Begin Again (Bound To You Book 1)
Page 12
She gulped. "Yes, sir," she whispered. His eyes softened slightly, though his voice remained stern.
"Good. Continue. Is there anything else you need to tell me?"
She nodded. "I'm sorry for not trusting you. I'm sorry for everything I did, the disobedience, the dishonesty, all of it," she whispered. "I hid from you. I didn't tell you what I was doing. I-I told you... as Mr. Brookstone... that I was available." Her voice cracked when she spoke and she felt tears rising. "I led you to believe I wasn't married."
He nodded. "That was a very honest confession, bonita." She breathed a sigh of relief. Oh, thank God, that part was over. He'd listened, and accepted it. His voice dropped and his eyes grew stern, sterner than she'd ever see them. She quaked at the mere look. "Now lie over my lap, Meredith."
Would he spank her fully clothed? She had her answer immediately, as he bared her to him with one swift move. Her heart pounded as she felt his hand rest on her bare skin. She closed her eyes, so nervous she could hardly breathe.
"Since this is the first time I'm punishing you, I'll only use my hand," he said.
The first time.
"Yes, sir."
"You were deliberately disobedient, both to me as your husband and to me, the Dom you promised to obey. You were dishonest. Not only that, but you put yourself in a dangerous position. You've earned a spanking for all of this. Do you understand?"
"Yes, sir."
She heard him take a shuddering breath of his own.
Was he nervous too?
She gasped, taken aback, as his large palm struck her bare skin. It hurt like hell. Holy shit, how could being spanked with a hand hurt that much? He wasn't even using anything. She squirmed, but put herself back over his knee, determined to take every single bit of her punishment. Again, he spanked her, sharp stinging blows that took her breath away. She lost count as swat after swat landed, slowly and firmly, and as one particularly stinging swat landed on her upper thigh, she screamed into the blanket. He paused, his hand resting on her bare skin, gently massaging. Was he done? But no, it was only a momentary reprieve as she felt him lift his hand again and bring it down sharply.
"I demand your honesty," he said, as she sniffled into the blanket.
"Yes, sir."
Swat, swat, swat!
"No more putting yourself in danger," he said, as he continued, one stinging swat after another landing, sometimes in the same place, the pain of it hardly bearable. She focused on lying as still as she could, the blanket under her cheek, the feel of his knee under her belly, as he continued, peppering her with sharp swats. And as the spanking continued, she could focus on nothing else. No questions, no swirling doubts, nothing but being over her husband's knee taking her well-deserved punishment.
On and on he went, swat after swat, as he reiterated his expectations for her, she became dimly aware of what he was saying as the spanking continued, focused solely on staying in position and taking her punishment. As swat after swat fell, she thought she couldn't take it anymore. It was too painful, too much, she had to get away, she had to somehow stop it, but she was helpless to stop it. It was all Paolo, completely out of her control.
And then he was done. His hand on her aching bottom, he caressed her, as he spoke to her in soft, soothing words.
"No more, Meredith. This ends now. No more putting our marriage in jeopardy. No more withholding things from one another." His hand continued, warm and soothing, rubbing out the sting on her naked skin. "I'm putting an end to the damage we've done. It all ends now. I love you far too much to allow this to continue, bonita."
The tears she'd held at bay now broke loose. All of her remorse, her sadness, the loneliness she'd felt, and the desperation as she'd yearned to hear him say 'I love you', dissolved, in a torrent of tears. She wept as if her heart would break, still over his lap, soaking the blanket with her deep, wracking sobs.
"I'm so sorry," she stammered, breath coming in choking gasps as she cried. Aware of nothing but her sorrow, she found herself hauled up and into his arms as he rocked her.
"Shhh, now, baby," he said, and something about his soothing words melted her, as she cried. "All is forgiven now. Now, we will put this behind us. Today, we begin anew. Shhh, now," he whispered, rocking her back and forth, the rough scratch of his whiskers on her forehead as he rocked and kissed her. "Go lie back on the bed so I can hold you."
