Taming Princess Anna

by Sue Lyndon

  Though cooking was considered woman’s work, his mother had taught him how to cook at a young age. He’d grudgingly humored her, and his father had joked that it was his fortune, Bronson being a boy and an only child. Now he’d give anything to have his mother beside him as she kneaded bread in the kitchen, humming an off key tune with flour smudging her face. He smiled at the memory despite the grief constricting his chest.

  Since his parents’ death, he’d been a loner and rarely interacted with any of his neighbors or the rest of the townspeople. He’d leave for weeks at a time when he heard of a bounty that interested him, and he’d return to the empty cottage until his spirit grew restless again and he sought out more work for the crown he secretly loathed. As a rule, he’d only track down and turn over murderers and rapists. Never once did he accept a mission to seek out a citizen who simply owed money to King Mendel or was wanted for some lesser offense.

  Bronson ran a hand through his hair and sighed. Glancing at Anna, he determined she was still deep in sleep and wouldn’t notice if he stepped outside. He hurriedly gathered carrots, potatoes, peas, beans, and onions from the garden to put in a vegetable stew. Tomorrow he’d go hunting on the hillside and they’d have meat for dinner, but a quick vegetable stew would suffice tonight. Anna was still sleeping when he returned, and he intentionally clattered around in the kitchen as he prepared their meal, aiming to rouse her. The ball underneath the covers shifted, and soon she was stretching and yawning. Locks of hair stuck out in all directions when she sat up, and he thought she looked precious with her drowsy eyes and sleep-mussed hair.

  “Good morning, sunshine,” he said as he affixed the large pot of vegetables overtop the hearth. The heat from the fire pelted him in the face. He backed away and turned to his wife.

  “What time is it?” she asked through a yawn.

  “Early evening. It’s just getting dark.”

  Gods, she was adorable. Longing stirred his cock, his desire for her awakening once again. He had a feeling they’d stay mostly indoors for the next few days. He wanted to take her again and again, and never allow her out of the bedroom. Maybe he’d follow through with his threat to tie her to the bedposts.

  “How are you feeling?”

  “Fine.”

  “The truth, little dove. How are you feeling?” He raised a wooden spoon at her and lifted an eyebrow.

  She huffed and crossed her arms. “Oh fine. I’m hungry and sore. And my bottom really hurts. You’re a brute.”

  He grinned at her, then headed for the pot of stew. Once he gave it a long stir, he set the lid on it and finished mixing the drop rolls. “Tomorrow you are making dinner, Anna. I suggest you get out of bed and pay attention. I also suggest you leave your poor attitude behind, lest I give you more than a few light swats before bedtime tonight.”

  Red suffused her cheeks. She glanced away and remained in the bedroom for a few minutes, quietly ignoring him. He focused on forming the rolls and setting them on a pan, which he placed on a low shelf over the hearth. The rolls and stew would be finished around the same time. When he turned to tidy up the kitchen, he spotted a fully clothed Anna setting the table. As she worked, she kept her gaze down. Perhaps his reminder about the light spanking he planned to give her before bedtime had subdued her. In any case, he was pleased to see her helping.

  “Thank you, Anna.” He placed a hand on her shoulder once she’d finished. Waiting until she glanced up at him, he stroked her cheek for a few moments before placing a feather light kiss on her lips.

  She blushed. “I usually wake up grumpy. I’m sorry I was rude to you.”

  “Apology accepted. Now, why don’t we go watch the stars come out while our meal finishes cooking?”

  Nodding, her lips turned up with one of her shy smiles. “I’d like that, Bronson.”

  * * * * *

  A knot formed in Anna’s stomach as she sat outside listening to the nighttime insects play alongside the waves crashing in the distance. Candles burned in the windows of the houses in Cimastown below. Her mind spun as she sat on a fallen tree trunk next to Bronson. He wrapped an arm around her and held her close, and the heat of his body and his masculine scent tantalized her. She flushed, recalling all that had transpired between them since he’d whisked her out of Iverson City. He’d spanked her. Twice. He’d made her his wife in every sense of the word. Under his watchful eye, she’d stood in a corner with her skirts raised and her punished bottom exposed.

