Under His Roof

by Quinn, Sadey

  When the last spank has fallen, I pull her up from the bed and gather her into my arms, holding her tight. She lets herself go, relaxing completely into my embrace, and she starts to cry again.

  “Good girl,” I whisper, rubbing her back. I set her down on the bed and she winces a little. Retrieving her robe, I hand it to her. “Put this on, get your phone, and call your mother.”

  I’m so convinced that she’ll obey me and my confidence is reflected in my tone. She wraps herself in the robe, her bare butt still on the daybed and looks up at me with her big eyes.

  “Thank you,” she whispers.

  “You’re welcome, Rachel.” I run my hand through her still damp hair and smile down at her.

  While Rachel is chatting with her mother, which, from the sounds of it, is going just fine, I give her privacy and busy myself with planning the following weeks with my clients. I've had over a hundred clients, and twenty of them remain regulars. This amounts to a fairly full schedule, which is fine by me because I usually have an abundance of time. Now, though, with Rachel, I’m tempted to scale back so I can spend more time with her.

  But, I know my brain is moving faster than reality. I’m ready for her to move in, to be a part of my life. Permanently. But it’s too soon. I barely know her. It just feels so right.

  After nearly an hour of conversation, Rachel reappears, bright-faced and happy.

  “Nice talk?” I ask casually.

  “Yeah.” She blushes and looks momentarily awkward before she inhales sharply and rights her composure. “Thanks again.”

  “Come here.” I pat the couch beside me.

  She plops down next to me, gasping as her bottom connects with the surface. “Ouch!”

  “You did very well in the session. I’m really proud of you,” I say sincerely. I can tell the words make her uncomfortable but I still want to say them. “Thank you for having trust in me.”

  “You’re welcome.” She is playing with the hem of the robe. Fidgeting. “I have to go soon. Meeting at four at the office.”

  “On a Saturday?”

  “We’re closing in on a deal with a big client. So, yeah. On a Saturday.”

  “Hmm…” I place my hand on her knee and run it up her thigh, under the robe, and she sighs happily. “When will I see you again?”

  “I don’t know. Want to have dinner sometime this week?”

  “Sure. Sometime this week.” I kiss her earlobe and nibble on it lightly. “Do you date?”

  She looks startled. “Um… yeah. Sometimes.”

  “Can you please stop?”

  “Stop dating?”

  “Yeah.” I’m being awkward now. I give her a small, hopeful smile.

  “But date you?”

  “Uh. Yeah.”

  “Are you asking me to be exclusive, David Jacobs?” She’s smiling now and I’m relieved.

  “I suppose I am.”

  “Well… maybe…”

  I raise my eyebrows and try hard to give her a menacing look.

  “OK, OK,” she says, giggling. “Exclusivity it is.”

  “Good girl,” I murmur, and I go back to nibbling her ear and kissing her neck until she finally decides it is really, really, time to go. She’s dressed sooner than I’m happy with and at the door.

  I kiss her passionately, wishing she could stay. “How’s Tuesday evening?” I ask, breaking away from the kiss.

  “Tuesday works.”

  “I’ll explain more things then.”

  “Like what?”

  “You’ll see.” I peck her nose, then her forehead, and then I step back. Letting her go.

  “Until Tuesday, David.”

  “Until Tuesday, Rachel.” I watch her walk to her car. Get in. Drive away.

  ~9~

  Rachel

  I’m a nervous wreck, of course, before my date. I call Samantha who is back from the coast and ask her to come over for some emergency prep work on my body. I have, in the last twenty-four hours, acquired a major zit on my left cheek, just below my eye. I have never had a zit there before and I haven’t had a zit—period—since I was nineteen years old. The universe is playing a cruel trick and I am not happy.

  Samantha actually flinches when she sees it.

  “Just pop it,” she says, cautiously, and she steps around me to get into my apartment. Now, evidently, I have cooties, too.