Crawling onto the bed, she felt the sting of the spanking he'd given her with her move. She collapsed onto the pillow as he came to her side. He picked her up, into his arms, and kissed her. At first, it was soft, gentle, forgiving, but as they continued, his hand reached to the back of her neck and pulled her even closer as his kiss became more insistent. Plundering her mouth, he rolled her over on her side, all of him over her, though he held himself up by his arms, moving his hands on either side of her face as she kissed him back with all she had.
He raked her blouse off over her head and whipped it against the wall. His hands on his waist, he yanked his own t-shirt off, tossed it over the bed, and he was back, sweet, hard, passionate kisses to her tear-stained cheeks, her jawbone, she gasped as his mouth made its way to her neck. She felt his teeth on her, a thrill of excitement as he nipped and licked. He was doing it again, taking what was his, only now his claim was deeper, harsher, and far more meaningful. His hands were all over her, as if he were slipping off a cliff and she was his saving grace, she would save him from falling, desperate grasps over every inch of her. She gasped as his hands came into contact with her aching bottom, still tender and flaming hot.
His mouth teased and kissed, his tongue flicking in and out, and the moment he came in contact with her, she thought she'd fall apart, explode right then and there.
"I've soundly punished you," he said, his voice a hoarse whisper as his mouth hovered just above her legs. "You've been forgiven. Now let me make it better." Without another word, he sank between her legs and she moaned. She had no idea how ready she was. She was right there, ready to soar, and it was every bit as amazing as she'd ever imagined. The contrast of her stinging, aching bottom beneath the thrill of his tongue on her, teasing and prodding, so incredibly good she thought she'd die of pleasure, she felt her climax building, building, oh God, she'd never built like this before, she was on the verge, so long, how long could she be on the verge like this?
"Please, may I?" she whispered. He'd never required her to ask him before, but it felt right. She couldn't allow herself the freedom unless he gave permission. He lifted his eyes to hers, his dark eyes soft and smoldering.
"Come for me, bonita," he whispered. His mouth down on her, it was all she needed. His permission.
The release was like nothing she'd ever experienced. She'd have flown off the bed if he hadn't held her down firmly, as torrent after torrent of pleasure swept through her and she cried out in ecstasy, never knowing it could be like this, so hard, so intense, so long, and so utterly fulfilling. When she settled back down, she felt tears prick her eyes again, but she had no time to shed them as he was on a mission now. Stripping off his own jeans, he threw them off the bed. He was so ready for her.
With no warning, he grabbed both her hands and pinned them above her head as he entered her, anchoring himself by holding on to her tightly. Sharp spikes of arousal leapt through her core. She couldn't be building again, but she was, thrust after thrust bringing her right back to the edge.
"Come for me, bonita, do as I bid you," he growled, his mouth on her neck as she felt the mounting climax. At his command, she felt herself coming apart again, another scream of ecstasy as he gasped into his own climax, his deep moans reverberating against her chest.
Their breathing slowed. She gave into the fresh tears that flowed now, as he rolled over and hoisted her up on his chest. She lay there, listening to his heartbeat, her eyes closed as her crying slowed. He smoothed his hand over her hair, over and over again, as he held her tight against him.
"I love you, Paolo," she whispered. "Thank you."
As she settled into Paolo's arms, the arms of her husband and lover, the arms of the man who led her and forgave her, she knew she'd found what she'd been seeking. Her mind no longer a swirl of questions and doubt and fear. Nothing but a deep contentment. She was right where she belonged—her body, her heart, and her mind, all were his, his to cherish.
Quiet. Peace. A new beginning.
Mine.
Chapter Nine
Meredith had been stealing glances at her husband all morning. She peered over her coffee cup as he read the news. While she flipped his eggs, she watched as his large, strong hands smeared butter over his toast. She watched the bulge of his muscles as he moved his wheelchair across the room to get the orange juice from the fridge. He'd seemed lost in his own world, so she'd intuitively kept quiet and hadn't said much to him since he woke up. Finally, as she stood behind him, admiring the breadth of his back and the way his shirt stretched taut across his shoulders, he spoke.
