by Lee Savino
Sure enough, she begged, “please, sir, just get it over with.”
He chuckled. “Stand and go to the corner, nose to the wall, keep your skirts lifted high.”
She made a noise half between protest and a sob, but obeyed. Her eyes glazed over and her internal fight quieted, and he realized that humiliation had sent her closer to the edge.
So of course he heaped it on.
“That’s right, stand in the corner like a naughty little girl, exposed for all to see. If anyone walks in here, they’ll take one look at you and know you’ve gotten what you deserve.”
A few sniffles in the corner tugged on his heartstrings even as they hardened his cock. More than anything he wanted to bring her back, turn her over his knee and spank her red, then push her to the floor and bury himself in her soft wetness until she was crying out for mercy, and more.
“I’m going to finish punishing your lovely little ass. It’s so pretty and pink now, but I’m going to turn it cherry red.”
He sat on the bench. “Over my lap, Francesca.”
She draped her warm body over his knees before he realized his mistake.
His cock pressed into her hip, and every wriggle and shiver would be torture for him. He spent a minute taking out his frustration on her bottom, smacking each cheek until the blush turned a darker pink, dusty color beautiful on her caramel cheeks.
He spanked her again, harder, but it only made his arousal worse, and sent her flying high to a place where pain could not touch her. By the end of the spanking, he was breathing hard, and her bottom was rising to his hand, asking for more.
“Stand up,” he said in a hoarse voice. “Keep your skirts lifted, and lean over the table.”
He caught sight of her flushed face as she obeyed. She looked almost peaceful, as if all her cares had melted away. He, on the other hand, found it hard to keep control. It made him a little angry.
She wouldn’t like what he’d prepared for her next.
“I found this among your husband’s things.” He showed her the long length of leather, a military belt. “Some ladies say the lick of the belt is delicious. I say their master wasn’t using it properly.” Sebastian held the buckle end in one hand and doubled it over before raising it above his head. He snapped it down, cracking it against the table. The pottery on the shelves clattered and Francesca jumped.
He’d bet anything she was sopping wet. His fingers itched to check. Instead, he braced one hand against her neck, pinning her as he spoke. “You’re going to feel this, my darling, and remember it, next time you go to sass me.”
This time as he brought the belt up, he used his left to keep it straight as he lifted it high above his head.
“This is one,” he said and brought it down with a massive crack against her waiting bum. Francesca cried out as a red line jumped out on her bottom. Her hips swayed for a second and he ordered her back in position. Panting, she followed his command. He snapped the belt down again and she cried out.
“You need this. Your life is out of control, and you are buckling under the strain.” He emphasized each point with a slap of the belt. “You’ve been rude long enough. You need release.”
She was crying.
“Now, let’s see.”
He let his fingers go where he’d been longing to place them, at the entrance to her cunt.
She was impossibly wet.
“My goodness. Wetter than a farm drain.”
She whimpered in humiliation, and he cursed himself silently. He’d crossed a line. But he couldn’t help it. He was a slave to her beautiful vulnerable responses, to the tears now sliding down her flushed face.
His fingers toyed with her slippery folds, taking liberties he had not earned.
She quivered on the brink.
“Please.” She breathed, and he felt guilty making her want something he could not give.
He took his hand away and she whimpered.
She would be burning inside and out, overcome with desire.
“You’re going to beg me for mercy?” He thrashed her some more. “You told me yourself you need a strong man, remember? I’m going to take you in hand.” He had to remember this was punishment, not pleasure. Some anger inside him wanted to break her.
“This is your confessional now, Francesca. You grieved your husband and avenged him. Why do you feel guilty?”
He struck her and she cried out.
“Haven’t you done enough? Answer me?”
“No. It’s not enough,” she gasped.
He slapped her ass again. The red skin looked puffy.
“It’s time for forgiveness. After this, you’ll be absolved.” He circled her, noting her tear-streaked face. “Did you honor your husband?”
He lashed her with the belt, lower, on her unmarked legs.
She groaned. “Yes.”
“Did you respect him?”
“Yes.”
“Did you love him?” Sebastian barked, and lashed her when she hesitated. “Well, did you?”
“I don’t know.” She broke down sobbing.
He paused. He’d gone too far.
The spanking opened her up made her vulnerable, more than he expected. But he was a stinking selfish bastard and he wanted to know how she felt about her husband. Because he wanted her all to himself… focused on him. Idiot. Fool. Wanker… weren’t enough names to call himself. She wasn’t a toy he could play with.
She cried into her hands, her skirts half fallen.
He pushed them down and put his hand on her back.
“No,” she snapped and backed away. “Don't touch me.”
Guilt filled him.
“Francesca, forgive me. I shouldn’t have said...”
“You dare come to into my sanctuary and whip me? Absolve me? You’re no better than the impotent priest.”
“Darling.” He tried to take her in his arms, to comfort her as he should, but she pushed him away.
“No,” she said as she straightened, coldness settling over her tear-stained features. “We're done,” she said clearly, and walked out of the apothecary.
