by Sadey Quinn
Then again, there’s no way in hell I’d want to spill my spanking stories to Terry. No. Having Aria morph into a friend, and actually find her happy place at Lakeside, is worth way more now that I can share the truth about David a little more openly. I don’t think I want to hear the details about her getting spanked by him, and I may never get quite that comfortable. But at least I’ve got someone I can turn to, who makes me feel like a little bit less of a freak. I’m grateful for that at least.
“What’re you up to?” David asks as I’m dutifully clicking away at my keyboard, editing Aria’s essay.
“Scholarship essay,” I say, not looking up.
He leans over my shoulder and pecks me on the cheek.
“For Aria? Have I told you lately how glad I am you’re helping her?” He leans in for a more lingering kiss on the lips.
“Yeah, yeah.”
“I mean it, babe.” He looks a little hurt. “It’s really great that you’ve found a way to be OK with all this.”
“Sorry,” I mutter.
“How are things with her? And her boss?”
I shrug. “Not the best. She’s surviving.”
“Anything you can do to help?”
“No,” I say flatly. Not that it’s any of his business.
“Rachel…”
“Everything set for the weekend?” I ask, changing the subject.
David takes an audibly deep breath, like he’s trying to have patience with me, and I roll my eyes.
“Everything’s set. Darrell is giving us a huge discount. Basically he’s just charging us enough so he can pay his cleaners.”
“Mitchell and Erin are coming?”
“Yeah. They’re excited.”
He leans over and hugs me, kissing my forehead. I set my hands on the keyboard and wait for him to realize I’m busy.
“Okay, okay,” he says, getting the hint. “I’ll leave you be. I’m spanking you before bed tonight, though. You need one. I want to do it now, so your butt has time to heal before you wear your bikini at the beach.”
I look up at him, trying not to glare. “I haven’t done anything wrong!”
“Do you feel like you’ve been speaking to me in a nice way?”
Frowning, I shake my head.
“Do you think your attitude is going to get better or worse these next few days, if we don’t fit in a spanking tonight?
I feel myself blush. I don’t want to admit I probably need one.
Thankfully, David doesn’t wait for a response. He kisses my forehead tenderly, runs his hand down along my cheek, and smiles.
“It’ll be good for you. And for me. For us. Come find me when you’re done editing.”
Trying not to think about what’s about to happen, I focus on Aria’s essay. It’s four pages long, and the content—the rise of new media—shows she’s been paying some major attention to graphic design over the last few years.
When I’m done, I read over the changes I’ve suggested, and write a note to Aria explaining how to accept or decline the edits. After sending it, I shuffle around, looking for David.
I find him sitting up in our bed, reading an article about organic chicken farms. He looks up at me and doesn’t flash me the usual comforting smile I’ve come to expect. His face is firm and set.
“Take your clothes off,” he says. Then he turns back to reading, decidedly not interested in watching me strip.
This time, I don’t hide my glare. It’s for nothing, since he’s not paying attention to me. I pull off my work clothes and fold them neatly. Then I stand at the foot of the bed and wait for him to acknowledge me.
“I said strip,” he says without looking up.
I’m still in my underwear. I let out a dramatic sigh, which he ignores, and I pull off my pink panties and bra. They match, they’re cute, they’re new, and David hasn’t seen them yet. The least he could do is look up and admire them.
When I’m naked, he holds his arms out.
“Come here, sweetie,” he says softly.
I do, and he pulls me down over his knee in one swift, smooth motion. My upper body rests on the bed, and he tucks my legs under his leg, holding me close and tightly in place.
With no warning—no rubbing I’ve become used to, no quick lecture—he begins. I squeeze my eyes shut tight and moan into the comforter. It stings horribly. He’s not warming me up. This is meant to hurt.
“David!” I gasp, as he spanks me hard on my right thigh.
“Shush.”
He spanks me again, on my left thigh, then alternates back and forth. The sting is awful, horrible, and I reach back to cover my ass with my hands. He pauses.
“I can wait.”
“Oh, David,” I moan.
“This is for your own good. You’re overdue for a reminder of how to act in this house. Of how to treat me with respect. Don’t I always show respect when I’m talking to you?”
“Yes…”
“And don’t I deserve that same respect?”
“Yes, but I—“
He cuts me off. “Do I, or don’t I, deserve the same respect?”
“You do, David,” I whisper. I pull my hands from my bottom and tuck them under my head.
“Good girl.”
He starts again, this time harder still, and he spanks the same spot over and over on my left cheek before moving to the right side. Then he does the same to my upper thighs—twenty hard smacks to one spot before moving to the next.
He’s only using his hand, but the pain is almost unbearable. I grasp onto the comforter with all my might and groan loudly into the mattress, willing myself to stay put. My legs are struggling against him involuntarily, but he’s so much stronger than me that I’m not going anywhere.
When he stops, I hope that he’s actually stopping and not just taking a break. He squeezes my ass, then rubs it, and I know he can feel the heat on my skin.
“We met because you needed discipline, didn’t we, sweetie?” he asks, running his hand up along my spine and rubbing my shoulder.