  Tonight, after their meal and they readied themselves for bed, he planned to take her over his knee again. Yet the thought of it didn’t terrify her as much as it should have. The knot in her stomach tightened with anticipation rather than fear, and her spine prickled with excitement as she imagined lying across his lap while he parted her drawers. He’d said if she was a good girl he’d only administer a few light slaps. After he finished, would he take her to bed and love her the way he’d done earlier? She felt her cheeks flame at the thought, and she was thankful the darkness hid her blush. She didn’t want Bronson to ask her what kind of thoughts she entertained.

  The sun slipped over the horizon and the sky darkened. They sat in comfortable silence. Well, comfortable except for where her bottom was concerned. She squirmed on the tree trunk, trying to find a position that didn’t hurt. It proved impossible, and Bronson chuckled beside her.

  “Does my little wife have a sore backside?”

  Again, she was thankful the darkness hid her blush. “You know I do. Stop teasing me, Bronson.”

  “Perhaps having to sit on a tender bottom will help you remember to behave.” He spoke with his mouth to her ear, and she shivered at his closeness. His stubble tickled her face, and her fingers itched to touch him there…and everywhere else.

  Stars transpired one by one in the black sky, sparkling like the diamonds that decorated the tiaras and necklaces she’d worn in the castle. Even though she’d brought some of them along, she’d never wear them again. Guilt nagged at her that she still planned to conceal her jewels from Bronson. She supposed a wife shouldn’t keep secrets—like the fact that she had a bag filled with expensive jewelry—from her husband. She sighed inwardly, hoping her guilt departed once she had them hidden in a safe place.

  Though simple, dinner was delicious. She complemented Bronson and listened as he described how he’d prepared the stew and rolls. He’d made extra rolls so they’d have enough for breakfast the next day, and she appreciated his efforts. She hoped to learn her way around the kitchen quickly, and once she had that mastered she hoped to make herself useful in Cimastown in some way. She wanted to prove herself as soon as possible. Perhaps they had need of a teacher.

  She paused as she bit into a buttery roll and gazed across the table at Bronson. Warmth rippled through her as he smiled at her, the lines around his eyes crinkling. She still couldn’t believe how such a skinny boy had grown into such a large, broad-shouldered man. Her heart fluttered as she recalled the bulging muscles his shirt concealed. Despite his strength, he hadn’t hurt her. Not really. Not even when he’d disciplined her. She felt no fear that he’d truly harm her.

  Perhaps this was fate. She returned his smile and cleared the table once they finished the meal. After she washed the dishes and set the kitchen to rights to the best of her ability, she lingered in the small room, pretending to wipe down the table long after Bronson had retired to the bedroom. She wished to join him, but now that she knew what happened between husbands and wives, the nerves in her stomach refused to calm. A familiar ache built in her center, and her breaths came shallow and quick when she imagined submitting to a spanking from her husband and then crawling into bed with him.

  “Anna, I know you are stalling. Come get ready for bed. I set a few things out for you beside the water basin.”

  To her surprise, she found him reading a book when she entered the bedroom. Squinting, she tried to make out the title and her heart nearly stopped. The Poetry of Gibson the Explorer. She’d given him the book on his fourteenth b
irthday, a mere two weeks before he’d been banished from the castle. Tears burned her eyes. She blinked rapidly and headed for the basin. She brushed her hair, rinsed her face, and cleaned her teeth.

  He’d kept it! All these years and he’d kept the book!

  Joy bounced within her, and her throat burned with emotion. Maybe she’d meant more to him all those years ago than she’d realized. Maybe he hadn’t viewed her as the king’s bothersome daughter who followed him everywhere as she’d feared. The tears finally rolled down her cheeks when she recalled the gift he’d given her a few months prior to his banishment for her tenth birthday. A gift her father had ripped to shreds shortly after Bronson and his family had been forced from the castle.

