Afterward he pulled her up and over his lap and spanked her. He held her tight, and she gave free rein to her cries and jerks at the painful blows. It wasn’t a very long spanking, just a reconnection, a resetting. He sent her to stand facing the wall when he was done. She leaned her forehead against the cool surface, the outline of his hand on her ass cheeks burning like an emotional brand. “
I know you really, really want to protect yourself, Wednesday. But don’t you get tired of worrying about it all the time
?” Yes, she was tired of worrying, but the alternative—trusting—was such a risk. Vincent had wished her love and inspiration. Pretty words, but a pipe dream. “
A soul mate, to know and understand you
.” How was that possible? She didn’t even understand herself.
Daniel called her back, and she crawled into his lap, still sniffling. She shifted on her sore cheeks, trying to get comfortable. He rubbed her shoulders, holding her close. When he spoke, each word resonated with quiet gravity.
“I’m not trying to own you, Wed. Not in a malicious way. I’m trying to love you. The way I think you like to be loved.” He ran a hand down her arm and squeezed her lightly. “You like control. You like to be told what to do.”
“Yes, sometimes. I like it sometimes.” She pulled away and frowned at him. “But if I move in here with you…”
“What will happen? We might have some fun? We might grow closer, more committed?” He gave her an arch look. “How could I be such a horrible person to ask for some commitment from you?”
“You don’t want commitment. You want control. You want to control me all the time.”
“Because I want you to move in here, because I want to be close to you, that means I want to control you?
He
controlled you, Wed, not me. I give you so much more than him, so much more than just
control
.”
She pushed away from him and went to stand by the wall, throwing her arms open in frustration. “I’m not with him anymore! How long are you going to hold that crime over my head?”
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m ashamed enough without you throwing my relationship with Vincent in my face every fucking time—”
“Ashamed? What—I don’t throw it in your face!”
“You just did! You do it constantly, all the time.”
“Constantly? What the fuck are you talking about?”
“God, sometimes it feels like the two of you are still sharing me!”
He shook his head, but something in his expression made the hair rise on the back of her neck. He shook his head again, more forcefully.
“I’m not sharing you with anybody, and you know I fucking never will. Maybe that’s what’s wrong. Maybe you want me to. Maybe I’m just not enough for you.”
“Again! See, you did it again! I’ll always be Vincent’s slut to you. That girl who let him share me with whomever he wanted. You have no respect for me. You never have.”
“Wednesday,” he warned.
“You hate me for having been with him, for being the way I was then!”
He was staring at her, flabbergasted. Really? He didn’t understand that? Was it her problem, then? Everything was her fault. It seemed suddenly there was such distance between them, an impossible distance. Miles and miles from where she stood to where he sat on the bed.
“Come here, Wed,” he said. His face looked tortured. “Please come here.”
For a moment she thought of running, turning and leaving his house forever. She felt like she was standing in a doorway from which she could move forward to him, into love and chance and risk, or from which she could run backward and be safe. She wrung her hands for just a second before her feet moved. Moved toward him.
When she came near, he pulled her closer, so she was standing between his legs, against his chest. She laid her head beside his neck, listening to the sound of the blood beating in his veins.
“Do you really believe that?” he asked. “Do you believe I have no respect for you? That I…
hate
you?”
“Daniel,” she whispered. “I just don’t think I’ll ever be able to give you all you need.”
He rested his hand on her neck, squeezing softly there. “You listen to me, Wednesday. I love you. I adore you. Just as you are.” He hugged her tighter, cupping her ass with his other hand. “As for shame, you will never again utter that word to me. Or think it or feel it, concerning the way I love you. Do you understand me?”
She moved her head and felt a tear drop onto her cheek, then slide down to her chin.
“Do you understand me, Wednesday Carson?”
After a long, quiet moment, she whispered, “I love you.”
He kissed her cheeks and her eyelids, the sensitive spot beneath her ear. Each time he kissed her, she said it again. “
I love you
.” The world didn’t stop. The sky didn’t fall. She threaded her fingers into his hair and pressed her forehead against his. “Are you sure you want me to move in?” she asked. “To live here all the time?”
“Yes.”
“Okay.”
“Well, look—What?”
“Okay. I’ll move in.”
He seemed at a loss for words. Apparently he had prepared himself for more argument, not capitulation.
“Well, good,” he managed finally. “When?”
“Whenever you want. Sometime next week. But I’ll need some concessions.”
“What kind of concessions?”
“I want to have some time to myself. Some time when I’m not at your command.”
“Okay. We can work that out. You’ll have plenty of time on your own. I do work, you know.”
“So do I,” she said. “When I get home, I won’t always feel like dropping to my knees and sucking your cock.”
“Okay, fair enough. You’ll be allowed whatever time you need off the clock.”
“And I want my own room.”
“No,” he said at once.
“Yes.”
“I want you with me. I want you to sleep next to me every night.”
“I will sleep with you. I want my own room to have a place to go, a place for when I need to be alone.”
