Chapter 11
My God, she’s beautiful.
Oliver stood behind her, trying to control his breathing. She was flushed from head to toe, her snow-white skin speckled with the heated rash he knew all too well.
She wants this even if she won’t admit it.
He was glad to be standing behind her—his arousal pressed against his pants with an urgent need.
One that was going to go unfulfilled today.
Remember who you are, he berated his libido. Remember what the goal is here.
He’d never had this problem with the others. True—he’d been turned on, but he’d always been able to control himself, stay focused on the end game here.
Show her what she’s been missing.
Teach her what to ask for.
Oliver watched as she flexed her fingers, the only movement she could make.
She’s still deep in the fantasy we’ve woven.
“Perhaps I should gag you before we start,” Oliver said, running his fingertips lightly over Veronica’s ass.
Her muscles twitched, more out of instinct than a conscious decision.
“I find the muffled whimpers most entertaining.”
Of course, if he did gag her, he’d have to give her another safety signal to use other than her safe-word. Maybe three quick grunts or snapping her fingers. After all, it was his responsibility as her Dom to ensure she was safe at all times.
“But then I couldn’t hear you count. And I want you to count.”
Veronica let out something akin to a sigh of relief.
Next time, I will gag you.
He made a mental note.
I won’t change my mind now.
Oliver gripped the paddle in his hand. “Do you remember how many strokes you’ve earned from your disobedience?”
The whispered response was too faint for him to hear.
He touched the leather to the back of her thighs, and she jumped.
“I can’t hear you.”
“Twenty.”
Oliver grinned at the touch of anger in her voice. “Yes. Twenty. I want you to count them off, Roni. Each and every one.”
The muscles in her legs and back tensed up in anticipation.
He waited long enough to see her relax before laying into her with measured strokes.
“One.” The annoyed cry came. “Two. Three.”
It wasn’t the pain that shocked Veronica.
It was the slow slide into pleasure.
She’d used the leather paddle before—it was one of her standard items. She knew the feel of it, the smell and the sensation when she slapped her hand to make that satisfying crack before applying it.
So she should have known how it’d feel. A bit more of a sting, a bit of a snap as it cracked across her ass.
Nothing special.
Then why was her head spinning, her crotch soaked with anticipation and her skin humming with anticipation as he drew back for every slap, every smack of the paddle?
“Six,” she gasped as it landed just below her ass, impacting with the sweet spot every Dom knew existed.
But she’d never imagined the warmth, the tingle of excitement running up into her core, the grinding need for another and another and another—
“Ten.”
Part of her mind catalogued Oliver’s efficient, well-aimed hits. Never the same spot twice, the rhythm slow enough to allow her a bit of recovery time, but never enough to—
“Eleven.”
Veronica gasped as the edge of the leather skimmed between her butt cheeks, the jolt shocking her even as her hips shot forward, wanting both more and less.
Her mind began to fuzz with the emotional rush, the pain diminishing into a low hum that overtook her senses, drowning out everything but the need to please him, to show how strong she was and how grand a man he was to have her at his beck and call—
“Twelve. Thirteen.”
Oliver heard the moans and sighs escaping her lips, her excitement only increasing with every count as she rubbed against the soft fabric and heightened her arousal.
She probably didn’t even know she was doing it, he mused.
But it couldn’t continue.
“Stop moving.” He dropped his arm to his side. The welcome warm throb of the exercise burned through his own muscles. “Stop,” Oliver barked, seeing no reaction.
A whimper reached his ears.
“Stop,” he repeated, slapping her butt with his free hand.
She froze.
“What number are we up to?”
There was no response.
Oliver put the paddle down and moved in. “Close your eyes.”
He pulled the blindfold free and tossed it away.
Veronica kept her head down as he walked around to kneel on the love seat in front of her.
He reached down under her chin and brought her up with one finger.
“Open your eyes. Slowly now—slowly,” he murmured.