  A hand on her back startled a cry from her. She spun and stared up at Bronson, and her lip quivered when his expression clouded with worry. With a soft touch, he wiped away her tears.

  “What’s wrong, little dove?”

  She forced a smile and shrugged. “I was just thinking about the picture of us that you painted and gave to me on my tenth birthday.”

  “Was the painting so terrible that it’s making you cry?” he asked teasingly.

  She laughed through her tears. “No, Bronson. It was beautiful. I loved it.”

  “Then why the tears, my sweet?”

  “Because my father found it and tore it into pieces. Then when he caught me trying to put the pieces back together, he…” Her face crumpled.

  A murderous gleam filled Bronson’s gaze. “He what? What did he do to you, Anna?”

  Dark memories she’d kept under lock and key resurfaced, and she was suddenly that frightened ten-year-old girl again, petrified of her father. She stared at Bronson’s chest for a few moments and shuddered at the hardness of his gaze when she glanced up. She never wanted to see him look upon her with such hatred.

  “Please tell me, Anna. I have to know.”

  When she eventually spoke, her voice sounded far away to her own ears, and the memories rushed back in a painful wave that tightened her chest. “I’d gone outside with the pieces gathered in a basket, and I sat beside the large fountain behind the castle, the fountain with the trees and flowers surrounding it. I had the painting almost pieced back together when a shadow fell upon it, and a moment later I was gagging on the water.” She paused, and Bronson’s hold on her tightened, and she felt as if he was supporting her in this moment while she divulged one of her most frightening experiences. “He held me under until I felt I would die, then he yanked me up and yelled at me before plunging me under again. A crowd gathered but no one dared to stop him. Eventually he threw me on the ground and gathered up the pieces of the torn painting, promising to burn them.” Tamlen had been standing at the front of the crowd the whole time, watching with amusement and making no move to help her, his sister.

  “Anna, I am so sorry. I knew he was a cruel man, but I thought he left you alone.”

  “That was the only time he ever harmed me. I stayed away from him after that, keeping to myself and focusing on my studies.” She gestured to the book he’d left on a table beside the bed. “You kept it. The present I gave you for your fourteenth birthday. And my heart aches because I don’t have the painting you gave me that year.”

  “Anna, my sweet, I will paint you a hundred paintings like the one you lost, if you only promise to stop crying.” He cupped her face and kissed her tears, his tender action winning her a thousand times over. Her heart, once so broken, swelled with affection for the man who stood before her.

  “Will you read to me?” she asked.

  “It would be my pleasure.”

  * * * * *

  If it hadn’t been for Anna insisting he join in her studies, Bronson would have never learned to read. It gave him great satisfaction to sit on the bed and cuddle her in his lap as he read poem after poem to her. Though the pages in the book had faded, his memory of the day she’d given it to him hadn’t. She’d ordered the cook to bake him a special cake and had served it to him during their study time with her governess. She’d made him feel important that day, and he’d always treasured the book of poetry. If his cottage caught fire and he could only save one earthly possession from the flames, he’d choose this book.

  After he read a few pages, he paused to stroke Anna’s silky hair. A soft sigh left her, and she reached up to touch his chin, her fingers trailing over his unshaven jaw. “I would never hurt you like your father did, Anna. If I had been there, I would have stopped him.”

  “I believe you.”

  “Come, I will tuck you in.” After the story she’d just told him, he couldn’t possibly carry out the spanking he’d promised her tonight. Instead, he would hold her. She deserved to feel loved and cherished. He hadn’t realized she’d suffered so much, and he ached to erase every last painful memory that lingered within her.

  She remained on his lap and shot him a confused look. “But I thought you planned to…you know…spank me.” The last two words were spoken in a whisper, and she flushed and her breathing immediately became irregular. If he didn’t know better, he’d think she wanted to be spanked.

  “Anna,” he said warily, “I don’t think that’s wise tonight.”

  “Why?”

  Because your father nearly drowned you. Because at the moment I can’t stand the thought of causing you an iota of pain.

  “Anna, please climb under the covers.”

