by Jane Henry
“Yeah, honey. What about you? Got any brothers or sisters?”
“No. I was an only child.” I look away, not liking this conversation but knowing it will feel better just to say it, have it out in the open. “Mom was a working mom, worked her ass off. My father was an alcoholic. Left my mom the day I graduated high school. Said she didn’t need him anymore, had done his duty, and he left. Just like that.”
He whistles. “What we have in common, huh?”
I laugh. It surprises me how easy it is to laugh with him about something that’s always made me so sad. “Yeah, bonded over broken families, huh?”
“Shit thing to be bonded over, but yeah,” he says easily. “What time’s your client meeting?”
“Noon.”
“Got you for another hour, then.”
My belly dips at the possessive sound in his voice, and I suddenly wish we were no longer sitting in a coffee shop with no privacy. “Yeah,” I whisper. “So these books…” My gaze wanders back to the elaborate display near the coffee counter. “Dare I look?”
He snorts. “Yeah, babe. Let’s take a look.” His eyes twinkle, and the way his lips purse, I can tell these are not the kind of books he’d read. “Not sure why you girls go for these books so much, but it is what it is.” He takes my hand and leads me to the display, where I immediately recognize the black covers with handcuffs. A quick perusal of the covers and synopses confirmed my suspicions.
“Ah. I wondered as much. What, you don’t like lifestyle books? BDSM not your thing?” I tease.
He growls, his eyes narrowing but twinkling.
“What?” I push, keeping my voice intentionally loud. “I don’t know. These books are kinda fun. Lets a girl fantasize a bit.” I pick one up and flip the pages. “I mean, you don’t just run into a hot, badass dom on the street. You know? I mean, they’re fast becoming an endangered species. Most supposed doms you meet on the internet are holed up in their mama’s basement shooting off orders to their ‘subs’ and wouldn’t know how to balance a bank account, never mind shoulder the responsibility of authority and leadership.” I jump as a hoot of laughter from the counter gets my attention. Marla’s grinning at me.
“You’re so right, girlfriend,” she says. “I mean, where do you even find a club around here? All those posers.”
“Right? That’s what I’m saying,” I say, not meeting Tobias’ eyes. God, it’s fun goading the Big Bad Dom. “Damn near ready to spank my own ass,” I mutter, loud enough for Marla to hear, drawing another hoot of laughter.
“Playin’ with fire, honey,” the low drawl comes in my ear, making me shiver deliciously.
“Am I?” I whisper back, swallowing hard and placing the book on the shelf.
“You stoke that fire well enough, you’ll get your ass burned.”
“Is that right?”
“Diana…”
“Tobias,” I mock.
“Honey, do you have any idea how close we are to Verge? The empty Verge, where not so much as a bartender has yet entered?”
I turn to him then, the dampness between my thighs unmistakable. “Yeah?” I whisper. “Lucky for me, I know the guy in charge.” I wiggle my eyebrows at him.
He swallows so hard I can hear the sound as his Adam’s apple bobs, before he leans in. “How much time before you meet your client again?”
“Fifty minutes left, handsome.”
“Let’s go.”
Chapter 14
It’s maybe not a good sign that her teasing makes my dick hard as a rock. Jesus, what I wouldn’t give to push her right up against the display and spank her ass in front of God and everybody. The very idea makes my hand tingle. I can almost taste the surge of adrenaline I get when I punish her ass, can almost see the red marks from my hand, feel her writhing beneath me.
She’s addictive.
And fuck if she doesn’t need this as much as I do.
Marla grins as we leave. I guide her to my right, my left side facing the street, before I grab her hand and lead her toward Verge.
“Pushin’ your luck in there, woman.”
“No, sir,” she contradicts. “Pushing my dom.”
Her dom.
“I don’t like game playing,” I bluff, feeling as if I need to keep a firm footing on some kind of control. She’s beginning to make me unravel. “There are better ways of getting your ass spanked, you know,” I say.
“Sure,” she says, “like saying, ‘Spank my ass,’ in the middle of a bookstore. Yes, I’d be game for that. Or, say, pulling my skirt up and laying over your lap. Perhaps texting you a ‘spank me’ meme?”
