As he straightened, she whispered, “I’m not, though.”
“What?”
She shook her head, and he could see her thought processes were still running slower than her usual blinding speed. “I’m old and—”
“Stop.” Wasn’t it interesting how subspace and the aftermath could dredge up worries a submissive might never say aloud otherwise? “Valerie, self-disparagement wins you a punishment prize,” he said.
“Punishment?” Her soft pink mouth dropped open. “What?”
“We’re going to discuss your self-image later.” Holding her gaze with his, he slowly unbuckled his heavy leather belt and pulled it slowly from the loops. “But for now, I’ll give you a taste of what happens when you disparage yourself.”
Her eyes widened. “You can’t punish me—not without talking about it or anything.”
“Well, then we won’t call it punishment, but a continuation of the scene downstairs.” He grinned. “However, I’ll know—and you’ll know, it’s for talking like that about yourself.”
And after a few good swats, he really would continue the scene and slide her back into a fine erotic space before taking her.
However, it’d be good to discover if discipline domination turned her on.
Because he enjoyed the hell out of it.
Pushing her onto her back, he gripped her ankles in one hand, and lifted her legs up into the air, slightly toward her shoulders. Her ass tilted up in an excellent vulnerable position.
“But—”
Her ass cheeks were still reddened from the flogging and cane—although he’d gone easy on her. Poor subbie.
“This, woman, is going to hurt,” he said in Arabic.
He smacked her with the folded over portion of his belt, left cheek, right cheek. Powerful enough to sting. Discipline, right? The sound was most pleasant.
Although, he’d been half erect for an hour, her adorable squeaky-squeal hardened him like a rock. “Nice. Let’s hear that again.” He slapped the belt over both cheeks of her pink ass and got the response he wanted.
Her scream was even louder, and even as her eyes filled with tears, her nipples contracted into hard peaks.
Setting the belt down, he brushed his palm over the new pink stripes on her ass, then, pulling her legs even farther up, he checked her pussy. Very slick. “Sweetheart, you like being punished.”
“No, you’re wrong. Of course, I don’t.”
Such a weak protest.
“Your safeword is red. Because I’m going to make sure you think twice before saying you’re anything but gorgeous.” Gripping her ankles more firmly, he picked up the belt and gave her three more stinging blows.
She sobbed but…the look in those tear-filled eyes held pure submission.
Beautiful.
Letting her legs down, he set her feet on the bed, widely apart, opening her to his gaze. She was bare for him, her pussy glistening with arousal. “Now, this is another warning. If you exceed my patience, there are other targets than your pretty ass. Like here.”
Holding her gaze, he ran a finger around her clit, feeling her shiver under his touch.
Her eyes dilated and…yes, she was holding her breath. Someone was turned on by the idea of pussy spanking, was she?
* * *
He wouldn’t, surely, he wouldn’t. Valerie’s bottom already stung, the burn from earlier re-ignited by the belt—and the pain had already turned into an urgent need for more.
But her pussy? She put her hands right over the target. Her clit was aching with need to be touched. But not slapped, surely not.
His lips curved into a terrifying smile.
“You should have a sample, don’t you think?” He reached into his bag and pulled two lengths of something out. One went around her left thigh, and he clipped her left wrist cuff to it, then did the right side the same way, leaving her hands pinned to the outside of each thigh.
Leaving her pussy open and unprotected.
Her heart started hammering, and she pulled in air, even as her body shivered with a dark need. “Wait.”
“No. I think we’re both going to enjoy this.” He lifted his hand, paused, and then slapped right on her mound.
The shock reverberated through her a second before the stinging burst through the tender area. She tried to move—and couldn’t. Her whole body went rigid as pain—and heat—surged outward, bringing her right to the edge of coming.
“Oh, you really are a delight,” he said softly. He struck again, slightly harder, and, oh gods, she came. Sobbing and gasping—and coming.
He opened his pants, released his long, thick cock, and covered himself with a condom.
Setting a wedge-shaped cushion on the edge of the mattress, he slid her ass up onto it, so her pelvis was tilted up. Setting her feet against his stomach, he stroked his callused palms over her legs. “Eyes on me, Valerie.”
She met his gaze.
“Still green and good to continue, sweetheart?”
“Yes. Green.” Her voice was hoarse. “More.”
As he lifted her legs onto his shoulders, she realized the cushion put her pussy at just the right height for…
His cock pressed at her entrance, sliding, making her realize how wet she was. Her legs were on his shoulders, her hands pinned at her thighs. She pulled in a sudden breath at the vulnerability.
His green eyes met hers again, and he paused there at her entrance, giving her a chance to change her mind.
She lifted her hips toward him, only an inch. Yes.
“All right then.” Gripping her hips, he thrust, hard and deep, taking her in one devastating movement. He was big, and as she stretched around him, everything inside her burst in a glorious wave of sensation, and wave after wave of pleasure exploded inside her as she came again.
He was laughing as he hammered into her, and her orgasm kept coming, more and more. As he bent forward, her hips tilted up, letting him get almost painfully deep. The angle let him reach her breasts, and his hard hands caressed her, tugged and rolled the swollen nipples, sending more exquisite sensations through her.