“Fine,” he said. “You can have your own room, but you will never lock me out.”
“I can’t promise that.”
“If you lock me out, I get to paddle your bottom.”
“Okay.”
“And you’re in my bed every night. Every night,” he said. “Whether you love me or hate me or wish me to hell.”
“Every night. I’ll be there.”
“I won’t even put a bed in your room.”
“Fine. Maybe you can just put a pan of bread and water on the floor and some hooks on the wall for me to hang from.”
“I’ve been thinking we should experiment with some hooks and chains. I see you’ve been thinking it too. Maybe I’ll buy you another of those old collars you used to wear.”
She rolled her eyes. “Why don’t you trick my room out like a dungeon? We’ll spend today painting the walls black.”
“Hmmm. Might be hard to explain when company comes.”
“Especially when the rest of your house is so fucking white.”
“Possibilities,” he said. “Possibilities.”
Daniel sat by the window, watching, a faint smile on his face. Wednesday was in a rush. He had made her late again. She came bounding down the stairs, her curls bouncing, and flashed him a vicious look.
“Be careful, darling. Or I’ll make you even later.”
He could tell she rolled her eyes, even looking at the back of her head. She grabbed her bag and glanced over at him. He smirked back.
Yes, I’m watching you, Wed. Of course I am
. With a sigh, she grabbed an apple off the counter. Breakfast was a strict household rule. Wednesday hated to eat breakfast, but Daniel insisted on it.
Of all the rules he forced her to follow, most of them perverted sexual rules, the ones that annoyed her most were the simple ones concerning her health.
Eat breakfast. Sleep well. Don’t bottle your feelings. Exercise. Laugh every day
. He insisted on these rules because he loved her. He told her so often. Maybe someday she would believe him.
Sweet girl, she was so cute and fuckable in her office clothes. Stylish suit and shiny pumps, and yes, a garter belt and stockings underneath most days. She had plenty of sets to choose from—he must have bought her fifty by now. She said wearing them to work reminded her of him while she was away. Sometimes it was all he could do not to fall on her as she headed out the door, and now was one of those times. She gazed at him from across the kitchen.
“I’m not coming over there.”
“I’ll be good. I promise.”
“You’ve already made me late.”
“I’m sorry. Come over here. Let me apologize properly.”
She fought a smile. “I’m serious. You have to let me go.”
“I will. Just one little kiss good-bye.”
She walked over to him like she was approaching a wild lion. He was sure what he was feeling was written all over his face—and in the tent of his pants—but he played tame. All he did was lay a passionate kiss on her, one he hoped she’d remember all day.
“I had fun last night,” he whispered, caressing her beautiful bottom over her skirt.
“I did too,” she said, her eyes shining. Then she pushed away. “I’m going to be so late.”
“Do you want me to drive you?”
“No. I’ll see you later.”
He watched her ass sway as she walked out the door, then slammed it behind her. He fucking hated it when she left.
Of course, he had numerous naughty fantasies of her at work to occupy him throughout the day. Well, when did he not have naughty fantasies of Wednesday? But the work ones were some of the more exciting ones, because she had forbidden him to visit her there. She found it too difficult to concentrate when there was a chance he might pop in, so after a couple of breathless, tempting visits, he had agreed it was probably better to leave her to her tasks.
But he still had
fantasy
visits. Oh yes. He visited her office regularly in his mind. He pictured her leaning over a manuscript, her reading glasses on the end of her nose, her legs crossed under the desk, the tops of her stockings peeking out from beneath her pencil skirt. He would knock on the door, and she’d look up at him and part her lips ever so slightly. He’d come in and lock the door, order her to her knees. Or bend her over the desk, spreading her legs wide with his feet.
I’m going to start in your pussy and finish in your ass
, he’d say with a growl. Papers would scatter, phones would knock off the hook, pens and paper clips would go flying. Her moans would get so loud he’d have to muffle them with his hand.
Ah, he burned for her. That morning she had been in fine form. Once hadn’t been enough, not even close. She’d gotten up to shower for work and waved her backside at him, that curvy ass of hers still crisscrossed with marks from last night. Jesus Christ, what did she think would happen? He’d ordered her to her knees in an instant.
She could have said no. She hadn’t had her stockings on at that time after all. They had struck on an arrangement soon after she agreed to move in with him. She would always be his girlfriend, his love, his charming submissive, but when she had on a garter belt and stockings, she was his slave. He could do to her as he wished, no matter how unreasonable or depraved his needs were. At those times there was no “no,” no slow obedience, no smirks or laughter or moods. At those times there was only him and his base desires and her body for him to use as he wished.
So far their little stocking system had worked out well for both of them. She liked the clear delineation of the degree of obedience he would expect from her, and for him there was that delicious thrill when he’d send her to put on the stockings. He obsessed over it, ordering her off to dress in that silk and lace. In quiet moments he’d rehearse the perfect words to say. He could have sent her running for them at any time with merely a look, but he enjoyed it much more to send her off with some blunt, explicit words.