“Yes,” I admit.
“You wanted someone to spank you for your bad attitude, didn’t you?”
I nod, and he delivers a sharp smack to my bottom.
“Answer out loud, please.”
“Yes,” I whisper.
“I love you, Rachel. However, I want you to know that my love for you will never get in the way of me punishing you when you need it. I’m never going to get lenient with you, or put up with any bitchiness or bad attitude. It’s okay to be in a bad mood. It’s okay to ask me to leave you alone while you’re working on a project. But always, always, you’ll speak to me with respect. Understand?”
“Yes, David.”
“Good girl. Three more minutes.”
I take a deep breath and brace myself. The spanks come fast and firm, just as hard as before. But I struggle less and I focus on embracing the pain. Embracing that David is willing to put me over his knee. Embracing that he’s in charge.
By the time the three minutes are up, my eyes are wet, but I’m not exactly crying. My mind is calm, almost like I’m meditating. David pulls me up into his arms and we snuggle on the bed. I drift off into a peaceful sleep, not waking until the next morning, the covers wrapped around both of us and David’s arms wrapped around me.
Aria bounds into my office that morning with a huge smile across her face.
“I just turned it in,” she announces. “Rachel, thank you. Thank you!”
“You’re welcome.”
She pulls a box from a large shopping bag in her hands and thrusts it toward me. “I baked you a cake.”
I take it from her and try not to look too amused. “You baked me a cake?”
“Yes. To thank you.” She smiles, turns on her heels and walks briskly toward the stairs. “I gotta go, late for work!”
I glance at the clock—she’s twenty minutes late. Last week, she mentioned that she might as well take advantage of the fact that Jeremy only wants her as a secretary
for her body. She can arrive late, leave early, slack off more than she already does…
I was in full support of that decision. Damn, I realize—I actually am her friend.
Later, I sneak down to Human Resources and find Sandy.
“So, I don’t mean to pry…but what do you think her chances are?” I ask quietly. “Can you say?”
“With your recommendation and her amount of time at the company, on top of her essay—which was great—she’s in. I’ll get official approval by next week.”
I’m elated, but I keep the news from Aria just in case something falls through. I shoot a quick text to David, though, knowing he’ll be just as glad as I am, if not moreso.
The week flies by, with daily calls from Sam talking about this or that relating to our upcoming weekend at the beach. David seems a little on edge, which I assume means he has a particularly difficult client scheduled soon.
I kind of wish he felt he could talk with me about his work, because I know that he does struggle with some of his clients. But, on the other hand, I’m not sure how I’d feel if he opened up to me about clients. I’m afraid of knowing how much he cares for these women.
We all meet at our place before taking off to the beach. Samantha and Patrick ride in his truck, and David and I go with Mitchell and Erin in their SUV. It’s a four hour drive, and Erin and I sit in back and talk babies. She’s telling me all about color choices and decorations.
“Do you know yet? Boy or girl?” I ask, excited.
She nods, and I grab her hands and squeeze them tight.
“Seriously? You guys know?” David asks, looking over to Mitchell somewhat accusingly.
“Yeah. We’ve been waiting to say anything.”
“What on earth for? Tell us!”
I laugh at David’s impatience, and Mitchell joins in.
“Erin, you want to tell them?”
She grins at me. “It’s a boy…”
David claps his hands loudly and I squeal in excitement. We’re so loud, I almost don’t hear Erin continue.
“…and a girl.”
My eyes widen and I look to make sure David heard. His hands are held in mid-clap and his mouth is seriously open as wide as it can possibly go.
“Twins!” I cry, throwing my arms around Erin.
David claps his hand on Mitchell’s thigh. “Congratulations, brother,” he says.
Is it envy I hear in his voice, or just love? I can’t be sure. I wonder if he’s got that same narrative in the back of his head, wondering about our future, wondering if we’ll be parents someday soon.
David will be an amazing father.
The beach house is, as promised, incredible. It’s a huge old mansion, fixed up by his friend to be an apartment-style bed-and-breakfast. David hands out keys to the three best rooms in the place.
“This is amazing,” I breathe, taking in the cream-colored walls, the soft green trim, and the pastel beach decor. Most of the furniture is pale rattan, with shell-pink cushions.
“Yeah. He’s done pretty well here. But with the economy how it is, this last year or two he hasn’t had a lot of business.”
“Lucky for us…”
David shrugs. “I’d rather he had business. We would just need to plan ahead a little. But, I have to admit, having this little spur-of-the-moment vacation is pretty nice.”
I hug him, then stand on my tip-toes to give him a long, appreciative kiss. “It is pretty nice.”
It takes all of us over an hour to reconvene downstairs, and Erin and Sam and I exchange glances hinting, ‘I know what you were doing!’ I’m happy. We all look happy.
We go outside to explore. The ocean is just steps away, and I breathe in the salty air, embracing how it feels on my skin. I love the water. I love staring out, seeing for miles and miles, a seemingly never-ending expanse of sea.