A gray-haired woman with wide, round spectacles stares as she walks past us, her mouth dropping open. Just to give her something to talk about, I take Diana by the elbow and give her a teasing smack, which makes several passers-by snicker and the lady furrow her brow, literally picking up her skirts and scurrying past us with a disapproving glare. Diana sticks her tongue out at the retreating woman. She’s adorable, but I make a clucking sound. “Alright, behave yourself, now,” I order.
I can tell just by looking at her that she needs to know she can push me and that when she does, I won’t crumple. I know the look by now. Submissive women who crave dominance need this from time to time, and Diana’s no exception. I’ve likened it to a blind man finding his way in an unfamiliar room; once he knows where the walls are, his boundaries, he can move more freely.
Though she doesn’t say a word, I give her a sober look as I unlock the door to Verge. “You know, I’ve been doing this a while now. I know that look in your eyes.”
“Look? What look?” she responds, barely keeping the bite out of her tone.
“That spank me, please,” look. I pull her into the empty hallway and shut the door behind her. “The look that says, dominate me.”
“I didn’t—I didn’t mean—don’t you—”
“Diana,” I say evenly, holding her by the elbow and marching her down the hall, past my office, past the vacant lobby, and into the bar area. “You’re an honest woman. Don’t compound things by letting that slide just because you’re embarrassed. You can get a lot of things just by asking. But sometimes? You don’t know what it is you want, or need, especially when you’re new to this. Lucky for you, or unlucky for you, however you wanna see it, I’m not new.” We reach the dungeon that looks cavernous with no one else here. I release her elbow and point to the padded spanking bench in the center of the room.
“Lie over the table. Lose the leggings. And if at any point you want to stop, you say pink flamingo.”
“What?” She suddenly has the classic deer-in-the-headlights look. But we don’t have time to argue.
“That’s your safeword,” I say, my eyes meeting hers as I reach for the buckle of my belt. Her eyes go wide as I unfasten the belt and tug the leather through the loops, anticipation weaving its way through me, the sweet taste of domination at hand. “What are you doing?” she whispers, now beginning to really look afraid. “Tobias…”
Doubling the belt over and pointing to the table, I repeat the safeword. “Pink flamingo.”
Chapter 15
“I—I don’t know if I can do this,” I whisper, eyeing the thick leather doubled in his hand, the buckle tucked into his fist, with both curiosity and fear. “That’s going to—hurt.”
“Like hell,” he agrees, which does nothing to calm my nerves. “Gonna sit tenderly on that chair in the restaurant.”
I begin to tremble, frozen in place, and his gaze softens. I need this, but I don’t know if I have the guts to take it. I want to, and I don’t. He approaches me, taking my chin in his hand. “Do you trust me?” he asks. Looking into the depths of his eyes, so dark yet kind, full of warmth and a safely guarded tenderness, I know the answer.
Yes. Yes, I trust him.
“I do,” I whisper.
His voice hardens. “Then go and lie on that table before I have to do it for you.” Though he doesn’t say it, the implied meaning is clear: Obey, or this becomes f
ar more real.
I drag my feet as I walk to the table, my brain playing a loop of self-criticism I don’t dare utter.
You’re crazy.
You don’t even know him.
The man’s holding a fucking belt.
What kind of a crazy person wants to be spanked?
You said you trust him. Then do what he says.
When I reach the table, I step out of my boots, then slide out of my leggings, folding them neatly and placing them down on the small table next to the bench so they don’t wrinkle. Standing before him clad in panties makes me tremble, and I can’t even look him in the eyes as I turn to face the bench.
“You can keep your panties on. I’ll handle that part.”
Very funny. I’m wearing a thong. Super generous of him. And yet my sex throbs.
I hold my breath, steeling myself for what I know will be the first brutal lash of leather.
Pink flamingo.
Pink flamingo.
Pink flamingo.
I won’t let myself get to the point where I’ll forget to safeword or do something stupid, like let my pride make me wimp out. No. I’ll take what I can, because that’s why I’m here, but the second it gets to be too much, I’ll safeword.
