Safe in His Arms

by Renee Rose

  “Nope.”

  “Do you think she was there because of this family member I have?” Becca asked, reverting to their previous discussion.

  He frowned and nodded. “Yeah, but I don’t know how yet. That’s what I have to find out.”

  Parker finished wolfing down his food and now sat looking sleepy. “May I please be excused from the table?”

  “Eat two more carrots,” Becca said, shoving the bag of baby carrots at him.

  “What time is your bedtime?”

  “Eight o’clock.”

  Zac made a show of looking at his watch. “It’s just about bedtime—did you bring a book to read?”

  “Yep. I brought Ricky Ricotta’s Mighty Robot.”

  “Ooh, that sounds good. Do you read that or does your mom read it to you?”

  He shrugged. “I can read it, but she reads faster.”

  “May I read it to you tonight?”

  “Sure,” he said, sliding off his chair and trotting to his backpack. “Which room is mine?”

  Zac’s eyes slid to Becca. He knew which bed he’d like her in, but that was probably not going to happen. “Let your mom decide.”

  There were two bedrooms—a master bedroom with a king bed and a master bath, and a second bedroom with two beds.

  “We’re sleeping in there,” Becca said immediately, pointing to the second bedroom.

  * * *

  “How was that?”

  She made a soft humming noise.

  “You could have taken more, couldn’t you?”

  She lay on her belly, her ass throbbing from the spanking he’d just administered, her pussy throbbing from the pounding it had taken afterward, her limbs limp with satiated passion. She blushed and nodded. “Do you think…maybe you could use your belt next time?”

  His eyebrows shot up, grin widening. “Now?”

  She ducked her head, hiding her face in the bedspread and chickening out. “No, I mean, maybe later.”

  He stood up, fully comfortable in his nudity, his chest and arms bronzed a golden tan from the sun. He was all lean muscle and moved with the agility of an athlete. He pulled his belt out of the loops of his discarded pants and wound the buckle end around his fist. A thrill of cold fear shot through her, but she remained as she lay, her bottom exposed to him. This is was their last night together—when else would she have the chance to play with a willing participant?

  Chapter Two

  Hearing Zac talk to Parker the way a father talks to a son was like a knife through her heart. She hated him for it—hated him for doing it so well; hated him for not doing it for the first six years of Parker’s life; hated him for making her long to have a man like him in their lives.

  Her thoughts were so tangled, she couldn’t possibly begin to make sense of them. The looming question ought to be whether they were they safe with the man who had just murdered someone in their apartment, but instead her mind swirled around her bitterness at his abandonment, and a gnawing ache to feel his arms around her again.

  He watched her now, with a steady, absorbing regard that sent a tingle right down to her toes. It was that sort of attention that had made her two nights with him incomparable to any other coupling. He had read her so well, delivered her every desire, sensed her limits. And if she had ruined one-night stands for him, he certainly had ruined all other men for her.

  “I’m ready!” Parker called out, standing in the doorway in his Spiderman PJs.

  “Did you brush your teeth?” she asked.

  “Yep.”

  Zac stood up. “Okay, let’s see this robot book of yours.” He followed Parker into the room and they curled up on one of the beds together.

  “How about if I read one page and then you read one page?” she heard Zac ask.

  “Okay!” Again, the innocent eagerness. No judgment or anger from Parker. No where have you been? or where do you get off waltzing into my life and playing daddy? But then, Parker had recognized Zac—had called him a spy guy. With a fresh rush of sick, she wondered if he’d made contact with Parker without her knowing. She stood up and cleared the table of the remains of their dinner. She’d only been able to eat a few carrots, herself. Keeping one ear on Zac and Parker, her thoughts rounded again on her immediate dilemma. Whether Zac was for real or not, she needed to get to her phone and notify someone of her whereabouts—her sister, maybe—so she could call the authorities if she and Parker never resurfaced. Of course, if Becca didn’t call into work in the morning and Parker never showed up at school, it might trigger some sort of investigation anyway, which could be an excuse to get her sim card and battery back from Zac.

