Never and Forever

Chapter One

© Nattie Jones and ABCD Webmasters, 2005

She’d vowed never to come back.

After ten years living the flashy, fast-paced sort of life that teenagers only dream about, Eva Santana drove her red BMW down the main street of Wellington, Ohio. Surely there was no shame in returning. No shame in longing for that which one had so despised. She’d been young. Stupid.

But despite everything, it’d been worth it. All of it.

She drove slowly, nonchalantly, looking for the new, for the old and familiar. With her dark sunglasses, there was little risk any one would recognize her. She wasn’t quite ready for facing disapproval from the old biddies or the admiration from teens with stars in their eyes.

When she passed Caldwell Savings and Loan, she frowned. When she passed Caldwell Pharmacy, her finger started tapping on the steering wheel. When she turned the corner and saw the Caldwell Public Library, she began mumbling to herself.

But when she passed the main office of Caldwell Properties, Inc., she was so angry that she didn’t even notice when her speedometer reached 45 mph in a 25 mph zone. And when the siren spun its accusing sound behind her, her distraction was such that she drove a full two blocks before noticing the cursing officer and pulling over to the side of the road.

To make matters worse, Timmy Simmons got out of the police car and strode towards her car. Pimple-free and about thirty extra pounds of pure muscle since high school. He swaggered like he knew it, too.

“License and registration.” He took it, looked at it twice. “Eva Santana,” he drawled, slow and mocking.

Timmy lifted his hat a little and peered down at her. “Renee?” He smirked. “Renee Kaiser not fancy enough for you now?”

Her agent had insisted she change her name, and Eva hadn’t minded. At eighteen, she’d been eager to shed her lower class beginnings and embrace the lifestyle of the famous and stylish. She had an exotic body, why not an exotic name?

Eva shrugged. “Publicity.”

Timmy struck deep and fast. “Yeah. Heard all about your adventures in Australia on the Style channel when I got home from your mother’s funeral. We—the town—had hoped to see you there.”

The pain squeezed her lungs, suffocating her. But not a muscle in her face twitched, nor did her gaze waver. She couldn’t—wouldn’t—speak. Not for a full minute, not until she took a slow breath through her parted lips and looked up into Timmy’s eyes. Not until she could give him her sweetest smile, the one that had made her millions of dollars. When she finally spoke, her voice was slow and silky, smooth and controlled.

“Thank you. I’m sure she would have been touched by your attendance.”

Timmy shifted nervously, obviously affected. “Well,” he mumbled, “it was the least I could do.”

He let her go then, leaving her with her regrets, her guilt, and a pricey speeding ticket. Her guilt, though, quickly grew into anger. Anger, she decided, best directed at Damian Caldwell. She screeched the tires around to pull into the parking lot of the town hall. When she reached the top floor, she sauntered right past the protesting secretary and straight into the mayor’s office.

Eva took off her hat and sunglasses, and delivered a smile that would have made an ice queen proud. Ignoring the fact that he was on the telephone, she drawled, “It’s time we talked, Damian Caldwell.”

When he swiveled his chair towards the window and continued with his conversation without the barest acknowledgement of her presence, she almost walked out. As her temper grew and grew, he finally finished and slowly turned his chair towards her, then looked her up and down.

“You look as beautiful as the magazines make you out to be.” It was a compliment, but it didn’t quite sound like one. “Considering you look ready to attack me, I take it my lawyer has finally managed to get a hold of you.”

“That’s my money, buddy.” Eva strode around the desk to glare into his eyes. “I just sent it home for her to invest for me, for her to retire from her life as a servant, not to use it to manipulate me into re-living her miserable life.”

“There wasn’t a day that that your mother was miserable, except when you left.”

“Don’t you talk to me about my mother. I loved her.” Her throat constricted painfully, but she held back her tears.

“Why didn’t you come back, when she was dying?”

Eva pursed her lips. “I didn’t know,” she said. “I was in a shoot, in Australia, for five days. My agent knew, chose not to tell me.” She saw pity in Damian’s eyes and it made her angry. “I dealt with it, I quit. I’m done being a model.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Now give me my money, and I’ll start a business on my own. I’ll be just fine.”