Gripping the padded table, I close my eyes, feeling the heat of him as he comes up behind me.
“Remember.” His breath brushes my ear, his voice black silk. “Safeword if you need to. But try to take what you can. Sometimes we don’t know how much we can take until we test our boundaries. Then we find out we’re even stronger than we think.” The breath whooshes out of me when he tugs my panties down slowly over the curve of my backside, down my thighs, until I feel the strip of fabric at my ankles before he gently tugs them over one foot, then the other. Bared to him and vulnerable, my breath catches in my throat. Then his comforting presence is gone, and he stands behind me, one hand on the small of my back. He rears back. I tense. Then snap! The first bite of leather cracks across my ass.
Pain lights my skin on fire, breath hissing out of me and I go up on the tips of my toes. The sting fades quickly to warmth, then another stinging whap lands, followed by a third. The pain sears my skin, but it’s somehow bearable, and though it hurts I feel myself craving more, harder. I arch my back and tighten my grip.
He whips me with the belt again, and I settle into the steady rhythm of him rearing back, then snapping the belt, on and on. He pauses. I look over my shoulder. Is he done? But no, he lets go of the double loop and wraps the belt around his hand, a tail hanging. “You’re doing good, babygirl,” he comforts before he pulls back and lets another lash fly. The leather now wraps around my thighs. I whimper, but I need this, so I hold my breath and brace for the sexy-scary hiss of the belt slicing through the air before it snaps on my naked skin once more.
I lose track of time, closing my eyes, my mind is a jumble of incoherent thoughts. I can’t think. All I can do is feel the pleasure and pain, my senses on high alert, the whoosh and snap and his heavy breathing. From behind me, I feel his hand on my lower back. “I could do this all day long,” he whispers. “Take you to the moon and back. But I can’t. You need to go, and for now I can only give you a taste of where this can bring us.”
I turn to face him, both exhilarated and saddened it’s over, watching in a sort of haze as he threads his belt back through the loops in his jeans and buckles it. I’ll never look at that leather strung about his waist the same way again.
“You didn’t safeword,” he says, in a somewhat surprised tone. “I expected you might.”
I shake my head, my words a whisper, the process of speaking after that difficult. “It wasn’t as painful as I expected. And I... needed that. It was painful but perfect.” Something in me shakes a little. It scares me that I really don’t know what it is I need, or why.
He gives me a wry grin. “You weren’t being punished, and you hadn’t been warmed up. Either of those conditions were in place, I could’ve made it harder. I used the tail end as a strap. just let it land, and didn’t put a lot of force behind it. Makes it easier to take. Still, you were brave.”
My sex throbs knowing he could’ve spanked me harder and though my ass might not like a harder whipping, the idea is oddly titillating. And still, something is missing. I need something more. A harder spanking? Longer? Sex? I have no idea. Hell, it’s all I can do to remain standing upright.
When he finishes buckling his belt, he gives me a tender look that warms me through, and crooks a finger. “C’mere, honey.” He opens his arms.
Yes, yes, please. This is it. The missing piece. What I need.
I walk over to him on shaky legs, staring at the broad expanse of his chest, his stern but gentle eyes. I propel myself forward as if on autopilot. Dipping my head to his chest when I reach him, I rest. His large, warm arms encircle me.
This. This was what I need.
“Gotta make this short,” he whispers into my ear. “You need a little aftercare, though. You took that well but a little reassurance might help. A strapping can be pretty intense.” As he holds me against his chest, one hand reaches out and squeezes my ass, making me squeal.
“Still hurt?”
“Um, yeah.”
“Then I did a good job,” he says with a chuckle. “You know, some girls don’t like aftercare. Some don’t need it. Others… it’s what they’re here for.”
Where do I fall? I don’t like the idea of not having this comfort after a spanking. My emotions have been played, my body under the control of someone else, and soon, I need to walk out of here and be all professional.
Hell yeah, I need this,
“This is like… the special sauce on a burger,” I murmur. His body shakes with laughter as I continue. “Chocolate sauce on the sundae. Half-time show at the Super Bowl.”
