A Thousand Yesses (4 page)

“I
know, honey,” he said softly, and her eyes looked up at him again. At once, he
was reminded of the little girl he used to take to the playground, who loved
being pushed so high on the swing she said she was flying, the girl with the
pigtails and knobby knees that knocked together when she rode her bike.
The little girl that was still there, but hidden under layers of
anger and fog.

“He’s
happy now, Marianna,” Maverick said softly. “And he’s still here with you, but
in a different way.”

Marianna’s
lip trembled. “I miss him,” she whispered.

“Of
course you do,” he whispered back, opening up his arms. “We all do.” Her anger
was gone now. The moment had passed, and he no longer needed to be as stern.

“C’mere,”
he said softly. With a sniffle, she ran over and buried her head on his chest.
He patted her back and started to pat her hair, but it was such a tangle of
knots, he looked helplessly at Celia. Her eyes flickered. He didn’t know quite
what to read in them, but a look flashed through her before she looked at him
again, business-like and attentive. He gestured to Marianna’s hair. Her eyes
widened, and she nodded, giving him the thumbs-up. He would smooth her hair and
braid it, which Marianna loved. He smiled his thanks.

He
sighed, as he held Marianna, who cried quietly. She needed him. His mom needed
him. But he couldn’t be here forever.

* * *

Celia
opened up the jar of ultra creamy milk chocolate icing and tore the foil-lid
off with her teeth. She grabbed the bag of pretzels, and ripped it open. “Fat
free,” she murmured appreciatively at the bag. “Not for long.”

She
dipped a pretzel in the frosting, swirled, and stuffed it in her mouth.
Totally gross and totally satisfying.
She sighed, grabbed
another pretzel, and swore when it broke in the middle of the container of
icing. She grabbed a fistful of pretzels, shoved them in, and scraped them back
up. She took a good lick. Yum. She had to fortify herself before the scene that
would unfold tonight.

Maybe
she should tell him she was sick. Surely, a few more bites of pretzels
slathered in jarred frosting might actually do that to her. Damn wheat killed
her stomach, but she put up with it because the gluten-free shit was for the
birds. Maybe she should call Rodney and ask him to have Louanne film the scene.
But no, that wouldn’t do. The last time she’d had Louanne film, she was all
wobbly, and all over the place. The girl didn’t know what she was doing. And if
Rodney
filmed, that left Maverick alone with the women and that
was
not happening
!

She
sighed, the vision of Maverick surrounded by those submissive girls with their
asses up in the air ready to take his punishment made her shudder. She glared
at the frosting and pretzels, pushed away from the counter top chair, and
rummaged in her cabinet until she found a jar of peanut butter. She yanked it
down and plunked it next to the frosting. Perfect. She was just opening the lid
and grabbing a spoon when the phone rang.
Maverick.
Shit. Even though he
was on the phone and not standing in front of her, she felt guilty being caught
red-handed.

“H’lo?”
she said around a mouthful of frosting-topped peanut butter.

“Hey,”
Maverick said, his deep voice reaching right through the phone and making her
nipples harden. Shit! She glared at the treacherous phone. Why couldn’t he be
skinny and nerdy? Why couldn’t he have a high-pitched voice? Why did he have to
be all strong and gruff, like a big dommy teddy bear? It would be so much
easier to maintain their friendship and not fall for him if he didn’t set every
single friggin’ nerve of hers on end.

The
fantasies really did
not
help. It was his fault, anyway.

It
had all started eight years ago. She’d been positively shitfaced at her
twenty-fifth birthday party. Maverick had had a few to drink himself, but it
was Rodney who’d announced Celia needed her birthday spanking. She had no idea
that Maverick and Rodney had just gotten into the scene, and it shocked the
hell out of her when Rodney had produced a stout paddle from his pocket. There
were hoots and hollers and cheers, as Rodney had told her to position herself
for her birthday spanking. She’d never been spanked, but she was always game
for a laugh, so she’d leaned over the arm of the couch and lifted her ass.
Rodney had delivered a few, counting out the number, then handed the paddle to
someone else. She couldn’t even remember
who
. All she
remembered was the cheering, how fucking turned-on she was, and how inside, she
was begging, pleading, even though she had no idea
why
, for Maverick to
take the paddle.