  “I thought that’s what you’re not supposed to do,” I reply, touching the sore lump gingerly and following her inside. I’ve got on sweats and a tank-top and it’s five o’clock. David will be here to pick me up in exactly ninety minutes.

  “So who’s the guy?” Samantha asks, plopping herself down on my bed and sprawling out.

  “David.”

  “David…?”

  “Jacobs.”

  “I don’t care about his last name, Rach! Who is he? Job? Hobbies? What’s he look like?” Her face beams with excited energy. “I bet he’s hot!”

  “Um, he’s cute, yeah.” I say, kicking myself for not anticipating the third degree. All I want from Samantha at the moment is for her to be peppy, helpful, and very complimentary of my appearance.

  “Have a picture?”

  “Yeah, actually. Oh—” Shit. The photo he sent me is attached to a very incriminating e-mail which I do not want Samantha anywhere near. “I deleted it.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know. I want to take some better ones.”

  “His photo was with the ex-girlfriend, right?” she asks knowingly. “Did he crop her out?”

  “What?” I am truly confused.

  “So what’s he do?” she asks, changing the subject.

  “Life coach.” I start grabbing dresses from the closet and throwing them onto the bed.

  “That is hilarious. A life coach. No wonder you started acting civil again.” She sits up and starts stacking the dresses into two piles. “You must really like him. You’ve never asked me to help you before a date.”

  “I know.” I turn to face her, exasperated. “Will you please, please help me?”

  “Yeah, relax. I'll take care of you. Put your hands behind your back,” she says.

  She gets up, walks toward me, and in a split second I am crying out in pain as she seemingly rips my zit off my face.

  “There,” she says, stepping back and smiling. “All set. With a little make-up, you won’t even see it.”

  “That fucking hurt,” I say, and I can’t help but speak accusingly.

  “That’s the price we pay to look good, Rachel.”

  I glare at her but her back is toward me. She’s looking at my dresses and thinking.

  “Try this one,” she says, throwing me a burgundy dress I picked up at a thrift store over a year ago. I hadn’t worn it yet; hadn’t had a reason.

  I change with my butt facing the wall. Even though the marks are almost gone from my session on Saturday, I don’t want the subject to come up. Samantha is busying herself with shoe selection while I study myself in the mirror. The dress goes down to just above my knees and sits nicely on my frame. It’s sexy, but modest. Some cleavage, but not a lot. I like it.

  “This will work,” I announce.

  Samantha looks up, holding a pair of heels that she’d found in the back of my closet. “I know,” she says, as if I’m silly for even considering that her choice might not have been correct.

  I slip into the heels and Samantha helps me with my makeup and I realize that it’s actually calming to have her around.

  “I’ve missed you,” I say. She’s standing behind me and we’re looking at each other through the mirror. She throws her arms over my shoulders and hugs me.

  “I’ve missed you, too.”

  Can I tell her? Of my secret with David? That he isn’t a life-coach, but a disciplinarian? No, of course I can’t tell her. But it nags at me, this secret. I’m not used to keeping many secrets since my life is usually fairly boring.

  When she deems me made up enough and ready to go, we have a glass of
wine and chat in the kitchen. It’s like it was years ago. She’s got photos from the beach on her phone and she scrolls through them. They’re beautiful and I’m jealous I didn’t go. I know she is stalling, waiting for David to show up before she leaves, but that’s fine with me. It isn’t as though he’ll spank me in front of my best friend.

  The buzzer makes both of us jump, then giggle, and I half-run to answer it.

  “It’s me,” he says, his voice garbled by the terrible audio of the speaker.

  I buzz him in and leave the door open and pour three glasses of wine. “Want to stay for another?” I say casually, already knowing the answer.

  She nods excitedly and we sit down. I’m curious to see how he will act around a friend of mine.

  He lets himself in and is as charming as can be. Introducing himself to Samantha, he says, “I’m David, Rachel’s friend,” because we haven't said the boyfriend/girlfriend words yet.