“Go on.”
I grin against his chest, eyes shut tight, enveloped in his warmth and scent. “Heated seats in the car. You know. Fine, I’ll go all cliché. Icing on the cake.”
“No, baby. To some, this is the cake.”
Huh. Imagine that. “You mean to tell me that some subs go through that pain just to get to the aftercare? Can’t you just… skip the whip and jump on his lap?”
“Skip the whip.” His belly quivers as he holds me. “Forget pink flamingo. I’m changing our safeword. Skip the whip.”
“That’s not a safeword. That’s a safe phrase. Are safe phrases acceptable in the Big Bad Book of BDSM rules?”
“I don’t know, I’ll have to check.”
“Didn’t you write it?”
He groans, then his voice gentles. “Okay, babe. Time for you to go. You okay enough for me to let you go now?” And hell, if it isn’t the sweetest thing, hearing him ask me like that.
I take a deep breath, then exhale it slowly. “Okay. Time for me to go.”
Leaving the warmth of his arms is almost physically painful, but I take his proffered hand and let him help me dress again. Fully clothed, I walk with him out of the room.
In the hallway, I get a whiff of the smoke shop next door. Someone’s lighting up in the employee parking lot, and my stomach churns. Everything seems so much brighter, stronger, more intense. But as we walk down the hall, the scent gives way to the clean, welcoming scent of the lobby, and then finally his office.
“I’ll drive you to your client, and you’ll get yourself home safe? You have a plan in place?”
“Perfect. And yes, of course.”
“Chad gets home at three?”
“On the nose.”
“Excellent. Then you text me when you get home, okay? I’ll come over around dinnertime, we can grab food, then head to the film festival?”
“Why don’t you let me cook for you? There’s plenty of time later.”
He smiles. “I’d like that.” He spins me around so I face him, weaves my hair around his fingers, and tugs my head back, brushing his lips against mine, my heart smacking against my rib cage with the sudden heat that floods my body, th
e unapologetic kiss on the streets of NYC makes a bold claim: Mine.
I wince at the sting of my ass hitting his seat.
Mine.
“Oh my God. I met Tobias’s friend,” Beatrice hisses into the phone.
I grin. “Yeah?”
“He comes to get his haircut and I’m wearing yoga pants and a hoodie!”
“But you look sexy as fuck in yoga pants and a hoodie.”
“Whatever! He came in and unbuckled his belt and slid the, like, gun thing off, and I think I had a mini orgasm. Duuuuude. I want that cop to spank me!”
“Well, perhaps that can be arranged. Lord knows I’m dying for someone to spank your sassy ass. You know spankings hurt, right?”
“Stop! I’m gonna have another mini orgasm.”
“God, you’re hopeless. Oh hey, gotta go, Chad’s due in five minutes.”
“Sure. Just, babe? Let me know if you want to go to the club with a friend, m’kay?”
“M’kay, whatever that means. Later.” I hang up the phone and go outside to wait for the bus.
I can tell from the moment Chad steps off the small yellow bus how the afternoon is gonna go. If Chad looks me in the eyes or allows me to hug him (he doesn’t return the hug but it’s a win if he lets me), it’s a good day. If he doesn’t meet my eyes or pushes my hands away, I steel myself for the night ahead.
When he storms off the bus and pushes my arms off him, my stomach lurches angrily. I close my eyes with the sudden tears that will surface.
Shit.
“Hey, honey,” I begin.
Without responding, he slams his bag on the couch and heads to his room. Though I have a rule about where his bag goes when he gets home, and I’ve worked my ass off establishing a routine that would help him remember, I know this isn’t a battle I want to face when he’s in one of his moods.
Biting my lip, I pause in the hallway before I go to his room. Anything might have set him off.
I listen to the sounds on the other side of Chad’s door as I stand in the hall. A click and then the hum of a video game console whirring tells me he’s fired up his game. I sigh. There’s a rule about that, too. I know he takes solace in the gaming system in his room, but he’s supposed to have a snack with me first, show me the homework he might have, and then he can game before dinner.