  She finished her obsessive scrubbing of already clean counters in the kitchen and, hearing nothing but quiet from the bedroom, went to look. They were snuggled together on the bed—Parker asleep in the nook of Zac’s arm. In the second before Zac had looked up, she thought she’d seen him gazing at Parker with something akin to longing. Seeing her, he carefully extricated himself from the sleep-heavy limbs of their son and stood, his lean, muscular body unfolding with a panther-like grace.

  She waited until he’d shut the door before she demanded, “Have you made contact with Parker before?”

  He shook his head.

  “How did he know you?”

  Zac rubbed a hand over his close-cropped sandy hair and flopped into an overstuffed chair. She perched on the edge of the loveseat facing him. “I don’t know. I have a sixth sense—an ability to know things without being told. I’m guessing he inherited it.”

  She’d considered this before. Parker had an uncanny habit of knowing her thoughts, or saying truly bizarre things about people.

  “I think maybe we have a connection. There have been times when I’m in extreme discomfort, I have out-of-body experiences. A few times I’ve ended up with Parker.”

  She took a breath. “What you mean, ended up with him?”

  He shrugged. “I mean, suddenly, I’m in his room, or at his school. I can see him, but he doesn’t see me. It’s like I’m dead already—a ghost.”

  Every hair follicle on Becca’s body lifted. She rubbed her arms, trying to remember the things Parker had claimed about his father.

  My dad bought this car for us, but my mom thinks she won it in a drawing.

  “Did you buy my car?”

  His eyebrows flickered. “Did Parker know that?”

  “Did you?” she demanded, angry at the rearranging of her reality.

  He nodded.

  “What else?”

  He shrugged.

  “What else?” her voice cracked. “How else have you interfered in my life?”

  He looked wary.

  “Tell me! Have you been in my apartment before?”

  He looked at her, then nodded once. She remembered another one of Parker’s claims. “Do you own the building?”

  He tilted his head to one side. “I arranged for its purchase.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “I don’t exist, remember? So I don’t own anything, either.”

  She stood up and began to pace. “But you’re the reason we live in a three-bedroom, but pay the rent of a studio?”

  He shrugged, rising from the armchair and approaching her. “I couldn’t support you directly, other than arranging for the pension. But now that you know about me, it will be easier. I’ll find ways to funnel you money. I’ll take care of you.”

  “How?” she demanded, turning her shoulder on him to reject his advances. “By spying on us and murdering our nannies?”

  He wrapped his arms around her from behind. She felt his breath hot on her ear. “I’m sorry, Becca,” he murmured. She made an attempt to free herself from his embrace, but he pressed his chest against her back, containing her with gentle strength. “You deserved a real father for your baby. You deserve a real man in your life.” He swayed, rocking her in standing. “I can’t give you that. A ghost can’t give much. But I will protect you. I’ll make sure you’re safe to live your
lives without me.”

  Tears spilled onto her cheeks. He had just answered her most underlying question—the one she hadn’t even dared to allow to surface. Assuming he wasn’t a psycho stalker, and she was able to get beyond her anger and resentment for his abandonment, surveillance, and meddling, assuming they got out of whatever danger they were in—there was still no hope Zac would stay in their lives. She elbowed him off her. “I need some time alone, okay?” she choked.

  He released her slowly, as if reluctant to let her go. “Yeah, okay. I’m going to take a quick shower. Don’t unlock the door, don’t go near the windows. If you see or hear anything, call to me.”

  She nodded. “Okay.”

  He picked up his bag and headed to the master bedroom.