*
Sebastian waited a while before leaving the apothecary, letting Francesca make good her escape. He’d known the session would be intense, and so he’d given her an out, but he hadn’t imagined things would go this wrong.
It wasn’t the pain that Francesca rejected. It was the emotional intimacy.
He’d crossed a line.
He’d thought he had his emotions under control, and could help her, but evidence was pointing to him being a worse influence on her than all her troubles combined. He couldn’t stay and toy with her this way. He’d have to leave.
The thought made him sick inside.
Cage caught up with him as he crossed the field. “How you doing, boss?”
Sebastian couldn’t bring himself to answer.
“Listen, the men want to know how much longer they’ll be here. They signed on for a hunting expedition, not farming.”
“They’ll do as I tell them,” Sebastian snapped, “or go without pay. You know as well as I they couldn’t find better work.” He let his long legs carry him away faster than the man could follow.
“Chivington,” Cage bellowed, stalking him across the field. “There’s nothing for you here.”
Sebastian stopped in his tracks.
“And even if she wasn’t a grieving widow, do you really want this life?” Cage’s hand flung out, taking in the field, the hacienda surrounded by wall, fruit trees and gardens, the town and cathedral rising beyond. “Be honest with yourself, and her. She deserves it.”
Without another word, the silver haired man left Sebastian standing staring at the scene.
The afternoon light poured like gold, in the distance, he could hear the bells of the cathedral ringing, calling the faithful to mass. It was colloquial and quaint, everything he’d run from as a young lord with no responsibility but to amuse himself. He could almost hear his younger self mocking the scene.
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Right now, it looked like paradise.
Cage was right. He should go. Let her keep her pride and dignity, and work to save the farm. Succeed or fail, it didn’t matter to him.
It shouldn’t matter.
Ana greeted him in the garden, hauling the white goat out of the midden.
“Did you have a nice walk?” She didn’t wait for his grunt before asking, “Have you seen Francesca? A man came by looking for her.”
Despite himself, Sebastian asked, “What man?”
“One of Diego’s. Señor Montoya wanted to invite her for dinner.” Ana bit her lip. “I am actually glad no one was here, so I could turn him away. I do not want her alone with that man.”
“Why not? Seems a good sort.”
“Juan and others believe so, but I do not trust him. He was not a good influence on my lady when she was young. Francesca was wild, but in a good, happy way. Diego was always scheming, trying to look good for the adults, but I never trusted him. Especially around Francesca. He grew older and made girls cry in other ways.”
“Do you think he means her harm?”
“No, no.” Ana tugged on the goat’s leash, hard, and it bleated. “And I do not wish to gossip. I just don’t have a good feeling.”
“I understand. And I will not tell anyone what you said.”
“Thank you, señor. I know my mistress bears a grudge against you, but I am glad you are here with us.”
“I appreciate that, Ana, but I think I’ll be leaving soon.”
Shadow passed over her face. “Please, señor. It’s only been a week. Do not let her fire drive you away.”
Sebastian hated disappointing the kind matron, but steeled his expression. “She is a good woman.”
“She needs a good man.”
He felt a flash of anger. Was the woman matchmaking? Surely she’d be the first to see how it wouldn’t work: the landed lady and the wandering English lord. “What do you want me to say, Ana?”
“Nothing.” Her expression tightened. “I thought I was in the presence of a good man. I can see I was wrong.” With that effective parting shot, she flounced away, managing to look haughty while dragging a goat.
Sebastian tore a hand through his hair. Now he had two women mad at him.
*
Francesca didn’t come home until almost dark. Sebastian saw her as she passed through the dining room, where he’d sat since dinner, facing the open doors, smoking an endless chain of cigarros.
“You’re still here,” she said. “Ana made it sound like you were leaving.”
“Probably on the morrow.” He blew smoke out.
She came and sat across from him at the heavy wooden table. For a few minutes, they sat in silence, staring into the garden. Sebastian ignored her. A part of him wanted her to leave and let him be, or speak only in that formal manner, ignoring all that had gone between them.
A part of him wanted her to beg.
He wasn’t angry with her, though. He was angry with himself.
She started to say something then stopped. “Thank you, for all your help.”
“Señora.” Ana entered the dining room. “Señor Diego is here. Do you want to speak to him?” The matron’s eyes met Sebastian’s, and he remembered what she’d told him about the sort of man Diego was.
Francesca sighed. “Send him in.”
Chivington made as if to rise.
“You’re leaving?” Francesca glanced up suddenly, fear written cleanly on her face.
“No, I’ll stay,” Sebastian said. He went and arranged himself in the shadows near the fireplace, still smoking.
Diego Montoya entered, and Sebastian took the opportunity to study him up close. Montoya was about his age, dark and handsome, with a sharp, greedy energy. Sebastian had met men like him before. He agreed with Ana: this man wasn’t to be trusted.
Diego’s eyes lit up when they fell on Francesca, and Sebastian felt a surge of possessive anger.
“Francesca.” The man held out his hands to greet her.
“Diego.” Francesca sounded tired. Sebastian noted how she moved around the table so her brother-in-law couldn’t get close. “So kind of you to visit.”