“You gave that money to your mother, and she saw fit to ensure that you didn’t receive a penny of it until you put in three months of service in my household.”

It galled her. “That won’t stand up in court.”

“There’s not a judge in the county that’s not a relative or friend of mine.”

“I’ll appeal.”

“Not within the three months it’ll take you to get your damn money back.”

“So you admit it’s my money!”

“Yep.”

“Then give it to me.”

“In three months, after you complete the contract of service, I’ll be most happy to.”

“Just give me a portion of my money then, and I’ll start a business and pay you to hire a damn servant, if you need one so much.”

“A business?” Damian walked around his desk to stand before her, suddenly interested. “What kind of business?”

“I’d rather die than let you have your greedy hands poking in my business.”

“Always the independent girl.” He frowned. “You set out on your own to New York City with only a backpack the day after high school graduation, wouldn’t even let me drive you to the damn bus station.”

“And I made a career, made a damn good living, all on my own.”

He couldn’t refute that. After a pause, he asked again, “What kind of business?”

Eva shrugged as if to cover the excitement twinkling in her soft brown eyes. “A Cocoa Café.”

Damian almost grinned. Despite her long, thin legs and perfect physique, Eva could down a pound of chocolate in less than a minute. She’d inherited that from her mother. “You’re a lot like your mother, you know.”

“I’m nothing like her.” Eva felt a twinge of regret, of sadness. Her mother had practically been Damian’s mother. But no, she’d only been a nanny, nothing more than a servant.

“You set out to make a living on your own, so did she.”

“She was a servant, for God’s sake.”

“And she loved it.”

“I can get along just fine on my own. I have for nearly ten years.”

“What are you trying to prove?” He leaned in close, toyed with a strand of her hair. “There was a time you loved playing the submissive wife to me.”

Eva gave her best French scoff she’d learned in Paris. “I was eight. Besides, that was before—”

“—you punched me?” he finished.

She glared, then corrected him. “I was going to say, before you beat me in the third grade spelling bee. Your ego grew so much it became obese.”

“That was when I knew you’d be my wife.”

It took her a full ten seconds before she managed a condescending, cool smile. “Excuse me?”

“Your mother took you right over her knee, pulled down your little shorts and panties, and set to spanking your little bottom like nothing I’d ever seen before.” His eyes twinkled at her in boyish amusement. “Your wiggling bottom and kicking legs were a sight to see, that’s for sure. You woulda thought you were being killed, the way you carried on.”

Despite her years of practice at controlling her appearance, Eva flushed. “She set your bottom straight a few times, too.”

“That she did,” he nodded. “That she did.” Then Damian sat down and put on his glasses as if he were stepping into a business suit. “Here’s your contract. You’ll sign, you’ll stay, and I’ll do my duty.”

“No.” Eva crossed her arms over her chest. “I can get along just fine on my own. I’ll stay in a hotel, if need be.”

“I own all the hotel properties in Wellington.”

“I’ll rent from someone else.”

“Nothing doing.”

“I’ll sleep in my damn car if I have to.”

“I’ll have you arrested.”

Then she stomped her foot and affected her best French pout. “You big bully,” she purred. “Why are you being so beastly?”

Damian’s lips didn’t even twitch; he just stared at her until she squirmed. “I won’t be manipulated.” He strode over to her and grabbed her chin. “And you will sign this contract.”

The tears that fell from her eyes were real. Eva shut her eyes tight and shook her head. “You’re not giving me a chance, here.”

“I made a promise, and I intend to keep it.” She heard him slap the papers down on the desk, heard his voice soothe softly. “I wouldn’t have promised if I didn’t think it was in your best interest.” Then he stepped close—too close—and took hold of her arms, almost in a hug. “I loved your mother, Renee.” Even softer, he added, “I love you—always have.”

She stepped back, brushed her tears away. “My name’s Eva now.” Taking a deep, hiccupping breath that suppressed her sobs, she added, “Eva Santana.”

And that’s the name she signed to the agreement.

**********

After ten years of trying to escape the servant’s quarters, Eva Santana was back in her old room in the Caldwell mansion. Dark and massive, it rivaled the best estates in England. The Caldwells were old money, and they had used it to make lots of new money. They were completely out of place in Ohio, in Eva’s opinion, but then, Damian was mayor like his father before him.