Her pupils were dilated almost to the point of overtaking the last of the blue. She gazed at him as if he wasn’t there, lost in her own world.
Subspace.
His heart swelled with pride along with other parts of him.
For me.
Oliver stroked her forehead, pushing away wet blonde locks.
“What number are we up to?”
Her forehead furrowed, and for a second, he felt panic.
“Eighteen.” She paused. “Sir.”
He leaned in and kissed her forehead. “Very good. And that leaves—”
“Two.” She licked bone-dry lips. “Two more, Sir.”
“Yes.” Oliver rose. “Ready yourself.”
She tensed up as he moved around and grasped the paddle again.
Oliver studied her pinked ass, the raised welts crisscrossing the snow-white skin.
You’ll remember this for a few days.
He swung the paddle down and heard the startled gasp, the moan that shot straight to his cock, daring him to continue.
“One more.” He wasn’t sure if he was reassuring himself or alerting her. “One more, Roni.”
She nodded.
The last smack of the paddle had him biting down on his lip.
If only—
He yanked his pants down and charged at her with an annoyed growl, angry with himself for holding out so long.
Oliver tugged on the cuffs keeping her hands bound behind her back as he thrust home, sinking into the wetness and the heat that scorched his body and soul.
Roni let out a scream of delight as he set a punishing pace, slamming into her as her fingers scrabbled against his torso, unable to do anything other than submit to him.
Finally—
Oliver dropped the paddle and stepped back.
Enough.
For both of us.
He moved closer. “I’m going to help you stand up.”
Oliver pulled her upright and unclipped the cuffs, unbuckling them to fall to the floor.
“Come here.” He led her back to the love seat and sat with her, holding both her hands.
The neatly folded blanket was under the seat as he’d arranged, the soft flannel perfect for this type of situation.
He pulled it out along with the cooler.
Oliver carefully wrapped the blanket around her, mummifying her as much as he dared. The dazed look had diminished only slightly as he sat beside her.
A slight tug brought her into his arms. The flannel blanket brushed against his wet skin, absorbing from both of them.
He rubbed her shoulder lightly, murmuring compliments to her as he watched her come back to herself.
So beautiful.
In a way, he envied submissives and their ability to release control so completely, so totally to another person. He couldn’t imagine doing it himself.
Melissa had tried to explain it to him more than a few times but he’d never quite understood. All he knew was it was a glorious gift and one he cherished from all his clients.
But none as much as the woman cradled in his arms.
“You must be thirsty.” He reached down and plucked the energy drink from the cooler. It took a bit of maneuvering, but he managed to open it without spilling it over both of them.
He pressed it to her lips. “Drink.”
She gulped at the first mouthful.
Oliver pulled the can away. “Slowly. I don’t want you to get sick.” He offered it to her again, and she took another sip.
He hummed a popular pop tune as he rocked her back and forth, sensing the shift in her body as she came back to herself.
Every woman is different, but they’re all the same.
She finally let out a weary sigh and turned to him.
Oliver was shocked to see the tears start as she met his eyes, her sniffles turning to sobs.
“Shush. It’s okay.” He wrapped his arms around her even tighter as she cried, the last of the endorphin rush forcing its way past her emotional barriers. “You’re fine. You’re just fine.”
Finally, Veronica swiped at her cheeks with the backs of her hands, sitting up abruptly. “What’s wrong with me?”
“Absolutely nothing.” Oliver smiled and stroked the back of her neck. He undid the buckle and pulled the collar free. “There. More comfortable now?”
Veronica’s hands flew up to inspect her neck. The flush in her cheeks rose as she dropped her hands into her nap.
“Yes. Thank you.” She paused, and Oliver knew she was wondering if she had to add the honorific.
“When I take the collar off, it’s over,” he prompted. “We’re good.”
Veronica leaned forward and ran her fingers through her hair. “My God.” She turned to look at him. “What—”
“That’s subspace. That’s what should be happening to every man you take into the back rooms.” He hesitated, unsure how to phrase what he knew had to be said. “You’re a natural.”
