His Next Ex

by Maren Smith

  It took him a minute to remember last night and figure out why someone was crying in his house. Ah yes, Megan.

  And Jamie.

  And one of them had just screamed!

  A fissuring jolt shot down his spine, spurring Travis into action. He flung his pillow aside and kicked frantically to be free of the tangled blankets and sheet around his feet. He knocked over the stand bag in his closet grabbing for a golf club, took two steps and then stopped to look at the sand wedge. He quickly exchanged it for a five-iron. Whacking his foot against the corner post of the bed, he stumbled into the door and half-ran half-hopped all the way down the hall.

  Megan let out another lusty wail just as Travis flung open Jamie’s bedroom door. He hefted the five-iron threateningly even as he slapped at the wall light switch. The sudden illumination nearly blinded him, but not before he caught a glimpse of a perfect—as well as perfectly bare—breast, its dusky nipple peeking just above Megan’s questing mouth and framed by the pale folds of Jamie’s unbuttoned nightshirt.

  Propped against the headboard and a small mountain of pillows, Jamie slapped a hand over her eyes and croaked, “What the hell are you doing?”

  Travis immediately flicked the wall switch to off and the darkness swallowed them again. But it was too late. He’d already seen it, and the image of that pale round breast was etched in his eyes. He closed them, but could still see it as clearly as with the light on.

  “I’m sorry, I-I-I—” he sighed, lowering the golf club to a less threatening posture and feeling a little foolish. “You know, if there had been an intruder, you’d be thanking me right now.”

  She flung a pillow at him. “Out!”

  “Right.” Travis grabbed the doorknob, and he and the five iron retreated backwards out into the hallway. Unlike his entry, his exit was much more sedate and the door closed softly between them.

  An hour before his alarm was set to go off and here he was, up. In fact—he looked down—some parts of him were more up than others. He rubbed his tired eyes, scratched his chest and limped back to his bedroom. Since there was now little point in going back to bed, he decided to take a shower—a cold shower—and see if he couldn’t coax the first day of his new marriage off to a better start.

  It was six-thirty before Jamie carried Megan downstairs to join him in the kitchen. They were both dressed for the day: Megan in a light blue jumper with a bunny on the bib pocket and Jamie, with a diaper bag slung over one shoulder, in jeans, yellow t-shirt and her falling apart shoes. He probably should have dressed down, he thought, feeling a little out of place in a three-piece business suit and tie.

  “Good morning, Missus Dorsett,” he greeted.

  She gave him a half-irritated glare as she put Megan in her highchair. “Tiger Woods.”

  He had the grace to look a little sheepish. He held up an empty coffee cup. “Do you take cream or sugar with your peace offering?”

  “Both please.” While he fixed her drink, she set the diaper bag on the table and unzipped it. She rummaged through the center compartment, withdrawing a white pint-sized, plastic bottle.

  “One teaspoon sugar?” he asked. “Two?”

  “Two please.” Jamie opened the fridge and set the bottle on one of the shelves. Then she bent down to look inside.

  “Here you go.” He set her cup on a nearby counter and went back to his own, which he’d left by the coffee pot.

  As he lifted his cup to his lips, Jamie said, “I put a bottle of milk in here for Megan last night. Have you seen it?”

  Travis turned and promptly spit his mouthful of coffee into the sink. He reached next to the coffee pot, and without turning around, held up a pint-sized, white plastic bottle. “This it?”

  “Yep.” Jamie closed the fridge door and took it from him, unscrewing the cap to check how much was left inside.

  “I wondered why Lucy had the cream in an odd container.”

  “Who’s Lucy?”

  “My—our housekeeper.” He wiped his mouth on a napkin. “Was it your milk?”

  “Yes.”

  “From you?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s a mean trick to play on an unsuspecting bachelor.”

  “It has to be refrigerated,” Jamie protested. “I didn’t know you were going to drink it.”

  “What’s it doing out of the, ah—” his gaze briefly slipped down to her chest, “original container?”