“I sent my man to check on you, but they said you were out. You are working too long and hard.”
“There is much to be done,” she said. “Please, sit, and tell me the purpose of your visit.”
“This hard work you speak of, that has you looking so worn and thin, that is my purpose,” Diego started in silky tones. He was stepping closer to Francesca when his gaze snapped up. In his corner, Sebastian had lit a match to light a new smoke, and Diego noticed him for the first time. He’d had a chance to see Sebastian before, but must have written him off as a vaquero laboring in the acequia.
“Who is this?” Diego’s tone turned colder.
“My name is Chivington,” Sebastian said. “I’m a friend.”
“Is this true, Francesca?” Diego asked.
“Yes. Forgive me, I am tired, and I did not introduce him before. He and his men escorted me on a recent journey. I am quite grateful, for we were attacked on the road.”
Diego pressed his lips together, then went on as if Sebastian wasn’t in the room. “This is what I’m talking about. In the past few days, you’ve been attacked, your lands have been maligned. There is too much for it to be bad luck.”
“I agree,” Francesca said softly.
“All this running about-it’s not safe. There are dangerous men about. And though I am grateful for anyone who helps you, you should not have single male guests in your home. You are a grieving widow, Francesca, and there is propriety. If I was your husband, I could protect you from these accusations, or wastrel hang abouts.” Diego waved a hand in Sebastian’s direction.
“Chivington,” Sebastian repeated, moving away from the mantel to sit near Francesca.
“What?” Diego snapped.
“The name’s Chivington. And I’m not quite a wastrel anymore. Señora De La Vega is turning me into an honest man. Through honest work.”
“It’s true. I don’t know about the honest part, but his name is Lord James Sebastian Chivington, the third,” Francesca said and her lips twitched into a smile.
Diego looked from one to the other, as if trying to catch the joke. Finally, he nodded stiffly.
“Francesca, may I speak to you in private?”
“Diego, you said it yourself. I am a grieving widow, I shouldn’t be alone with single men, for propriety. Even you, though you are like family.”
He brightened. “But we are family, Francesca. What I have to say doesn’t concern any other.”
After a tense pause, Chivington stood. “I’ll excuse myself.”
He strode to the opposite end of the room to the hallway leading to the bedroom, where the door was already cracked a little. As he suspected, Ana was listening behind it. Neither of them were willing to leave Francesca alone.
*
“Mi amor,” Diego said, and Francesca jerked back. He’d walked around the grand table to stand beside her. He took her hand, holding it too firmly for her to pull away. “The time for playing games is over. If you think you will make me jealous with that English fool, then you can stop now. I already desire you.”
“Diego…”
“Hush. I know it is too soon after my brother’s death. You cannot begin to think of your feelings for me. You’ve spent many years suppressing them. But you don’t have to think about it anymore. Come. Let us be wed. I will take care of you, and the farm.”
“Diego.” She stood, pushing away.
His dark face, so handsome to her as a girl, had no attraction for her now. Instead, she wished it was fair and freckled, with blue eyes that sparkled in perpetual amusement.
“I know there have been feelings between us in the past. But that was in the past. I cannot do this now. Cyro is gone, my father is dead, and I must make my own way. I will keep their legacy alive, but I must make my own. I cannot marry you.”
“There is the fact that my father chose Cyro for me. I know you offered for me and my father refused.”
Diego’s face darkened.
“When I was younger, I didn’t understand, but now I do. We are not suited for each other.”
“How can you say that? You love me.” For all his suave good looks, he sounded like a petulant child.
“If I did, it was the love of a naive girl. I need someone to balance me. We are too much alike, ruled by our passion.”
Diego pushed up, angry, pacing. Francesca felt drained and a little sad, but also like a great weight had been lifted off of her.
“I do love you as a brother. You have always been in my life. I wish us to continue like that. I will need your help—”
“You dare…you ask me for help after you reject me. I am trying to offer you everything.”
“I know you would soon tire of me. We would make each other unhappy. Please trust me on this.”
“Francesca, how can you say this? It is that Englishman, turning your head.” Diego cursed in Spanish. “He has confused you.”
“Do not question my intelligence,” Francesca flashed. “I know my own mind.” And she did, she realized. Sebastian might be a confusing case in his own right, but Diego was a separate matter. She did not love her brother-in-law, and even if she had feelings for him once, they weren’t the sort to base a relationship on.
“You will regret this. I have wanted you since…” he broke off. His face flushed, turned ugly with anger. She had never seen him like this.
He gripped her. “If you would just give us a chance, Francesca, it would be right. I know it would be.” His fingers bit into her arm.
“Diego, you are hurting me—”
“Francesca—”
“Hey,” Sebastian’s long shadow fell between them, “I believe the lady made herself clear. Let her go.”
“Sebastian—” Francesca shook her head, but Diego was already rising to confront him.
“You stand in my brother’s house, and tell me what to do?”
As tall and striking as Diego was, Sebastian was taller. And calm. “You need to go.”