  Wiping her tears, she did another round in the kitchen before she remembered her objective to get her phone operational. She grabbed the useless phone out of her purse and peeked into the bedroom. The door to the master bath was standing ajar, presumably so he could hear her if she called out. Slipping into the steaming bathroom and crouching on the floor, she searched his shed clothing for the confiscated battery and sim card. She paused at the Kevlar vest, noticing there were two bullets mashed in, just over his heart. Hers gave a lurch at the thought that he would have died that afternoon without the vest. Underneath it lay his black pants, and she found the phone parts in the back pocket where he’d placed them. Palming them, she crept back out and stood in the bedroom to pop the back off her phone.

  The large hand that closed over her fist made her shriek. An arm wrapped around her waist and yanked her backward, against a wet body. “Zac!” she gasped, her lungs closing.

  “What did I tell you would happen if you disobeyed me?” he growled.

  * * *

  It was a dangerous line to tread, considering he was on thin ice with her, but Zac had seen the way Becca’s pupils dilated and her nipples pointed when he’d threatened to spank her earlier. He knew from monitoring her computer she still spent her free time downloading spanking romances to her Kindle, cruising domestic discipline blogs, and watching punishment videos. Spanking was her kink and the idea of fulfilling her fantasies turned him on.

  But she was scared—possibly too scared. He’d triggered another asthma attack by surprising her and she was trembling in his hold. The shower was still running—he’d wrapped a towel around his waist when he got out, but left the water on to mask the sound of his approach. He tugged her with him as he walked backward into the bathroom and shut the door behind them.

  She tried to twist in his grasp, nervous about his intent. “Shh,” he said in her ear, leaning against the door and pulling her to lean against him. “You’re just going to breathe in the steam until your lungs have opened.”

  He felt a slight relaxation in her muscles as she gave him more weight, leaning back against his chest and spreading her ribs in the front. He pried her fingers open to retrieve the phone battery and sim card, which he tossed back on top of his clothing.

  Her breath was starting to calm. He rubbed her arms and held her against his body so she felt his strength. When her breath slowed to a normal pace, he pulled her in the direction of the toilet, where he put one foot up on it and folded her across his knee, tossing her skirt up.

  “No!” she cried. “Stop it!”

  He peeled her panties down.

  “You can’t—”

  His hand connected with her ass, making a resounding slap.

  “Stop! Parker will hear!”

  He brought his hand down again in the same spot. “Not with the shower on,” he said. “You deliberately disobeyed and now you’re going to be punished.” He brought his hand down with his full strength and she jerked and pinched her butt cheeks together.

  “No!”

  She wriggled so he had to hold her torso firmly as he started spanking her bare bottom fast and hard. Her skin turned from creamy white to blush to sunburn red. He had read the books she downloaded, followed the blogs she liked. He knew part of the turn-on was being forced to submit. But knowing what turns someone on doesn’t mean they want it from you. Becca continued to struggle, seeming to become angrier. It had been a fine line and it was possible he’d crossed it. He debated whether to stop or go on.

  “French fry!” she yelled.

  He stilled.

  Her safe word.

  Disappointed she’d rejected him, angry with himself for messing up, he pulled up her panties and flipped down her skirt, releasing her. He turned off the shower, opened the door to the bedroom and stepped out, dropping the towel to pull on clean clothes from the bag Marcus had brought. He listened to the sound of her ragged breath, keeping his ear trained to be sure she didn’t pick up the cell phone parts again.

  She stood in the doorway, watching him dress, but he couldn’t bring himself to look at her.

  “I’m sorry,” she said softly.

  He didn’t answer.

  “I just—I don’t know.” She wrapped her arms around herself, huddled up. “I’m sorry, Zac. I’m still really pissed at you. And I just got scared for a minute. Or overwhelmed or something.”

  He didn’t answer. He wasn’t sure what to say. She didn’t owe him an apology—he owed her one, but words were eluding him.

  “You can spank me now,” she said in a small voice.

  He pulled a shirt over his head, assimilating her 180 without a visible reaction. “Is that how it works?” he asked, meeting her eye coolly, remaining in the role of dominant. “Do you decide when and how you get spanked?”