  “Megan has to eat, and I have to work. Lots of women use breast pumps these days. My doctor said it’s common and the next best thing for a baby when the mother can’t stay at home.”

  Travis poured the rest of his coffee down the sink. “From now on, the top shelf in the fridge is yours. Anything I don’t need to eat or drink, please put there.”

  “Okay.” She opened the fridge again and put both bottles on the right shelf. “I’m not used to living with someone else, either. I didn’t mean to gross you out. I’m sorry.”

  “There’s no reason to be.” He handed her a fresh cup of coffee—sugar, no cream—and his amber eyes caressed the length of her. “You were very flavorful.”

  Blushing, Jamie took the cup. “Get your caviar off my shelf,” she said, and retreated to the kitchen table. She also changed the subject. “Are we still going shopping after work?”

  “It being our honeymoon,” Travis said, with his head inside the fridge, “I was thinking neither of us would go to work today.” He closed the door and went to fix himself a fresh drink. “Do you know what you want to buy?”

  “Just the bare necessities. A few things for Megan. Nothing major.”

  “In that case, I’ll be making a few purchases myself then.”

  “Not for me, you won’t,” she said, as he took a seat directly across from her. “We had this argument yesterday.”

  Travis braced his forearms on the table and looked at her. “Jamie, I understand your desire to assume all financial responsibility for Megan and for yourself. I respect that decision because you are her mother and an independent, mature woman in your own right. However, any items purchased solely because you are now my wife and must dress the part, I intent to pay for.”

  “I don’t need you to pay for me,” she stated.

  “This is your job for the next two years. I am your employer, and I will provide your uniform. End of discussion.”

  Note to self: When telling Jamie Miracle—er, Dorsett–what to do, however diplomatically, watch carefully. One could all but see her hackles rising.

  She thunked her cup down and glared at him. “Hold it right there, buster.”

  “You sloshed,” he calmly interrupted.

  She grabbed a napkin from the table’s center piece and quickly wiped up the spill.

  “Use the saucer, if you please. This table is mahogany. I don’t want rings,” he said, a ghost of a smile curving his lips as she obediently thunked the cup on the corresponding saucer. “And don’t break the china, either. They were a gift from my mother.”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake!” Jamie exploded. “You can’t just end the conversation! Who do you think you are?”

  “Your husband.”

  “On paper only!”

  “Which makes it no less legal,” he pointed out.

  “You still can’t tell me what to do!”

  “Of course, I can. I’m the boss. Bosses get to dictate how the employees do their jobs. That’s one of the perks. Which reminds me. Jamie, darling, you’re fired.”

  “What?!”

  “No one would ever believe I’d allow my wife to work as a janitor, especially not in my home office. We have to consider appearances now.”

  Her mouth fell open. “But—but you can’t!”

  “I’ve already placed the call. Your locker is to be cleaned out first thing this morning. We’ll drive by on our way to the mall.” Gently he said, “You can stay in the car if you want; I’ll get your things, so there’ll be no embarrassment.”

  Jamie leaned back in her chair, her eyes
wide and hurt. “I can’t lose my job! What am I going to do?”

  “All of your debts will be paid off by the end of today,” Travis said as reassuringly as possible. “Consider yourself on a two-years-long vacation. Do whatever you like: go back to school, get your GED, take classes towards a career you’ll enjoy. Or stay home and just take care of Megan. Anything your heart desires.”

  “My heart wants to keep my job.”

  “Anything but that.”

  “Did you know you were going to do this yesterday?” she demanded

  “I suspected.”

  “And you didn’t tell me?”

  “Would you still have agreed to marry me?” he countered calmly.

  “No!”

  He spread his hands as if to say, ‘There you go.’ “I don’t believe as a child you suddenly woke up one morning and said, ‘Gee, my life-long ambition is to become a janitor.’”

  “I’m not ashamed of what I do!”

  “Nor should you be. In fact, if you hadn’t pushed a cleaning cart onto the elevator alongside me, I might not have found you so quickly. But I’ve given you a better job.”

  “And you know where you can stick it, too!” Jamie shoved her chair back. “I don’t have to take this!”