It’s sobering, for some reason. Different than the mountains I see every day. The mountains, in a way, make me feel closed in. They make me feel safe. The ocean gives me this feeling like I could fall, fall forever.
I close my eyes and let myself feel that fall. David comes behind me, wrapping me into his arms, as if he’s reading my mind.
Catching me.
Hand in hand, we walk up and down the coast. The conversations continue around us: Mitchell and Patrick are buzzing about some local band Patrick just saw, and Sam’s telling Erin about prenatal yoga.
David and I just walk, silent and happy.
After a quick trip into town the next day for bikini shopping and beer, I’m aching to be with David. I find Patrick outside on the back deck, reading and hand him a Corona.
“David here?” I ask.
“Nope,” he replies, not looking up from his Kindle.
Annoyed, I trudge to the kitchen behind Sam, who sets to work pulling out the blender and tequila for margaritas. I sit down at the table and watch her, distracted by what David might be off doing.
He’s known Darrell for a long time. I wonder if David started his business out here, or back in Raleigh where he went to school. Does he have clients that he wants to see while we’re here?
He’d tell me about that, I’m sure. The more I think about it, the more I start to second guess myself. What is he off doing?
I text him, Where are ya?
He answers immediately. I left you a note.
It feels heavy. Too serious for a beach weekend. I assume he means in the bedroom, and I push open the door. There’s a single red rose laying on the middle of the bed. Beside it, a small, handwritten note on pale lilac stationary:
Rachel-
Come meet me for dinner at seven. Just walk down the beach for about a half mile. The restaurant is the Ocean Grill.
I love you.
David
It’s just after five, now, so I still wonder where the hell David went. At least he’s made reservations for dinner. I check online to see what type of restaurant it is so I can figure out what to wear. It’s a nice place, and the ambiance is casual enough for a summer dress and sandals.
Samantha hands me a margarita when I return to the kitchen. I tell her about the date.
“Oooh, great. Patrick and I picked out a restaurant, too. That’ll give Mitchell and Erin the place to themselves.”
The margarita is sweet and cold, hitting the spot. We sit outside, everyone but David, and I try not to wonder where he’s gone. I don’t want to be the obsessive girlfriend who needs to know his every move, but aren’t we supposed to be on vacation together?
If he needed to meet with a client, couldn’t he at least have told me?
Is the nice restaurant his way of apologizing for deserting me?
Sam nudges me. “You gonna get ready?”
It’s six thirty. I sigh and get up to prepare. It doesn’t take me long, and soon I’m walking, sandals in my hand and my feet on the wet sand. The night air is calm and cool. There’s a gentle breeze, and the sound of the ocean helps me forget about my anxiety over David.
It’ll be nice to have a quiet dinner with him.
A family approaches on my right. They’re laughing together, like someone’s just said something really funny. The mother sees me and smiles in greeting.
As we pass one another, she produces a red rose I hadn’t noticed and hands it to me.
I stop and look at her, confused, but she just keeps going.
“That was weird,” I say to myself, continuing forward.
I hear footsteps, and see a teenage boy running toward me. He, too, has a red rose. He thrusts it at me, and I take it from his hands.
“Thank you?” I say, truly confused.
He smiles and runs away.
And it happens again.
A older gentleman, walking hand in hand with his wife, hands me a rose.
A little girl, who couldn’t be over seven years old, walking her toy poodle, hands me a rose.
Over and over. I know David’s done this, he’s organized this. My heart is beating hard. I stop seeing th
e individuals handing me the roses. I know I must be smiling. This is more than a romantic gesture, it has to be. But could he really be doing this, this, so soon?
I see him, up ahead, in front of the restaurant. He stands by a table. In the middle of the table, there’s a large vase that holds just one, long stemmed red rose. He’s grinning at me as I approach.
“David, what—” I begin, but he shakes his head to stop my speech.
He takes the rose from the vase and holds it out to me. I accept it, adding it to my armful of red roses. Then, he’s down on his knee, looking up at me. And the box in his hands, opened to show the ring.
It’s beautiful, he’s beautiful. The roses are beautiful.
I hold my breath, waiting for the words.
When they come, they’re like music.
“Rachel, will you marry me?”
~12~
David
It is eternity, that long moment. I’m holding the ring. I’m holding my breath. I’m sure she’s not aware of it, but Rachel is holding my heart in her hands. Her next word will either complete me or destroy me.
Please say yes. Please, please say yes.
Tears run down her cheek as she gazes down at me. My mind is in a whirl of panic, trying to decide what, exactly, the look on her face, her small smile, means. It is a sympathy smile, like, ‘Oh, David, you silly man, how could you possibly think I’d say yes?’ Or is it a smile of love?
“Rachel, say something,” I whisper, not able to take it any longer.
She shakes her head and says, “Yes,” simultaneously, the words a little choked, and I realize that she was struggling to speak.
I slide the ring on her finger and say, “Whew!” and she’s laughing, and crying and squeezing my neck like it’s her lifeline, her life, the roses scattering in a circle around us.
“Yes, David,” she says, her voice now the clear, crisp song of an angel. My angel. “Of course, yes! I’ll marry you.”