To make matters worse, Damian had even laid out a uniform on the bed, a skimpy black and white French style that had never before been seen on any member of the household staff.

Eva stewed and picked up the hand-written note on top of the apron.

My dearest Renee’,

Here’s your uniform. I expect to see you at eight o’clock sharp in my office, wearing it. Your duties will be assigned then.

And just because our agreement doesn’t allow me to fire you, doesn’t mean there won’t be consequences to disobedience.

Love,
Damian.
She fumed. Who the hell put a period after their signature? Like he was the be-all to end all. She crumpled the note and threw it across the room, dissolving into sobs on the bed. It’d been only two weeks since she’d left the set of the Australian shoot, and yet it felt like years. She’d been on the top of the world, or so they told her, but it’d been too lonely up there. Worse, no one cared about her, way up there. Her agent, the director, the photographer—they all knew about her mother’s quick illness, her death, and the funeral. But no one had told her, and their skimpy reason was no reason at all. It all came down to one thing: they knew she’d leave if she knew, and they didn’t want to lose money on the shoot.

Now she was back in Ohio, back in the servant’s quarters, and people still wanted her to play dress-up for their profit. Eva sat in front of her mirror and carefully applied moisturizer, trying desperately to save her face from the wearing effects of crying.

But the next morning, she put on the little black mini-dress and the frilly white apron, adding some high heels, slinky black hose, and curling her hair in a style meant to drive any man crazy with lust. Eva couldn’t suppress a grin as she enhanced her luscious, long eyelashes.

Oh yeah, she thought. He’d rue the day he asked her to wear this damn little uniform.

And when she sauntered into his office at 8:22, evaluated the lighting out of habit, and automatically assumed her most striking pose, she asked with golden overtones, “Are you sure this uniform is necessary?”

Damian licked his lips before he took in a deep, painful breath. “Oh yeah.” He forgot the lecture he’d meant to give her on tardiness and walked over to inspect her more closely. “Turn around.”

She decided not to glare, and instead gave him her best working twirl. It’s a job, she chanted to herself. Just another modeling job, to the tune of four million dollars. Never mind the fact that I earned that money once already.

He walked around her then, brushing off lint here and there, straightening her apron. “Who knew?” He stopped in front of her, adjusting her sleeves so they were even. “My gawky little Renee grew up into a drop-dead gorgeous Eva Santana.”

“I was never yours.”

“Oh yeah you were.”

“No, I was not.”

“Who took you to the senior prom?”

“That’s beside the point.” She frowned. “Besides, you tricked me into that, tricked me into a bet that I was sure to lose.”

“I would never take chances on my girl.”

She hissed. “I’m not your girl!” Taking a deep breath, she continued in a calmer tone. “Enough.” She curled her lips into a smile. There was nothing Damian hated more than sarcasm, that she knew. Her voice dripped with sweetness as she asked, “What are my duties today, master?”

“Don’t get sarcastic with me. You were over twenty minutes late.”

“What’re you going to do, dock my pay?”

Damian grinned. “Nope.”

Eva frowned at the smug happiness in his tone. “What then?” She almost threw one of his paperweights at him when he walked with a happy bounce in his step to the other side of his desk. He pulled out a drawer.

“Something better.” With a broad smile, he waved an ivory-backed hairbrush with a flourish. “I still have your mother’s hairbrush.”

She lunged over the desk. “Give me that!”

He grinned again, holding it just out of her reach. “Oh trust me, I’m going to give you a great deal of this.”

“No way.” But just as a precaution, she sprawled elegantly, if a bit nervously, into the plush chair in front of his desk.

“Get over here.” Damian rolled his chair back, patting his lap.

“No.” Eva shifted.

“Now.”

“You can’t spank me.”

“I did before.”

Eva felt her face grow hot, and prayed she wasn’t blushing. Still, she felt the blood pulse in her cheeks and knew her face was betraying her embarrassment. “That doesn’t count.”

“Oh?” He lifted an eyebrow. “Like the prom didn’t count?”

