle name is Richard, as you well know, so it was an easy way of giving you a real name without revealing my identity. And when you told me you were available, I justified my own response in relation to yours. I knew I was available to you."
She nodded. It was a bit of a stretch, she thought, but she also realized she was in no position to be judging Paolo's level of honesty with her.
He sighed. "You may speak now. Do you have anything you wish to ask me?"
Are you going to punish me? Will you spank me? Are you going to leave me? Can we make this work? Do you find that you're willing to be my Dom? Is this something you will try, or have I ruined this for you? And the one plaguing her, over and over again, the one question that mattered above all that nearly drove her to her knees.
Will you ever forgive me?
But all that came out was a meek, "I'm so sorry, Paolo."
He nodded, leaned across the table, and reached for her hands, squeezing them.
"I'm sorry, too," he said. He leaned over and whispered so softly, she was sure no one around them could hear him as she could barely hear him herself. "But you realize now, bonita, that forgiveness lies over my knee?"
Her heart pounded, and her mouth grew dry. She felt a spike of fear, but at the same time, flames of arousal at his words licked through her core.
"Speak now," he commanded.
"Yes," she whispered. "I understand that." He stared at her, lips pursed together, dark eyes piercing her, the picture of complete dominance.
"Yes what?" he whispered back, as her heart gave a great leap.
"Yes, sir," she answered. He gave a curt nod, released her hands, and pulled out his wallet. He paid their bill, and nodded to the door.
"Let's go home."
***
Meredith never knew how she made the ride home. Paolo told her if he'd had full use of his legs, he would've insisted on driving, but the only choice was for her to take them home. He explained how Robbie had dropped him at the coffee shop, and he'd told Robbie Meredith was meeting him there to pick him up. The whole way home, he commanded her driving.
"Slow down, Meredith," he'd say in a low rumble. "I know you're nervous, but that's no excuse to get us killed. There's a stop sign. Be careful."
She was a raging bundle of nerves, driven by adrenaline, fear, and curiosity, until finally she pulled into their driveway and retrieved his wheelchair. She was struck with the irony of it all. Paolo, completely dependent on her to bring him his chair, to drive him home. Paolo, depending on her. Yet he was the one in complete control.
When they entered the house, he spun around and locked the door.
"Go straight to our bedroom and wait for me there," he instructed, but as she began walking to their room, he stopped her. "Meredith, wait."
Her legs trembling, she turned to him and looked at him.
"I want you kneeling by the bed. I want you thinking about all that you've done, and ready to confess to me. Do you understand me?"
"Yes, sir," she whispered, still squirming at how awkward it felt referring to Paolo that way. But it hadn't felt awkward calling Mr. Brookstone sir.
He was her Mr. Brookstone. She had to treat him with the same obedience and deference she'd treated her anonymous Dom.
She hung up her keys and her bag, walked to their room, still trembling, and kicked off her shoes. She knelt by the bed. How long would he make her wait? Would Paolo be nervous, too? Had he asked Winston for advice on how to do this? She thought back to the book she'd read, when Sylvia awaited punishment. Oh, how different it had been in fiction. She knelt by the bed, remembering the only other time she'd been instructed to kneel in punishment, and the sudden realization that she'd disobeyed him then hit on her.
How many things had she done that were worthy of punishment? Guilt consumed her, as she berated herself for her deception. Never again would she deceive her husband. Never again would she fly away from him and justify lies and half-truths. Never again would she betray the trust of the man she loved. Tears felt just below the surface, threatening to spill, but she couldn't cry. She was too pent up, too many emotions holding her hostage. But as she lay her head on the bed, waiting for Paolo, the same kind of peace she felt when last she'd been punished by kneeling came to her.
Forgiveness lies over my knee.
Did he mean it? Would he truly forgive her, after he'd punished her? She'd read about this so many times, she wondered if it were true. The feeling of closure other submissives talked about.
The ability to forgive themselves.
No more silent treatment. No more harboring resentment. Nothing but forgivene
ss and repentance. And she knew then that no matter what he did, no matter how severe the punishment he administered would be, she'd take it. Every bit of it. She'd take it, to show how very sorry she was. She'd take it, because she deserved it. She only hoped it would bring about what she hoped.
She heard his wheels in the hallway and her breathing hitched. He pulled the door to the bedroom open, turned and shut their door. He parked his wheelchair, lifted himself, and sat on the edge of the bed. She didn't dare raise her eyes. Did he have an implement he'd use? Would he take off his belt? She'd heard of different implements, and although some excited her, she also feared them.
"Come here, Meredith," he commanded. She lifted her eyes to him, and stood, glancing quickly around. She didn't see anything with him, no scary-looking implements. Had he changed his mind? He looked at her, as stern and foreboding as he'd been in the restaurant.
He'd never punished her before. But if he was afraid, he hid it well. She stood, as he gestured for her to stand between his legs. Like a naughty girl, she dragged her feet to him and stood between his legs, with her head hung low.
"Why am I punishing you?" he asked in a low voice. She swallowed.
"I disobeyed you." Having to say it all out loud made her feel even more embarrassed. He nodded.
"Is there anything else?" he asked sternly, the edge in his voice a warning. She nodded.
"I... I lied to you," she stuttered. "I deceived you. That night you told me to kneel, I didn't kneel for the full thirty minutes. After you left, I made it up, but I…"
"No."
She started, pausing in her speech. No what?
"No excuses," he said curtly. She squirmed. "This is the time for you to confess everything to me. No more holding back. You're going to lay this all out on the line, and after I punish you, we'll speak no more of this. Do you understand me?"
Oh, he'd forgive her. He'd spank her, and then all would be forgiven.
