I’m about to lean down and take off my shoes, but Ian grabs me by the arm and hauls me along, down the hall, past the music room, and into an office. I don’t get a chance to look around before his hands clamp onto my shoulders and force me to myknees. I yelp, but the landing is soft—padded leather beneath me. He pushes me forward, bending me over another leather-covered surface. A stool. No, two stools joined together, forming a lower and upper tier. I press my palms into the padding, trying to push myself up, but Ian pins me there with a firm hand on my back.
“Lie still,” he demands with a reverberating authority that stuns me into place.
The upper tier is slanted, making my ass stick into the air, my head dropping toward the floor. When he lifts my skirt, I realize why.
“No,” I gasp, just before his hand connects with my right ass cheek.
Pain flares, reverberating deep into my muscles. I cry out, squirming to get free, scooting my legs farther out on the lower stool. But Ian pulls a leather strap across the backs of my knees and yanks it tight, forcing me back into place.
“No,” I squeal when another smack lands. I kick my legs into the air, but it’s useless. Ian brings his hand down twice more, and I thrash even harder. “Stop,” I cry, flinging my arms back, trying to push him away. It makes no difference. He swats my hands aside and rains down six more blows in rapid succession, cold and efficient as he administers my punishment.
I’m clutching the legs of the stool by the time the last smack lands, panting through the onslaught of pain. My ass is on fire, but that’s not the worst part. I feel shaken to the core, on the verge of a breakdown. When Ian releases the strap and tells me to get up, my legs are shaking so hard they can barely support my weight.
He points at the couch across the room. “Go take a nap. You look like a mess.”
I don’t protest. I don’t say anything as I stagger across the floor and gingerly sink onto the couch, curling into a ball with my back to the room.
Ian brings a blanket that he spreads over me, tucking me in. I can’t look at him or even thank him—or what would be more appropriate: demand an explanation. I’m too ashamed. Too shaken. But when he places a hand on my head, warm and calm, I want to combust under the kind gesture. He strokes my hair for a minute, and when he leaves, it takes everything not to break down. Somehow, the loss of that comfort is worse than the spanking.
***
I have no idea how long I sleep, but when I wake again, I feel somewhat revitalized.
Slowly, I push up to sit and find a plate on the coffee table, full of fruit, bread, sausage, and eggs. There’s even a big glass of orange juice.
“Eat,” a deep voice says from across the room.
Looking up, I find Ian sitting behind a huge desk, staring back and forth between three screens and tapping at a keyboard.
I break off a piece of bread and put it into my mouth. At first, I don’t feel hungry at all, but as I start chewing and the food sinks into my stomach, I realize how badly I need the sustenance. I end up gobbling up all the food, forgetting about the horrible punishment and Ian’s presence.
It’s not until I take the last sip of orange juice and set the glass down beside the empty plate that I remember where I am and who’s with me. I startle when I look up and find Ian watching me. His expression is impassive; there’s no telling whether he’s angry or merely disappointed. But it has to be oneof the two, and the thought that I’ve disappointed him like that makes my chest ache.
“I’m sorry.” I fold my hands in my lap and drop my gaze. I don’t know what it is about this man. I know my pleaser tendencies are bad, but he makes them roar to life with a vengeance that eradicates all thought of normal conduct and boundaries.
“You’ve done your penance. Now it’s time to move on. Go warm up in the music room.”
Heaving a deep breath, I get up. I feel like a little girl being scolded by the principal as I walk through the room with my hands gathered in front of me, feeling Ian’s eyes following me.
“You’ll stay until seven tonight to make up for the lost time,” he says when I grab the door handle.
Pausing, I turn toward him.Seven?I have several errands I need to run today. There’s no way I’ll make it when I won’t be home until after eight. But when he lifts his brows in a strict expression and nods for me to go on, I can’t protest.
“Yes,” I simply say and leave the room, trying to ignore the desperate longing for him to touch me again.
10
The Plan
Ian
Jenna looks like a wreck when I let her go on Sunday night after six hours of arduous practice and only two short breaks. Like yesterday, she’s not wearing any makeup, and it makes her look even more vulnerable than she already does. It makes me want to take her in my arms and hold her close.
As much as I like to tear a woman apart and make her cry and scream, I love the mending as well. One is nothing without the other. It’s the combination that truly makes it special. And Jenna stirs my every protective instinct. Leaving her side after the punishment was more than a little difficult, and making sure she eats has become a little obsession of mine.
I hope Killian will come to see the value of aftercare, too, someday. The rate he’s going at now, exerting his cruel sadism and not providing any care, is not healthy. But I’m afraid he’ll only shut down even more if I push him too hard.
I will have to keep a close eye on him when we set our plan into motion.