“Something like that.” She crossed her arms over her chest and adjusted her skirt down as far as it would reach.

“Don’t worry, sweetie. I’ll warm up your cute little bare bottom with my hand first.”

She gasped. “I think not!” She settled back in the chair, wishing she could smooth the panic out of her eyes. “And don’t call me sweetie.”

“What, you scared?” he mocked.

“Stop that.” She glared. “And no.”

“Then why don’t you come over here, accept your due, your dose of medicine like a good little girl.”

“Shut up.”

Damian caressed the hairbrush, then set it on the desk as if terribly saddened. “Well,” he drawled skeptically, “if you’re afraid, and you think you’re too fragile to handle a little spanking, then …”

“Stop pushing my buttons.”

“Oooh,” he crooned. “The poor baby is scared of a little spanking … Awww.” He looked at her with mock pity.

“I hate you.” But she stood up and went to him, ignoring the flutter deep within her taut and flat belly.

He smiled and patted his lap again. “Just bend yourself over my lap, Miss Eva, and we’ll take care of this tardy business.”

“I can’t believe this is real,” she muttered as she bent over his lap. But once over his lap, her control faded into a tiny fear that was somehow both thrilling and comforting.

“See, I like this.” Damian rubbed his hand over her covered bottom, taking his time to enjoy her slim cheeks. She’d had just a little pudge there when he’d spanked her before. “You need a little fat back here. You’re pure skin and bones.”

Eva said nothing, just stared at the floor. There’s no reason to be nervous, she told herself. It’s just a game, a farce. A job. She squirmed under his rubbing hand, chaotic feelings bouncing around in her body, warring for attention.

When he began peeling the little black dress up—and with the size of it, he definitely had to peel it—Eva lost her breath. To make up for it, she went for sarcasm again. “Let’s see if your little hands have learned how to spank yet.”

Damian grinned, remembering how he’d spanked her the night of the senior prom. A wimpy spanking, to be sure, but she’d kissed him all the same. “Don’t you worry none, Renee. I’ve been practicing.”

“Eva!” she corrected with a humph as he brought his hand down sharply.

“After all,” he added, “I learned from the best. Your mother was the only one who could keep you in line.”

“I don’t want to talk about my mother right now, thank you very much.”

But Damian pulled the best from his arsenal, and slipped into the traditional spanking ritual of his old nanny—Eva’s mother. “Renee,” he said. “You’ve done a naughty thing, and now I need to make sure that you learn well and truly that it is better to do the right thing.” He hooked his finger under the waistline of her hose. He slowly pulled them down, admiring the silky white panties beneath. Innocence, they said, though he know Eva was much too cosmopolitan to be innocent.

“Now.” He hooked his fingers in her panties, and was surprised that she lay there submissively. Damian admired her trust, but knew he needed one more layer to keep her there. Using trigger words from her mother’s mouth, he guided her back to a time when being spanked was a natural consequence for misbehavior.

“When little Renee misbehaves, what are the consequences?”

Eva cringed. It was a question she’d been asked before every spanking her mother had given her. Though her mother was always kind and fair with discipline, Eva knew she’d always been a rebellious handful as a child. But rarely-—if ever—had she been spanked for the same misbehavior twice.

She’d always had to share her mother, though. Not only with Damian, but with the whole damn town. Her mother had open loving arms to any stray child that needed a little help or a little attention. There were times she’d acted out simply for reassurance that her mother cared especially about her.

A large, stinging crack of a ruler ripped her from the past, causing her to gasp.

“I asked a question, young lady, and I expect an answer.”

She smirked. “A spanking, young sir.” It’s what her mother had called Damian when he’d been small and devious.

If he smiled, she didn’t hear it in his voice. “And after that?”

She swallowed, tasting the familiar nervous fear of pain before a spanking began. “A bottom brushing,” she whispered. It’s what her mother had always called a hairbrush spanking. She’d always said in that loving, commanding tone of hers, “we’ve got to brush that bad behavior off your bottom now, love.” Eva had hated when she’d said that.

“Good girl. I am so proud of my girl, takin’ her medicine and accepting her discipline like a big girl.”

Somehow, the way he said ‘big girl’ made her feel younger.