Straightening, he gripped her hips again, holding her immobile. “Look at me, pet,” he growled.
Her gaze met his. His face was rock hard, the muscles standing out. Thrusting hard and fast, he held her gaze as his hands tightened, and his shaft jerked inside her.
And she could remember the first time they’d really talked and him saying in a rough deep voice, “…be assured I will take my pleasure when the time comes.”
He had. And the knowledge was incredibly satisfying.
* * *
After disposing of the condom, he lay down on the quilt and pulled Valerie into his arms. She squirmed closer, resting her head on his shoulder. It was a fine feeling to hold a sated, soft woman. And wasn’t it nice she was a snuggly one?
The air was cool against his still heated skin and smelled of sandalwood and sex—the finest of fragrances.
Eventually, she sighed and sat up. Seeing him watching, she flushed and wrapped the throw blanket from the end of the bed around herself. “I really should go. Thank—”
He gripped the blanket between her breasts. “Stay.”
“But…”
“No, pet. Although I’ll admit I want to hold you longer and make love again later, I really do need to know you won’t drop after the fun we had earlier.”
When she appeared confused, he clarified, “Subdrop—when the endorphins disappear.”
“I’ve heard about that.” Her voice still held a sexy huskiness. “Ghost, I’m not sleepy, and I don’t want to keep you up.”
“I’m wide awake, too. Want to shower, have a glass of something, and see what happens?”
The tiny line between her eyebrows really was adorable. “Well… Are you sure?”
“I’m very sure. You can have the first shower while I get us something to drink. Beer, wine, juice or water?”
“Wine would be lovely.” She didn’t move.
> He stroked a hand down her soft hair, remembering how difficult it had been to return to socializing—and sex—after his wife died.
Valerie had been brave to get this far. “Let me leave out some things in the bathroom.”
“Um. Right.”
After laying out towels, a robe, and a spare toothbrush, he bowed slightly. “All yours, pet.”
In the kitchen, he pulled out wine for her and a beer for him and left them on the coffee table.
When she left the bathroom, he went in. Time to deal with his leg.
Once his prosthesis was off, he took a quick shower and washed the liner, leaving it hanging to dry. After pulling on his robe, he set his knee on the iWalk knee crutch and strapped it to his thigh and upper calf. He left his prosthesis beside the bed with his second liner.
He was trained to be prepared for emergencies—and the amputation sure did fuck with his response time. He could no longer jump out of bed and run to deal with a problem.
But he was an expert at donning his prosthesis quickly—and if it took too much time, he had crutches and the iWalk.
In the living room, Valerie was curled at one end of his couch, wine glass in hand. Seeing him, she raised her eyebrows. “What a cool device. Almost like a peg leg.”
He smiled. He’d hoped she wouldn’t be the type to react poorly. Curiosity, he could handle. “It’s useful for getting around after I take my prosthesis off and beats using crutches. I like having my hands free.”
He unstrapped the device and set it to one side, then sat beside her.
Checking out his residual limb, she caught his gaze and flushed.
“It’s all right to look, sweetheart. I don’t mind.”
To his surprise—and delight—she took him up on the offer. Leaning forward, she ran her hand over his left knee and down over the stump. Unhappiness showed in her expression, but no revulsion.
“You handle the sight better than a lot of people do.” He picked up his beer. A sip of the icy cold brew went down well.
“Ah, well,” she went back to her wine, “I was an analyst in the Department of Defense”
Interesting. “Somehow, I wouldn’t have thought you the type for warfare.”
* * *
Had she startled the Colonel? Valerie almost laughed. “I’m not. I wanted to go to college and—” She winced. She really didn’t want to talk about her mess of a childhood.
“And…?” He’d turned so he could watch her face, and after a second, took her hand in his big warm one. Staying in contact.
How did he know it would loosen her tongue? “And my parents were consulting with American businesses in the Middle East. They wanted me to continue tending the house, planning their social events, doing the shopping. When I refused to stay, they cut me off.” They’d shouted she was a worthless, ungrateful child and thrown her clothes in the street and told her to never come back. “It took almost all my savings to fly back to the US.”
“How old were you?”
“I turned eighteen that day.” She gave him a rueful smile. “I was an unplanned pregnancy and not especially wanted until I was old enough to be useful. Then again, maybe it was good for my character.”
When she sighed, Ghost put an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close. “Feeling unwanted isn’t good for anyone,” he growled, “especially a child.”
“Well, being broke is how I ended up in the DoD. I spoke Arabic, so they snatched me up as a linguist.”
“Ah, excellent choice.” He toasted her with his beer. “Then you managed college and grad school?”
“Mmmhmm. Marriage and a couple of children, teaching in a community college, working on a doctorate and a book. That’s pretty much my life.”
He ran his fingers through her hair. “I somehow doubt that, but it gives me a timeline, at least.”
She laughed. The wine had started a lovely buzz in her veins. She was warm and comfortable, and his hand in her hair made her want to purr like a contented cat. “What’s your timeline, then?”