  She blinked at him. “No, sir.”

  He gave no outward reaction to her use of the word “sir” but it ignited a stampede of triumph within him. He was forgiven.

  “No,” he concurred, showing nothing, sitting on the bed to pull on his socks.

  The sound of a sniffle made him realize with alarm she was crying. He stood and closed the distance between them, wrapping his arms around her. “Shh, Becca,” he whispered. “It’s all right.”

  “I’m sorry,” she choked.

  “Don’t apologize.” He stroked her hair. “You can trust me, Becca. I promise. I’m on your side.”

  She leaned her full weight against him and he relished the offering. “Are you still going to spank me?” she quavered.

  “Yes,” he answered firmly. “Are you ready?”

  She nodded into his chest.

  “Take off your clothes and stand in the corner.”

  She pulled away and looked up at him, her lips parted in surprise. He gave her a challenging look and watched her turn resolute. She pulled off her t-shirt and skirt and walked to the corner in her bra and underwear. There, facing the wall, she slowly removed them, too. Her breath was short and labored. He went to the bathroom to pick up the phone parts and stow them on the ledge above the door frame. He strapped on his Glock 27, never forgetting his real reason for being there.

  Removing the plastic rod from the drapes, he tossed it on the bed before retrieving her inhaler. Reaching around behind her, he pressed it to her mouth and delivered a dose. When her breath had slowed, he asked, “Are you scared of me, Becca?” He held her shoulders, his lips close to her ear.

  “I-I don’t know,” she answered. “No, I don’t think so. I’m scared—but not about—not about this.”

  He kissed her ear. “Good. Go and bend over the side of the bed.”

  She sucked in her breath and obeyed him, her chin lowered, her forearms covering her breasts as she walked. She bent over and presented her delicious posterior for punishment. Confident this time, he ran his hand over her still-pink flesh, feeling the baby-softness of her skin, the shape of her muscular curves.

  “I’m going to spank you long and hard, Becca,” he said. “And I’m going to spank you to tears, so don’t hold back on me. There’s no safe-wording out of it this time—the spanking will be over when I decide it’s over, and only when I decide. I will make sure you’ve learned your lesson.” Then he added a little neuro-lingu
istic programming, “Your lungs will stay open and you will be able to breathe normally.”

  She lifted her head, craning it around to try to see his face. He gave her butt a slap. “Yes, Becca. Your lungs can obey me, too. Just believe it, and it will be true.”

  He started to spank with his hand again, and this time she held still for him, making little cries and jumping, but not fighting him. She curled her fingers into the bedspread and hid her face. He spanked steadily for a long time, giving her a thorough warm-up to prevent bruising. He liked the way she twisted and dodged, kicked up her legs in a natural response to the pain, despite the fact it was something she simultaneously craved. He stopped and rubbed her bottom, murmuring, “Good girl, Becca. You’re doing well.”

  She whimpered in response and he picked up the rod that pulled the curtains. “Now I’m going to whip you.”

  The plastic rod made an effective implement—thin enough to impart a real sting, hard enough to create a deeper pain. He brought it down smartly across both cheeks. She gasped and whimpered. He tapped her bottom with it. “There was a known assassin in your apartment today,” he told her and brought the rod down again. She lurched forward, pressing her hips against the bed, as if she might escape the punishment. “We don’t know who she was working for or why she was there.” He brought the rod down twice in rapid succession. “If you make a call on your cell phone, anyone with a tracking device can trace your exact location.” He whipped the plastic rod across her buttocks again. Red weals stood out from each stroke he’d delivered. He hoped she would cry soon, because he didn’t want to spank her hard enough to break her skin. He gave her three in a row, quickly, and she let out a long squeal. “So if I tell you it’s not safe to make a phone call, should you use your phone?”

  “No, sir!” she gasped.

  He applied another three fast strokes.

  “Good girl,” he said.