“Lift up.”

But she didn’t.

After only ten seconds, he tapped her bottom. At twenty-nine years of age, Damian was the youngest mayor of Wellington. He’d been a shoe-in when his father had died. After all, he owned most of Wellington. When he gave an order, he expected immediate obedience, and anything less was swiftly corrected. “That’s ten with my belt after your bottom brushing.” He gave her another crack with the ruler. “Lift up.”

Still, she didn’t.

He waited only three seconds before amending, “Make that twenty with the belt. Care for more?”

She squirmed, but couldn’t bring herself to raise up her bottom to Damian, to willingly offer herself as a target of painful punishment.

“That’s thirty.” Only a short pause this time. “Forty.”

She gulped.

“Sixty, ninety—”

“Hey! You skipped fifty!” She lifted her bottom up frantically wiggling it so he would notice, all the while insisting, “It’s fifty; it’s fifty! You can’t skip like that!”

Since she couldn’t see his face, Damian grinned. His poor little sweetie, his long-lost Renee. She could switch from the spitting fire of competition to the sweet surrender of love and back again, lightning quick. He loved the way it always left him spinning, had even in high school. Let her have her fifty, he thought. “Oopsy. Fifty, then.”

When he pulled her panties down with his thick hands, she settled back over his lap with a sigh that sounded suspiciously like contentment. “Now tell me why I should spank you.”

“Oh no, you’re not going to make me beg for a spanking. Not like my mother did.”

“Oh yes I am.” He began kneading her bare cheeks, loosening her muscles methodically. Damned if he didn’t enjoy giving a good spanking, feeling the surrender of stubborn pride to his painful ministrations. His gawky Renee may have become a cosmopolitan Eva, but he knew how to get his Renee-girl back, if only for a few minutes at a time. “Do you think I enjoy giving my favorite girl a spanking?”

“Oh yes, you enjoy it, you big bully!” But if he kept kneading her bottom with those soothing, squeezing caresses, she was going to enjoy this herself. And that wouldn’t be so bad, would it?

Damian chuckled. “I suppose I do.”

Eva bit at his leg, but lightly—just to be on the safe side.

“Young lady.” Oh yes, he definitely enjoyed this. Taking hold of one milky white leg, he pulled it up into a sort of arabesque position that had her squealing in outrage. She knew it revealed her private parts, and had the blush to prove it, too.

“You remember how we played—and fought—after the senior prom?”

She remembered. She remembered how Damian had tortured her with pleasure, promised her anything she wished, any present her heart desired. She remembered the way he’d heaped offers of gift upon offers of vacations. Most of all, she remembered the way he dismissed her desire to become an independent career woman. To make it big in the real world—not just in Wellington.

“I remember you were hard-headed and stubborn, and didn’t listen to a thing I said.”

“Oh, I listened to everything you said.” With a twinge of regret, he added, “I may have forgotten what I didn’t want to hear.” Abruptly, a worry came to mind. “Has anyone ever spanked you?”

After her snort, Damian added, “Besides your mother or me, I mean.”

“How can you ask that?!”

He traced his finger down the leg held firmly in his grip. “Because I’ve heard a lot of people have touched my girl, since I saw her last.” He resisted the urge to press his fingers into her womb and reclaim that which he’d always felt was his.

“Fuck you, too.” But she didn’t struggle against his grip, didn’t try to hide the arousal that was blooming within. Maybe she’d have kicked her free leg a little in rebellion, if she hadn’t been afraid he’d let go.

He lightly touched a single finger to her intimate wetness. “You like being over my lap, don’t you?” He brushed a finger over the tips of her pubic hair and smiled when goose bumps prickled all over her legs. Keeping one leg held up in his firm grasp, he rested his other hand on the inside of her other leg.

She breathed heavily, gasping for air.

“When I ask a question, you’d better learn to answer immediately, or you’re going to be walking around with a sore butt for three straight months.” He lifted his hand and sharply smacked it to her sensitive inner thighs.

On the end of a whine, she asked, “What was the question?”

“You like being over my lap, don’t you?”