  “No. I don’t want to.” She crossed her arms and stuck her bottom lip out. Dear Gods, she was pouting. And intentionally giving him a reason to spank her pretty little backside. Still, he wavered.

  “Anna…”

  “I don’t have anything to sleep in,” she protested, stalling.

  He sighed. “I will arrange for a seamstress to visit soon, but until then you’ll have to make do with your chemise and drawers. Or sleep naked.”

  Her blue eyes widened and sparkled in the candlelight. “I will do no such thing.”

  “I’m not giving you a choice,” he said, growing weary of her antics. “Stand up and remove all your clothing. You will sleep naked tonight because I am your husband and I wish it.”

  She lifted her chin and glared at him, her gaze not wavering. “I will sleep in my dress tonight, and every night until I have proper sleeping attire.”

  “Enough,” he barked in a deep voice. He realized she was putting him on, but he desperately wished to see her bared to his gaze. Flipping her over, he positioned her bottom-up over his lap and wasted no time in lifting her skirt and chemise. After securing her flailing legs beneath one of his, he pinned her wrists at the small of her back and parted her drawers wide. Her bottom cheeks were still pink from her earlier spanking.

  “You, little dove, need another lesson in obedience.”

  Chapter 6

  Anna hadn’t wanted Bronson to feel sorry for her because of the story she’d told him about her father. She had shared the story because he’d asked, and she wanted him to understand how touched she was that he still had the poetry book. It had seemed brilliant at the time to pout and be naughty and give him a reason to spank her. Now as she stared at the wooden floorboards and felt his hand cupping her sore bottom, she wondered if perhaps her plan was foolish. She didn’t want another hard spanking. The light, few slaps he had promised sounded enticing though. That was what she really wanted. A bit of naughty fun.

  “All right! I will remove my dress and everything else, Bronson. Please let me up.” Unfortunately, her squirms were no match for his strength.

  “You’re not going anywhere at the moment. Naughty wives get spanked on their bare bottoms.” Heat surged to her core at his touch. “Some wives more than others,” he added.

  “Well I hope your hand falls off!”

  “I’m touched by your concern for my hand, Anna. Would you prefer I spank you with a hairbrush instead? Or perhaps my belt? We also have a fine selection of wooden spoons in the kitchen.”

  She froze, unsure if he was teasing. “I’m sorry,” she said
without hesitation. “Please just use your hand. Your hand is quite lovely, actually.” The thought of his thick leather belt cracking across her already tender flesh sent a shudder through her. The hairbrush and the wooden spoons didn’t appeal to her either.

  Thwack! He swatted her right cheek. A gentle swat, if that were possible. Another swat. Then a caress. Swat, caress, swat, caress. And so on. He moved from left to right, giving both her bottom cheeks the same amount of attention. Anna enjoyed every thwack and was soon raising her backside to meet each blow. The steady sound of light slaps filled the room. Desire pulsated within her, leaving her aching and hungry for his touch.

  “How does it feel to be over your husband’s lap getting your bottom reddened?” He gave her a squeeze.

  His words both shamed and excited her. Warmth spiraled through her, pulsing in tune with the rapid beating of her heart.

  Thwack! “I asked you a question, little dove.”

  “Embarrassed,” she whispered, her face hot with her admission. “And…achy.”

  Achy barely described the sensations that threatened to break her apart. She was on a precipice, drowning in a sweet agony, her center grinding against Bronson’s lap each time she lowered her hips after receiving a spank.

  He paused and parted her bottom cheeks. Tensing, she held her breath and started to peer over her shoulder when his fingers danced along the edge of her cunny lips, drawing her moisture back to her most private entrance. Her shame grew, but so did her excitement. She gasped the moment he touched her there, and the aching pulses between her thighs deepened. Bucking over his lap, she cried out as he pushed inside, filling her up with a delicious burn as her natural essence guided the way.

  “This naughty little hole of yours needs to be attended to as much as your bottom cheeks, Anna.” His firm tone sent a thrill down her spine to her toes.