  To which Samantha says, “Oh? I thought you were her boyfriend?”

  And I’m completely embarrassed but David responds without missing a beat, “Well, that’s what I’m hoping for. You’re Samantha, right? She’s told me so much about you.”

  So we chat for just ten minutes—I’d poured small glasses of wine because I’m eager to get on with my date. When Samantha hugs me goodbye she whispers, “He is so perfect!”

  David drives and we head to Maddy’s Place. I tell him I wanted to try some other restaurant and he says, “I like what’s comfortable.”

  It’s more crowded than normal but we still manage to find a fairly private booth. He leaves me alone and goes to say hi to his brother before joining me with a bottle of wine.

  “Tuesday is crab night,” he announces. “Want crabs?”

  I burst out laughing and nod my head.

  “Crab legs, Rachel. I’ll order us a bucket.”

  He’s back in a flash and looks so comfortable in his family’s restaurant that I’m glad we came here. We chat about Samantha for awhile and I ask him about his friends.

  “I have a few good friends near the coast,” he says. “My friends here are mostly my family. My sister is my best friend. I want to have you both over for dinner sometime so you can get to know her.”

  “I think it’s sweet, how close you are to them,” I say. My mind flashes back to the spanking I took for ignoring my mother and I instinctively clench my bottom and shudder.

  He’s smiling at me and I feel like he knows what I’m thinking. He has such a way of speaking to me with his eyes. Stern and firm, calm and caring…

  “Why do you have friends near the coast?”

  “College. I went for a couple of semesters. I wanted to brush up on human psychology and small business practices.”

  “For your own business,” I say, stating the obvious.

  “Yep. Anyway, I met a few guys who I still stay in touch with. One of them has a beach house that I borrow for a few weeks every year. If you’re good, I’ll take you this year.”

  I shoot him a mock glare and he laughs.

  “One of the guys,” he says, sitting forward and lowing his voice, “is involved in a relationship very similar to the one I see us having.”

  My heart skips a beat and I look around nervously, like someone might be overhearing.

  “It would be good for you to meet his wife,” he continues. “You can have someone to talk with. Relate to.”

  “Listen, David, I don’t know…”

  “Shh. Crab is here.”

  We are given an enormous bucket of snow crab legs along with a basket of steamed potatoes and sweet corn. David pours us wine and licks his lips. “I love crab night,” he says, digging in.

  Eating with him is fun and I find his enthusiasm endearing. I imagine eating seafood with him on the beach, listening to the ocean, and chatting over candlelight. I think that could be romantic. I’ve never gone on vacation with a guy before, but I’ve heard it is the ultimate way to determine if a couple is right for one another. Samantha broke up with her college boyfriend after they went camping in the Rockies. She said that hearing him whine incessantly about a three mile hike was too much to take. “I never knew he was such a wuss until we hit the trails. Now I can’t imagine trying to get anything done with him,” she’d said.

  David and I don’t speak much but we enjoy each other’s company. When we’ve nearly polished off all of the food, I lean back and pat my stomach, feeling quite fantastically sated.

  “Good stuff, right?” he says.

  “Amazing.”

  The waitress comes and clears our plates. I toy with my wine glass, feeling oddly shy. I want to ask David so many things but I feel like I can’t. The whole spanking thing just seems so wrong. But I know it feels right and I’m so fucking conflicted I can barely handle myself.

  “It seems so wrong,” I finally blurt out.

  “You just need to go with it,” he says. “Stop thinking so much and go with what feels right.”

  “How do you know it’s right, though?”

  He shrugs. “Like I said, it just feels right. Feels… perfect.”

  “Perfect?”

  “Yeah. Rachel, I don’t want to do this.”

  “What?” My stomach tightens. Was my uncertainty toward his relationship needs making him impatient with me? I steel myself for the worst and prepare for him to break things off.