Again, she didn’t answer. Not out of defiance, but she was sincerely trying puzzle out the mix of feelings she felt over his lap. The comfort, the security, the vulnerability and the way she felt refreshingly out of control for the first time in ten years.

“There’s never been anyone but you.”

She whispered it, so soft that Damian thought he heard her correctly, but promptly thought he’d heard what he wanted to hear. Renee—Eva, he corrected himself—would never say something like that. “What did you say?” If his voice was strict and harsh-sounding, it was from the way his throat constricted at the hope in his heart.

Eva flinched at his tone, and for no reason she could think of, she lied to him. “There’s no one who’d enjoy this but you,” she said, with enough venom to hide her hurt.

Damian dropped her leg, and skipping past all formalities, grabbed the ruler and smacked over every inch of her white skin, until she was pink from the top of her buttocks way down to the crease of her knees. When she didn’t wiggle, didn’t whimper, he set about it again much harder, until her bottom swelled to a hot red under his hand and he heard little whimpering mewls escape from her lips.

“For the next three months, you’re mine.” He smacked as hard as he could on the crest of her bottom. “All mine. If anyone else wants to date you, they’ll have to get by me, first.”

She would have fought against that statement tooth and nail. Would have told him to go to hell, that she’d date whomever she damn well pleased. She would have called him a bullying jerk and clawed herself off his lap.

But at his words, a flood of happiness surged into her heart. The kind of happiness you feel when you look about your world and know that for once, for this single moment in time, everything is in its proper place. No matter that chaos would erupt tomorrow, or that tragedy had struck yesterday. For now, for this single slice of life, Eva Santana sighed with pure contentment, closed her eyes, and cherished the moment.

And a moment later, squealed and wiggled as the hairbrush began its thudding attack on her little bottom, purpling it with reprimands and the harsh pain of strict guidance.

“I’m going to make it quite clear that even though our agreement does not allow me to fire you, there will always be swift consequences to disobedience in my household.”

Then he attacked one cheek, spanking the same small area over twenty times in succession, until Eva screamed low in her throat for mercy. Then he shifted to the other cheek and continued with the same thing.

But she didn’t cry.

Damian stopped as the phone on his desk rang, laid the brush right on her blistering bottom, and picked up the phone. “Damian Caldwell.”

Eva immediately went silent. She’d rather almost anything than to have anyone know her current position. Taking a few calming breaths, she blushed at Damian’s words.

“No, it’s fine. Just correcting a member of the household staff.”

She wiggled her bottom enough to send the brush sliding to the floor.

“Tell the Senator I’ll meet with him at the end of the month; I’ve got personal matters to attend to this until then.”

Personal matters? Slowly, she slid forward a bit, hoping to slide off his lap.

“Hold, please.” He sharply hung up the phone after smacking the hold button. “You,” he said, tapping her bottom, “are misbehaving.” He shifted her forward even more though, withdrawing his leg from beneath her, only to lay it across the back of her legs and lock her into a jack knife position over his knee. “But this is the perfect position, Renee.”

“Stop calling me that! I’m Eva now,” she huffed.

“Maybe.” He used his finger to trace the thin line of white skin at her crease that had not yet been exposed to his discipline. He leaned forward and picked the ivory brush from the floor. “Now behave while I finish this business.”

This time when he picked up the phone and started talking, he rubbed the cold ivory against her skin in warning. Eva clamped her mouth shut and behaved, both because she didn’t want anyone hear her get spanked, and because the coolness of the back of the brush was soothing to her tenderized skin.

“Invite the Senator here.” He leaned forward, rustled with some papers. “Make it the last Friday of the month. Tell him to bring his wife; we’ll have a dinner party.”

After he hung up the phone, he pulled the belt from his pants, palmed the buckle, and wrapped the leather around his hand until a twenty inch strap was left dangling.

“Now my dearest Eva, it’s time for your lesson in immediate obedience.” He gently slid the leather across her bottom, listening to her worried huffs of breath and carefully watching her reaction. She trembled just slightly; she seemed afraid of the pain, but not terrified. “How many strokes did you earn again?”

She affected dainty tears and a soft, cute little cry. Damian almost laughed out loud. When Renee cried for real, it was certainly not soft, and definitely not pretty. He patted her bottom out of affection, not comfort. Yes, when his girl cried for real, she cried as she did most things: with a big passion that rushed through her with the wildness of a lioness and the power of a waterfall.