“My father wanted me to get an MBA and handle his manufacturing company, but I disliked business. I switched to history, earned my master’s, taught for a couple of years, then wanted some adventure. So, I joined up, did officer candidate school, and worked my way into Special Forces. Got married. I was in a bit over twenty years, mostly based in Seattle, and picked up my doctorate and did some teaching while in.”
He hesitated before adding, “No children, my wife died of cancer.” His voice had gone rough with the last sentence. He’d loved his wife. A lot.
“Oh, Ghost, I’m sorry.”
“Thank you. It was four years ago, so it’s not fresh.” He tugged her hair. “As you’ve probably learned, it takes a while to recover from losing someone. And to being alone.”
“Don’t I know it.” She sighed, then frowned. “My children are only a couple of hours away, and I drive over to see them fairly often, although Dillon is overseas right now.” She had to admit her children’s worries over how their father was doing occasionally made for awkward conversations. “Do you have any family here?”
He chuckled. “Not even close. My father died a few years ago. When I was a teen, my parents divorced. My mother returned to Scotland and later married a good Scottish man. You remind me of her sometimes—your ability to pick yourself up and get on with what needs to be done.”
That…was an amazing compliment. “Thank you.”
He continued, “I have a few half-siblings, and they’ve given me plenty of nieces and nephews to spoil whenever I get over there.”
His hard face softened as though he was picturing those rolling hills and the laughter of children.
“I bet they adore their uncle,” she said softly.
“It’s mutual. They’re great kids.”
As he sipped his beer, she said tentatively, “It’s a long way from Seattle to Florida.”
His mouth tightened. Not with anger, but something more unhappy.
“Did…something happen to make you move?”
He rubbed the back of his neck, then sighed. “In a way. My wife had died. When I tried to get back into being social, I had a scene go bad, and then”—he motioned toward his leg—“I left the military. Seattle no longer felt like home at that point.”
“Well, you certainly chose to move a long way,” she said, then rubbed her head against his arm. “I’m glad you’re here, Finn.”
He pulled her closer. “Me, too.”
Chapter Fourteen
The new tech on the prosthesis Ghost had trialed had some excellent benefits, but the device had been unbalanced enough he’d strained his hip trying to compensate.
It was the downside of testing new equipment. Although he received a discount on anything he wanted to purchase, if something didn’t work, the guinea pig—him—suffered for it.
Then again, it was better if he discovered any problems. An older amputee might not bounce back as well from an injury the prosthesis might cause.
Back in his usual work prosthesis, Ghost rubbed his hip as he walked toward his military history class. This was a fun one with a fair number of ROTC students as well as upper grad history majors. Their questions and arguments kept him on his toes.
He smiled as he set the box on his desk and opened it. The scent of kleicha drifted out, catching the attention of his students. Young people were always hungry.
“We’ve been discussing the wars in the Middle East, and I was reminded today how easy it is to label someone we’re fighting against as ‘other’, to see them as lesser humans or even as evil. It’s more difficult—but more accurate—to realize we all have reasons to fight, and their reasons are, to them, as compelling as our reasons are to us. It’s even more difficult to remember that soldiers—or terrorists—are only a small percentage of a population.”
The frowns showed they were thinking.
“Hoffman, you’re from a small town. Let’s say you got sucked into some manipulative politician’s w
armongering and went out and slaughtered a bunch of people. Would it be right for the world to blame your town? To think the residents had all agreed with you? To condemn them all because you were an idiot?”
His insult won laughter, then more frowns, then several students muttered, “No.”
“Excellent. One of the questions on the upcoming test will relate to the blame game, so keep your eyes open for examples you can pull from your reading. And in the future, remember soldiers on the other side also have families, have sisters and children. They have their special holidays and favorite foods.”
More nods. This really was a good class.
He grinned. “To drive home this lesson… One of the professors here grew up in the Middle East and was taught to cook by the local housekeepers. She made kleicha and gave me enough to share with you all. Like our Christmas cookies, this is a holiday cookie, and when I was in Baghdad, it was one of my favorite treats.”
The students surrounded his desk, and the cookies disappeared like magic. Homemade sweets, who could resist? Even better, the sweet professor had made enough he could keep some for himself.
After putting the quiz questions up on the display, he sat back and nibbled on his own cookie. In reality, he’d forgotten the half-joking request he’d made of Valerie.
She hadn’t.
Because she was an intelligent and caring woman, a combination he found far too compelling. She was also damned determined. The way she had buckled down to learn self-defense was impressive.
After her lessons, he could usually talk her into joining him for supper and then into spending the night.
At least at his place. When she’d cooked him a meal at her apartment, they’d made love, and then he’d gone home rather than stay over. Their relationship wasn’t at the point when she could tell him she needed time alone. At his place, she knew she could just depart when she was ready. Asking a man to leave was often difficult for a woman, especially a submissive one.
But he’d hated to leave. He liked waking up with her. Cooking breakfast with her, or if they had late morning lectures, they’d go out for breakfast.
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