She rubbed the back of her neck and said nothing.
Oliver reached for a granola bar and snapped it in half before giving her one piece. He bit down on the wafer and chewed slowly.
This is her journey, not yours.
Veronica ate the nut-and-berry snack and leaned back against him. She pulled the blanket tighter around her and laid her head back to stare at the ceiling. The tears had dried, and now all Oliver saw was the smart, tough businesswoman.
“I can’t—” She shook her head. “Why didn’t I see this before?”
He wasn’t sure if the question was directed at him, but he had to answer.
“Because you didn’t want to.” He curled the collar up into a spiral and placed it on the floor. “Because you didn’t have to.”
“This—” She drew a shallow breath and shook her head. “This isn’t me. I shouldn’t be that—” Veronica waved her hands. “I can’t be this.”
“Why not?” he asked.
“Because submissives aren’t—” She gestured at herself. “This. Me. I’m too tough for this.”
He slipped a finger under her chin and turned her face up to his. “It’s precisely who and what you are that make you a perfect submissive.”
It took all his resolve not to kiss her, drain some of the tension from her expression.
“People think it’s the weak ones who are submissives, the men and women who look soft and pliable.” He chuckled. “They’re usually not. It’s the ones who can’t let themselves go who need a Dom the most. The ones who are so strung-out due to their job, their personality keeping their emotions locked up and trying too hard to control everything and everyone around them. They’re the ones who need this to—” He frowned, searching for the word. “They need this to really be alive.”
Veronica stayed silent, and he knew she was putting the pieces together, gathering her information and analyzing it as if she were debating a new coffee machine in her café.
He had no doubt she’d come to the same conclusion he had, acknowledge and accept what he’d seen in her.
But he couldn’t rush his Roni.
Oliver mentally jerked back at the thought.
Since when was she yours?
He looked at the leather collar on the floor.
That’s not yours.
The woman beside you isn’t yours.
She’s just another assignment.
Just another submissive seeking her path.
“Okay.” The whisper brought him out of his self-inspection. “What if I am a—” She struggled with the word but finally spat it out. “Submissive. Why didn’t I figure it out before? Why didn’t someone tell me?”
Oliver opened another can and took a deep drink before answering. “Because you didn’t know your true nature. Plenty of people make the same mistake. HP has applicants who think they’re subs when they’re really Dominants—the interview usually calls them out.” He passed her the drink. “You’ve heard the term ‘topping from the bottom’, right?”
“Yeah. But I was never sure what it meant,” Veronica admitted. “It means when the sub gets all uppity and lippy right?”
“Yes and no.” He rubbed her shoulders through the blanket. “It happens when the submissive tries to direct what the Dominant’s doing. Maybe you do something on purpose in order to get punished. The funny thing is you already have the control in the relationship. You have the safe-word, and you dictate the terms.”
“I never thought about it like that before.” She curled into his neck and let out a sigh. “My mind’s all confuzzled.”
“Confused?”
“Confuzzled. Confused and puzzled.”
He grinned. “I see. How about you think that over while I get your clothes?” He tugged at the blanket in response to her frown. “You think I’m going to send you home half-naked?”
“I thought—” She stopped and smiled. “I was baiting you with the clothing. Sorry.”
He levered himself up off the couch. “Apology accepted. Finish the drink, and I’ll call the cab.”
Oliver walked over to the bookshelf and found the clean white T-shirt and gray track pants he’d stashed there along with underwear.
“You were prepared to destroy all my clothing,” Veronica said from the love seat before draining the can.
“I was,” he admitted as he strolled back. “And I did.” He pointed at the shredded shirt and panties lying on the floor. “You’re quite comfortable with being naked in front of me. Did you notice that?”
She pulled the blanket tighter around her. “I guess.” Her gaze went to the carpet. “I don’t know what to think right now.”