“Where’d you learn that little cry? Acting school?”

Eva let out a quick burst of laughter then clamped her hand over her mouth and shook her head. With great sincerity, she cried, “But it’s going to hurt!”

And her honesty almost undid him. It would have been easier if she’d fought, yelled at him, or called him names. But that tiny, scared voice coming out of the Eva Santana touched his heart in a special way. There was no doubt in his mind that no other man had ever heard her speak in that little-girl vulnerable voice.

So he returned her sincerity with some of his own. “I know, sweetie. It’s going to hurt a lot. But you have to learn that I simply do not and will not tolerate disobedience. For one, it’s disrespectful. For two, I am the head of this household and I will never be manipulated.” With his words, he looked down at the growing tremor in her arms—whether from the exertion of supporting her upper body weight on the floor or from the fear of a punishment, he had no idea—and rubbed his hand soothingly over her back.

“And I’m not going to go easy on you, either.” He adjusted her weight so that she was more securely restrained in the leg lock and grabbed her hand, pinning it to the small of her back. “If you want to scream, feel free; I had this room soundproofed years ago.”

He examined her bottom, watched her tremblings and listened to her breathing. Damian knew this would not only be a turning point in their relationship, but the foundation of their new dynamics. His voice slipped into the authoritative gruff he tended to use during business dealings. “Now I asked you before, and I won’t ask again. How many strokes are you due?”

After a deep breath, she whispered, “Fifty.”

And locking his eyes on the still-white, unmarked crease between her bottom and thighs, he brought down the belt with a quick snap that elicited a squeal and a desperate wiggle for freedom. Taking a firmer grip and settling himself in for the remainder of the lesson, he strapped her sit-spot with his best efforts, steeling himself against her cries and squirms and frantic apologies. At forty, she went limp with resignation and acceptance, bawling her heart out, and he gave her a little breather.

“I’ll never go easy on you; you’re too special for that. I treasure you too much, and I expect you to obey my orders. The next time you think to disobey me, you think of these last strokes.” Then he raised the belt and brought it down, right across the crease that was now a swollen mass of welts which just throbbed with so much pain that he could practically see it rolling up off of her bottom in waves of agony.

But when it was over, he tossed his belt away as quickly as he could, anxious to scoop her up in his comforting arms. He’d been prepared for a struggle—Renee hated for anyone to see her cry, let alone comfort her—and was surprised when she clutched his shirt, eyes tightly shut. Even in her desperate need for love, she couldn’t bring herself to face the need. She could cling only with her eyes squeezed tightly shut against the need for a hug, for the soothing, warm comfort of a loving embrace.

“It’s all over now sweetie, it’s forgotten now.”

She nodded slightly and sobbed in his chest while he stroked her hair. Then on a thought, he stood up, cradling her like a baby, and headed for the back stairs of the east wing—the ones servants would be least likely to be on at this time of day—and took her straight to his room. When he poured her on the bed, she reached up with her arms, frantic for his embrace.

“Hold on a sec, sweetie.”

Searching his drawer, he pulled out some lotion and began massaging it into her buttocks. Damian wasn’t one for extending the consequences. Once the punishment was done, it was done. He practically had to rip the rest of the dress to get it off her, and he let his hands work warmth and love into her back and thighs and bottom. When he was finished, she lay silently and peacefully, with only a soft hiccupping breath every now and then.

“You just rest here now, try to get some sleep.” He pulled the covers over her, tucking her in on all sides while she lay on her belly. Then suddenly she arched up and tried to grab him in another hug.

“You’re not going to leave, are you?”

“Not just yet.” He gently pushed her back down, all the while clucking, “now did I tell you to get out of bed yet?”

She smiled slightly and sighed, hypnotized by Damian’s fingers raking through her hair, softly scratching behind her ears.

If a bubble of indignation at the morning’s events popped into her mind as she drifted off to sleep, she pushed it away for later. When pure contentment comes, best enjoy and savor it while it lasts.

Even if her bottom was burning like a fresh chile pepper.

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