"Meredith, stop staring at me and come and eat."
She felt heat rush to her cheeks, as she put her head down and scurried to obey. He placed two buttered pieces of toast, a few eggs, and a large glass of orange juice in front of her. She raised her eyebrows. "I wasn't staring at you," she mumbled. She hadn't been staring... she'd merely been looking. Repeatedly.
He looked up with a coy smile. "No stretching the truth, Mer. You've been stealing glances at me all morning. What's going on?"
What was going on? She wasn't sure herself. When Paolo was still asleep, she'd woken up with the vivid recollection of the night before, her aching backside reminding her of what had happened every time she turned. She replayed the events of the night before over, and over again.
She'd never seen that side of her husband. She'd seen him be stern before, but he'd never been... her Dom.
It was not unpleasant.
It was hard for her to reconcile the imaginary Dom of her dreams with the man sitting in front of her. In her mind, her Dom had been tall, dark, and handsome. Paolo was dark, and handsome, but was wheelchair-bound. Her Dom had the stern look mastered, and could pierce her with one sharp glance. Certainly, when Paolo had confronted her the day before, he'd turned her legs to jello with one look. But her Dom required her obedience in everything—with how she spoke to him, obeying his every command, making sure she took care of herself, and requiring her utter submission in the bedroom.
Would Paolo?
"You're doing what you do, bonita," he said softly, as he gestured to her plate. "You're having a full-on conversation in your head without letting me in. Also, I expect you to eat your breakfast. Eat, now."
How could they go on, now? Where would they pick up? There was so much to do, so much to learn.
She stared at her full plate. She had no appetite. There were too many questions. "I'm not sure I'm very hungry," she murmured. His lips thinned as he pursed them and leaned over the table.
"It wasn't a suggestion," he said in a low, even voice. She looked up at him.
Would he require her obedience? He'd always been a bossy sort of guy. It was just who he was, a leader, accustomed to taking charge.
But today was day fifteen. Their agreement was up. Where did that leave them?
What would he do if she refused to eat?
"Okay," she whispered, taking a nibble of toast to appease him. She watched his reaction. Would 'okay' be enough? Up until a few hours ago, 'Yes, sir', was the expected response. A muscle twitched in his jaw, but he said nothing. He seemed so stern. So attractive. As she watched his hands, she remembered those hands stretching her out over his lap, as he spanked her. Holding her hands pinned down as he made love to her. Strong, masterful hands. Her eyes traveled the length of his arm, to the bulge of his bicep, and she felt a pulse of arousal at the memory of his naked chest over her as he took her, claimed what belonged to him, united what had been torn apart.
She looked at his eyes. Dark brown, almost black, and she realized they were narrowed at her.
"What?" she whispered, wide-eyed.
His voice was low and stern when he spoke. "Are you testing me?" he asked. "Twice now I've asked you to eat your breakfast, and you've barely touched it."
She felt her pulse spike at his tone, and shoved half a piece of toast in her mouth, washed it down with orange juice, forked a large bite of egg, and swallowed it nearly whole. His eyes gentled and he chuckled.
"I said eat, baby, not inhale. Relax, Meredith." His hand reached out to hers, stilling her. Her eyes went to his. "I'm still the same man this morning I was last night," he said. "Yes, we have some things to talk about. And we will. For now, you eat your breakfast and quiet that mind of yours, focusing on one thing right now. Doing what I asked you."
How did he know? How did he know that she was afraid that the night before had been a one-time thing, and that today, he'd drop the Dom thing and go back to being just her husband? How did he know she was afraid it was all pretend, that their two weeks were up, and he'd have no interest in going on from here?
Did he know she was afraid he would want to continue? She didn't know how to be a submissive. She didn't know what would be expected of her. Would she have rules?
She nodded, taking a smaller bite of toast and another sip of juice, focusing on eating her breakfast. When she'd cleared her plate, he nodded approvingly, sat back in his chair, and crossed his arms. He smiled.