“That’s okay. Go home, take a bath and let yourself process what’s going on.” He knelt in front of her. “Here.” He handed her the clothing. “Leave the other sweats. I’ll take great pleasure in burning them.”
She laughed as she took the pile. “That ugly?”
“That ugly.”
She held up the panties. “You guessed my size.”
He gave her a knowing look.
“Right. Yes.” She placed the clothing at her feet.
“Thank you,” Oliver said.
Veronica frowned. “For what?”
“For this.” He smiled. “I appreciate your gift.”
She blushed, the simple reaction tugging at his heartstrings.
“I need to go.” She shrugged off the blanket and pulled on the shirt. “I’m still a bit horny. Is that a side effect?”
Oliver found it easy to smile, painfully aware of his own aroused state. It wasn’t as bad as before, but he was horribly, hopelessly turned on. “It should be if it’s done right.”
Veronica moved to pick up her track pants, exposing her bottom half to him. He paused at seeing the red marks across her ass and the slick skin between her legs, begging him for release.
Not yours.
Behave.
“Here.” He pushed the running shoes toward her with one foot. “I’ll get your purse and make the call.”
His patience was nearing the end, his restraint in tatters. It took all he had to keep his voice calm and level. “I’ll call you in a few days and see you in a week.”
It was easy to imagine the rest of the scenario, so easy to pull it into his mind’s eye.
“Mine.” He moved in for a deep, hot kiss. “All mine.”
The blanket fell away as he pulled her onto his lap and pushed her hand onto his crotch.
“See what you do to me? What you’ve done,” he murmured as he kissed her along her cheek, ending up at her earlobe, where he nipped the sensitive skin. “What are we going to do about that?”
Roni silently unfastened the leather pants and slid her hand inside.
Oliver gasped, almost coming at her brief touch.
He turned away from Veronica as she got dressed, forcing himself to think of ice-cold water.
The iceberg that sank the Titanic.
It took a few seconds to cross the room and retrieve her purse from the corner he’d tossed it into, keeping his back to her.
It seemed like a decade.
She cleared her throat. “I’m ready.”
He turned to see her standing there fully clothed wearing his shirt and track pants. Perfect.
“Good.” He grabbed the cell phone off another shelf and tapped the screen. “He’ll be here in a few minutes.”
She picked up the leather collar from the floor and looked at him. “Can I take this?”
He raised his eyebrows at the request.
She’s accepting it. Accepting her collar.
“Yes. It’s yours.” His emotions flared, the urge to take her in his arms almost overwhelming. “Don’t forget it next week. I’ll be annoyed if you do.”
“Really.” The teasing twinkle in her eyes warmed his heart. “Now I’m tempted to see about this topping from the bottom.”
A few steps, and he was far inside her personal space before she could move, could realize what he was doing.
“Don’t,” he whispered.
Oliver relished the peep of surprise he brought out of her, the way her pupils expanded at his quiet admonishment.
His cock twitched, and he knew he’d be in the bathroom seconds after he sent her away.
Damn it. You’ve got me on your leash.
A hard knock at the front door shocked them both out of their stalemate.
Oliver cleared his throat. “I’ll see you soon.” He took her hand and led her down the hall.
The cab driver was back inside the car as he opened the door, waiting for his fare.
“Thank you,” Veronica said as she stepped out. Suddenly, she twisted around and kissed him on the lips. “Thank you.”
Oliver didn’t say anything, couldn’t say anything until the cab pulled away and disappeared around the corner.
It was only then he dared to touch his lips, the tears welling up in his eyes.
Melissa.
What the hell am I doing?
Her voice drifted to his subconscious.
Exactly what you want to do. What you need to do.
Veronica laid her head back on the cushions, her head spinning. The drinks and the snacks had helped settled her nerves, but there were a thousand questions running around in her head, and there was no easy answers.
You’re a true submissive.
She shook her head, not caring if the driver saw, and wondered what this strange woman was doing in the back of his car.