  “No, not like that,” he says, looking pained. “I don’t want to do this… this way. I don’t want to drive all the way to the city when I want to see you. I don’t want to date you. Dating is so… complicated.”

  “You don’t want to date me?” I’m feeling hurt and I know he’s struggling with his words but I wish he would get to his point. If he doesn’t want to date me then why the hell am I sitting across from him?

  “No, I want to date you. I just don’t want to go on dates with you.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?” My indignation is rising and with it, my voice, and I bite my lip, reminding myself that we’re in public.

  David sighs. “I feel like I’m falling in love with you.”

  Whoa. I haven’t been willing to admit it to myself but I know my feelings are reciprocal. I barely know David. But ever since that first session, he’s always been in the back of my mind. Waiting for me.

  But if he’s falling in love with me, why doesn’t he want to date me?

  “Do you think you might feel the same way about me?” he asks quietly and I realize he’s staring at me anxiously.

  “Yeah. I do.”

  The relief in his eyes is obvious. “Good.”

  “You are falling in love with me but you don’t want to date me?”

  “No. I want you living under my roof.”

  My jaw drops and I stare at him for a moment before using my hand to manually close my mouth because the muscles in my face seem to have stopped working.

  “I know it’s soon…” he begins, but trails off.

  “It’s too soon.”

  “Maybe. It’s just… I have a whole house. And you could keep your apartment for a few months, just in case you don’t end up liking the arrangement. I know it’s more of a commute…”

  “Actually, it’s about the same,” I say absentmindedly as my mind races, imagining waking up with David every day. Eating breakfast with him. Walking outside in the country air.

  “Really?”

  “What?” I look at him blankly.

  “The commute. I thought that might be a deal breaker for you.”

  “No. It takes me about a half hour either way. The drive from your place is actually nicer.”

  He smiles at that. “Good.”

  “This is crazy, David.”

  “I know. I wasn’t going to bring it up, but going to pick you up, taking you to a restaurant, it’s just not my thing. I’m a homebody in some ways. I like to go out on occasion, but I mostly prefer staying in. Hanging out with someone I care about.”

  I consider this and he has a good point.
“My friends will think I’m crazy.”

  “Maybe. Remember, you keep your apartment. We could do it every other week at first, if it makes you more comfortable. Think of it as a long-term sleepover.”

  I laugh, and I’m so nervous that my laugh comes out as an abrupt snort. “What about the… thing?” I ask tentatively.

  “The discipline thing?”

  “Yeah.” I look down to the table and play with my napkin.

  “Look at me,” he says.

  I obey and his expression is soft and kind.

  “Breathe.”

  That is a good idea. I take a few deep breaths.

  “I don’t punish without good reason,” he says. “And as for your discipline, we’ll agree on a frequency that works for both of us.”

  “What is the difference?”

  “Punish for a crime, discipline for health and happiness.”

  I raise my eyebrows. “Health and happiness?”

  “Health and happiness.”

  We’re silent now and he’s just staring at me as if waiting for something. And what should I say? Yes, I’ll move in with you even though we’ve been together for a total of about thirty hours? He’s right, though. If I keep my apartment then I’m just staying with him, potentially temporarily, and that could be OK.

  But the spankings… the discipline, the punishments… my mind hasn't fully sorted out that dimension of our relationship.

  “Rachel, let’s try it for a week,” he says. He takes his final sip of wine and gets up, as though the conversation is over.

  “All right,” I whisper as he pulls me to my feet. He gives me a quick kiss and I smell buttery crab on his lips.

  “Good. I’ll help you move some of your things this weekend. And we’ll discuss a few logistics on the way back to your apartment. I want you to know what you’re getting into before you actually make the move.”

  What am I getting into? I know the logistics-talk will not be a comfortable discussion. He holds my hand as we walk outside and opens the car door for me. I try to relax in the passenger seat of his truck and he jogs around to his side, calling out a greeting to a couple walking toward the restaurant.