  It was sheer reflex that had Travis immediately on his feet as well. As she bent to unfasten Megan from her highchair, he strode around the end of the table and firmly caught her arm. She tried to yank free of his hand, but before she could even draw breath to let him have it, Travis commandeered her freshly vacated chair and tugged her down to sit on his lap.

  “Don’t struggle,” he said close to her ear. “I don’t think either of us wants to frighten Megan.”

  Jamie immediately stilled, though she perched stiffly on his thighs as unyielding as any statue in his garden.

  Through gritted teeth, she bit out, “This is touching!”

  “It certainly is,” he agreed calmly, and she lost her irate composure to a startled shriek when he suddenly flipped her over. With that one smooth motion, Travis had her facedown over his knees. To be honest, it was a tossup as to who was the more startled: Jamie, staring at the plush white carpet three inches from her nose; or Travis, staring at Jamie’s pert little backside, the seat of her jeans already worn a shade lighter than the rest of her Levi’s.

  Jamie’s moment of shock vanished and she bucked, trying to right herself. He quickly settled an arm across the small of her back and pinned her down. It had been three years since he’d last done this. But what do you know, much like riding a bicycle, once learned, the basics of spanking pretty much stayed with a man. Just the sight of her upturned bottom was bringing it all back to him.

  Despite her anger of only a moment ago, there was now a hint of panic to her voice as Jamie cried, “No, wait! Please don’t! I-I’m sorry! I didn’t mean it!”

  “I do believe it’s too late for that,” Travis said automatically, amazed at just how calm he sounded. Absolutely no thought was going into this, which was a little disconcerting since he was normally a man who considered and reconsidered his actions all quite carefully. He caressed her bottom tenderly, tracing a small, imaginary target pattern on the surface of her jeans, something that only a disciplinarian could see, and marveled at how exhilarating it felt to run solely on reflex.

  Her entire body stiffened to feel him touching her there. She swallowed hard. “Please, Travis, let me up.”

  “You put yourself in this position, sweetheart,” he said. Yes, sir. It was coming back, all right: the firm hold, the lecture, the itchy palm ready to get underway. Jamie probably wouldn’t appreciate the honor, but she was about to join a very exclusive club, one whose membership consisted solely of only the handful of women he’d ever held in this vulnerable position.

  He gave his pert, round target a fond pat. Now, what came next… Oh yes, the lecture.

  “I won’t ever treat you with disrespect, sweetheart,” he told her. “And I won’t tolerate anything less than courtesy from you in return. Is that clear?”

  “You can’t do this!” Jamie protested wildly. “I won’t let you! You—you’d better let me up right now. I’ll make you so sorry!”

  “Will you now? Well, in that case…” Travis raised his hand high above her instantly squirming bottom.

  Warm ups were for good girls and good-girl spankings, the sweet, sexy, erotic slaps and smacks that proceeded and heightened the pleasure of love-making. Sadly, this wasn’t that kind of spanking, and Travis applied five strong swats right to the centers of each upturned cheek in turn. They were harder than he would normally have started any spanking with, but he had a pair of jeans as well as an attitude to work through. Leniency with either, in his opinion, was never a good idea.

  The impact of each smack jolted her over his lap, and Jamie grabbed his leg with both hands. “Oh! No!” Her feet kicked up sharply behind her. Her shoulders jerked up as far as his restraining arm would allow. “Oh! OW! Stop!”

  He only tightened his hold around her waist, letting her know in no uncertain terms that she’d be going nowhere until he was through. And by the time the last smack of his hand bounced off her delightful bottom, Jamie was frantic, “Please, Travis! Let me up! Please!”

  It was very satisfactory.

  “Sorry, sweetheart,” Travis said, thoroughly unrepentant. “You may as well settle down and make yourself comfortable. You’re going to be here for a while.”

  Jamie drew a ragged gasp of a breath. “You can’t do this,” she protested again, even less convincingly than the first time. “I’m a grown woman! My mama marched and burned her bra to stop men like you from—oh!—hulking, great—ow!—oaf—ouch!—Stop it! Ow!”