The two realities warred in her mind.
This doesn’t make sense.
This makes perfect sense.
Her legs were cold, the track pants slow to help her warm up. She wanted nothing else than to return to the warm flannel blanket and Oliver’s arms, the comfort and safety of being with him, being his—
His possession? His submissive?
The thought startled her into sitting upright.
He’s just an employee. Hired by HP to help me get my head on straight. Nothing more nothing less. There’s nothing more between us than a business arrangement.
The moisture between her thighs begged to disagree with her conclusions.
She sighed and turned her head to one side. The buildings flashed by, the familiar stores and streets blending into one long hypnotic drone.
What am I doing?
The lethargy in her bones threatened to drag her down into sleep. When the cab pulled up in front of her house, it took a concentrated effort to straighten up and open the door.
“Next week.” He smiled at her. “Have a nice day.”
She made it through the front door and fumbled in her purse for her keys.
Her hand brushed over the leather collar curled up in a tight ball.
Mine.
His.
She pulled the keys out and forced the right one into the lock with a muffled curse.
The downstairs door creaked, and she knew her landlord was listening, but she didn’t care. All she wanted was a quiet dark place to try to figure out the emotional firestorm churning through her mind.
She jammed her keys in her pocket and pushed the door open.
It took the last of her energy to strip down and make it to the bathroom. She’d showered earlier, but it felt like a whole new day.
Veronica hovered over the large white tub. She twisted the hot water tap wide open, praying Anderson hadn’t used it all up. It took a few minutes to find the bath salts she’d gotten as a present at Christmas from her staff, the tiny purple beads waiting patiently to be used.
She dropped a handful under the now-steaming stream of water and watched them explode into a sweet-smelling foam.
It took the last of her self-control to slowly lower herself into the still-filling tub, adjusting the water temperature to make sure she wasn’t boiled alive.
Veronica laid her head on the cool ceramic edge with a sigh.
Her ass burned.
Though—and she hated to say it because it sounded so trite—in a good way.
She shifted, sending ripples scurrying to the edge of the tub.
So this is what a good paddling feels like.
She hadn’t had the same reaction to her previous spanking, her recovery much faster. By the time she’d gotten to sleep Saturday night, it’d been only a pleasant memory.
This—this might take a bit longer.
She grunted and moved again, this time to turn off the taps with her feet. The water lapped at the edges of the tub, white fluffy mounds of foam swirling around her knees.
Closing her eyes sent her easily back to the love seat, the memories vibrant and fresh.
The nervous tension of waiting there, bent over and waiting for the paddle to fall.
The anticipation sending her pulse singing in her veins, the delicious pain snaking through her thighs to land right on her naked desire.
Veronica sighed.
She’d paddled plenty of submissives in a variety of settings. Public, private—bent over spanking benches and stretched out on St. Andrew’s crosses.
But this—
She groaned and rolled again, letting the water circulate over her battered bottom.
He’d managed with only a few words to send her imagination soaring, send her into a fantasy world with only his voice.
She’d never thought of doing that to any of her men.
Sliding down brought the hot water up to her chin and raised the level of the water close to the edge.
Her mind had, for lack of a classier way to say it, been blown.
She allowed herself a mischievous smile at the memory of Oliver’s very obvious erection.
Speaking of blown—
She couldn’t imagine him visiting other women and providing the same service without being horribly frustrated. He couldn’t even come home to his wife and take care of business, as it were.
Veronica frowned and studied a cluster of bubbles as they drifted near her mouth.
Oliver was a widower and a Dom.
Alone in two worlds.
When she died, it must have torn him apart.
She lifted her arm and watched the water drip off her fingers.
Now he spent his weekends helping women find their inner nature.
Veronica closed her eyes and shifted again, the heat helping burn out the aches and pains. She felt like she’d run a marathon instead of standing in one place, allowing a man to paddle her ass.
Her desire had diminished but not by much. As she struggled out of the tub, she made a promise to grab some wine and head for the bedroom.