"You're very cute today," he said. "I think submission becomes you." She looked down shyly, not sure how to respond, shifting in her chair and feeling her sore bottom. It felt like she'd worked out at the gym, hard, the muscles aching with a sting on the surface. But it wasn't unpleasant. Hell, no. Not at all. It was a reminder of what had happened the night before.
His mark on her.
Submission becomes you.
So she wasn't the only one that felt it. The change. The charge between the two of them.
"Very good," he murmured, as she put her fork down on her empty plate. Warmth spread through her chest at his praise, and to her surprise, tears sprang to her eyes. How good it felt to hear those words. How good it felt to please him.
"Today is day fifteen," Paolo began. She nodded.
"So technically, our agreement is up. But, I think it's clear to both of us where we stand."
She frowned. "Is it clear?" she asked. She wasn't so sure herself. Hell, she wasn't clear at all. She felt utterly confused.
He sat back up in the chair and reached for her hands. She placed her small hands in his, engulfed in the warmth of them, and as she held his hands and looked in his eyes, she felt a stirring once again. The new Paolo looked... different.
"The hell with the two-week trial period," he whispered. "I know why we did it, but that's over now. I know what I want. I know that your submission to me is..." he paused. She wondered if he couldn't find the words. Or was it that he didn't want to tell her what he thought? What was her submission to him? He continued. "It's very attractive to me. But I know we have a lot to learn. I'm not even sure what I want from this myself yet. But your job is to come to me. No more of these monologues in your head. You talk to me."
She realized he was waiting for a response.
What did she think? Her heart was soaring. She found herself nodding, eager to obey him, eager to please. She was nervous, but it was a good kind of nervous, eager anticipation of fulfilling a deep-seated desire.
She smiled. "Yeah," she said. "Yes, let's do it." She swallowed. "Please."
He smiled. "Good girl."
***
Paolo sipped the last tepid bit of coffee from his cup, placed it on the table, and looked back at Meredith. Her wide blue eyes, framed with long lashes, were watching him. She looked so young, and childlike when she looked at him like that. Eyes full of trust, soft and gentle. He hadn't seen that look from her
in so long, he'd forgotten how it moved him. Up until recently, her eyes had been guarded. Colder.
What had caused the shift? Why was she looking at him like that again, with nothing short of adoration?
More importantly, what could he do to keep her there?
He knew what had driven her from him. He knew when he'd wallowed in his own misery after the accident, he'd pushed her away from him. He'd left her alone, and it wasn't until he'd approached her as the anonymous Dom online that she'd opened up to him again. He'd been so angry with her at first. He felt hurt, and betrayed. But as he looked past his own hurt, and she'd responded so positively to his taking care of her as Mr. Brookstone, he'd realized she needed so much more from him than he'd given her. He'd delved into the world of dominance and submission, the world she'd led him to, at first in an effort to protect her. But as he read more and more, he found himself attracted to it.
At first, he'd eased into it, suggesting she get something to eat when she'd skipped a meal. He'd always hated how she starved herself, forgetting to eat, and was always afraid she'd make herself sick by not taking care of herself. When she began obeying him, he felt as if she'd handed him the keys to the kingdom. He had it in his power to finally make her do the things he wanted her to do. If she didn't, he had the power to punish her.
But it wasn't the power that appealed to him at first, though that was part of it. It was the raw eroticism of it all.
That night a girl in chat posted a picture of a woman, naked and vulnerable, sitting by her Dom's feet. He'd clicked on the picture, then cruised the website she got the picture from. Picture after picture of women in various positions of submission. One picture, a young woman with long blonde hair that hung as she bowed her head low, with a man's large, powerful hand on her head. Another, a beautiful Hispanic girl stretched over the lap of a man with his hand raised, her pink ass evidence of a recent spanking.
He'd never really thought about putting Meredith over his lap. He'd given her a teasing swat here and there, and vaguely remembered when they were younger giving her a bit of a spanking when she'd been a total brat, but he hadn't meant it. It had all been mostly a joke.