  She escalated into barely muffled yelps as he started over again, his broad hand paddling ten vigorous smacks all around the perimeter of his bull’s-eyed target.

  “And I’m sure there are many suffragettes who have been silently miserable ever since,” he drawled. When his palm again came to rest on the center of her rump, the effect of the spanking could already be felt through her Levi’s. “Tell me, sweetheart. Were you intending to grab Megan and run away?”

  A bit of anger, bravery and, considering her position, foolishness returned. Though her voice shook a little, she said, “You bet I was.”

  He lay another hardy swat to the center of her bottom, flattening both cheeks, once, twice, then again. On the fourth wallop, with a ragged sob, she snapped back her right hand to grab his. Travis caught her wrist, transferring it into the capable grip of the arm that already held her pinned.

  “No!” She hit his leg with her free fist and kicked once in frustration.

  “I’m not going to tell you again,” Travis said simply. “If you upset Megan, I will take your pants down and paddle your naughty bottom until you howl.”

  Jamie froze. Her blue eyes widened and her mouth fell open in shock. “You wouldn’t dare!”

  “Oh no?” He shifted, elevating her hips even more as he reached underneath to unbutton the front of her jeans.

  “Okay, okay!” Jamie grabbed his leg again. “I’ll be good! Travis, I’ll be good, I promise!”

  “All right.” He left her pants in place. “If you can behave yourself, then I’ll allow you to keep your pants on this one time.”

  “This one time?” Jamie screeched in disbelief. “You mean you’re going to do this again?” Her cheeks flushed angrily. “Why you high-handed, conceited, arrogant—No, wait. Wait! WAIT!”

  The pants came down, and Travis’s warm hand settled partially on her beige cotton panties and partially on bare, pink bottom flesh. “What did I just tell you about respect?”

  Jamie squealed through gritted teeth, her eyes squeezed tightly shut as he lay a series of sharp smacks all over her bouncing backside. The sound was crisper now that he was contacting nearly bare flesh, and if the noises she was making were any indication of her discomfort level, then he was very well satisfied with the results his handiwork was producing. Especial
ly when she kicked her feet up to protect her bottom with her falling-apart sneakers.

  “Move them,” he ordered.

  “Please!” she gasped. “I—I’ve had enough! Travis, please don’t spank me anymore!”

  A very encouraging sign.

  “You’ve got six more coming and our discussion isn’t over yet. Put your feet down right now, sweetheart, or I’m going to take your panties off and spank your lovely bottom on the bare.”

  She groaned. Slowly, she lowered her feet to the floor.

  “Six more.” He gently rubbed her blazing skin, soft circles that traced the tender globes until she moaned and, in spite of herself, her bottom relaxed.

  It was a cruel trick, but an effective one that made her jump and gasp as the final fury lit into her. She kept her feet down, but gave into a shrilly vocalized wail for pity, “Oo-oOo-oww! Sto-o-op!”

  Once again, his hand came to rest on the now well-roasted surface of her scarlet bottom. He gently rubbed her back while she hiccuped and sobbed, and gradually she quieted to sniffles.

  In a trembling voice, she asked, “May I please get up now? I promise I’ll be good.”

  “No, sweetheart. Not until we’ve finished our discussion. And if we have to keep going back over the same points again and again, then we may never get our shopping started.”

  Jamie hung her head with a long drawn-out whimper, and Travis rubbed the pink fingerprints that flushed the outer edges of her hips, the region unprotected by her panties. He checked Megan real quick, but if the baby was at all concerned for her mother, the minute she saw him looking at her, she split into a wide grin and slapped her hands lightly on the tray of her highchair. No problem from that quarter.

  His hand rubbed her achingly hot bottom in small circles before moving lower down, locating his next target—the relatively untouched area just above her thighs, right where she’d have to sit later on. “I don’t want to have to worry about you and Megan disappearing every time we have a disagreement. When you give your word, Jamie, do you not intend to keep it?”