Veronica mopped her hair with a towel as she walked into the living room, relishing her thick white robe. The throbbing on her ass had died down to a low hum, enough to remind what had happened but not enough to dominate her thoughts.
The answering machine was blinking.
It was almost an antique, her persistence in having a landline a holdover from the time when she couldn’t afford a cell phone. It’d been an expense she couldn’t justify and she’d taken as much pride in her first portable phone as most women did in their firstborn child.
Veronica tapped the well-worn button on the way to the kitchen and a well-deserved glass of wine.
I wonder if there are any wine preferences for subs—
“Veronica.” The familiar voice brought her up short. “I guess you’re not carrying your cell. Don’t tell me you can’t afford the fees.” The displeasure in his voice was sharp and cutting. “Call me as soon as you can. Good-bye.”
Dear old Dad.
She went for the white wine. A lovely chardonnay to try to mellow her out before she returned his call.
He never contacted her just to chat.
There was a reason behind every communiqué, every contact.
Veronica flashed back to the last time they’d talked. It’d been two months ago—Alfred Locksley had appeared in the doorway of Java Jive, glancing around with a less-than-impressed scowl before she’d recognized him and hustled him to an empty table.
After his usual offer to come join him at work and her usual refusal, she’d told him about her plans to add fresh pastries cooked on site.
He hadn’t been impressed.
“People don’t care if their cookies are fresh or not. Just that their coffee tastes good,” he’d groused while sipping his third espresso. “If you want to look all cute, tear the packaging off and put your own clingy wrap on them. They’ll look home cooked and save you the time and expense.”
“That’s wrong.”
“That’s good business.” He scowled at his cup. “Your barista should be fired. This is bitter.”
The conversation hadn’t gone much better than that.
Veronica studied the half-glass of wine she’d poured.
Yeah. That.
She emptied the last of the bottle into the glass and carried it into the living room.
Her purse lay on the sofa where she’d left it, her cell phone inside.
It took a few seconds to tap in the unfamiliar number on her phone and a few more for him to answer.
“Veronica.” The voice boomed out of the tiny speaker. “How are you doing?”
“Just fine, Dad. What’s up?” She took a deep swallow of the wine, glad they weren’t on a video chat.
“I heard about the fire. Awful thing.” He sounded about as upset as her bathwater. “I hate to say I told you so, but I did warn you about those ovens. This idea about your own baked goods was a waste of time and now, plenty of money.”
“The insurance covered the damage.” Veronica wasn’t going to tell him about the dig into her savings and the delay on her expansion to another store.
The less he knew, the better.
“From what I’ve gathered, you’re cutting it pretty close.” She could imagine him sitting there in his home office, rocking back and forth in the ancient chair salvaged from one of his first jobs. “A push and you’re done.”
“Where did you hear that from?” Veronica asked. “We’re fine.”
“Of course you are.” The condescending tone sent her blood pressure skyward. “But let’s meet tomorrow and chat.”
“Our reopening is tomorrow.”
“Already? I had no idea.”
Veronica bit back a curse.
Of course you know.
“Why don’t you meet me at Java Jive at ten o’clock, and you can look the café over again. We’ve done some lovely renovations, and I think you’ll be impressed,” she said.
“Wonderful. See you there.” The phone went dead.
She looked at the wineglass, still mostly full.
He’s up to something.
Veronica held back a sigh. He hadn’t changed after all these years, and she always ended up waiting to be surprised.
I have to play the game out.
Despite her annoyance at her father’s attitude, she couldn’t fully shake the remnants of her visit to Oliver’s house.
Her need for completion fought with her growling stomach.
Enough of that for now.
Veronica caught herself stifling a yawn as she went to the kitchen to find something for dinner.
She still needed Oliver to sign off her return to Boots ’n’ Chains.
Officially, she had two more sessions.
An anticipatory shiver ran down her spine at the thought of future visits.
This could get interesting.