The
count had gotten up to ten and then the paddle was handed to Maverick. Celia
would never forget his slow, wicked smile, as he took the implement in his
hand. With that massive bear of a man she’d loved since she was a little girl,
wielding a paddle and about to spank her, she’d lost her shit.

“Uh
uh!” she said. “No way. I’m not offering my ass to him!”

She
was afraid she wouldn’t sit for a week, although inside she was quaking,
aroused and flaming hot, as licks of fire ripped through her. He was easily
twice the size of every other guy there. Maverick had simply tossed the paddle
to Rodney, laughing, as he snagged her around the belt loop, sat down on the
couch, and hauled her over his lap.

“Who
said anything about offering?” he said, as he proceeded to deliver the remainder
of her birthday spanks with slow, stinging swats counted out loud with the rest
of the raucous crowd. When he was done, he’d unceremoniously dumped her on the
couch and wished her a happy birthday.

And
he’d changed her life forever.

She’d
never been more turned on in her life. Heat flamed in her chest and between her
legs. She couldn’t breathe, her breath coming in gasps as the heady swirl of
arousal made her dizzy. Her heart threatened to pound out of her chest. And
Maverick simply sat there, popped the bottle off another beer, and told her to
be a good girl.
 

She’d replayed that alone in her bedroom so many times
,
she’d lost count
.
The seat of her pants flaming hot, Maverick’s bottle of beer up to his lips,
“Be a good girl, Celia,” in his deep, husky voice. The feel of her belly over
his knees, and the slap and sting of his enormous palm on her jean-clad bottom.
Celia didn’t really know why she was so turned on, but after a while, she
stopped questioning it. It was something deeper than her reason; it was primal,
and out of her control. All she knew was that the thought of being disciplined
by Maverick was the sexiest thing she’d ever imagined, but it was more than
sexy. There was something reassuring, even
sweet
about it, though she couldn’t
quite put her finger on it.

Rodney
and Maverick had kept their interest in BDSM and spanking hidden from Celia for
a while, but she had her ways. Really, who kept a paddle in their pockets
anyway? She didn’t buy the birthday excuse. She’d found out, met some of their
friends into the scene, and she’d been interested ever since.

And
damn it all to hell, if she wasn’t head over heels in love with her best
friend.

“What’th
up, Maverick?” she asked, swirling the spoon in the peanut butter and then plunging
it into the frosting. She’d feel like absolute shit when she hit the treadmill
in the morning, but she’d burn it off and then some. She shoved the spoon in
her mouth, but somehow, with Maverick on the other end of the line, it had
suddenly lost its appeal. He’d give her “that look” anyway. No fair.

“What
time are we supposed to be meeting at Rodney’s?” he asked.

“Theven,”
she said, peanut butter stuck to the top of her mouth. She washed it down with
another spoonful of frosting. It didn’t help.

“Are
you okay?” he asked.

“Jutht
taking my medithine,” she mumbled back into the phone.

She
heard a low growl on the other end of the phone. She felt a twinge of guilt,
and quickly scooped another bit of peanut butter and chocolate, stood, and
yanked open the cabinet. She extracted a bag of chocolate chips, tore them
open, and sighed at the familiar smell of chocolate, as chips spilled from the
bag and bounced off the counter and floor. She expertly dotted the top of her
spoon, and plunged it into her mouth.

“Does
your medicine include peanut butter on a spoon?” he asked in a stern voice.

What
do you care?

And
how do you know me so well?

“Maybe,”
she said. She frowned, scooped some more icing onto a pretzel, and chomped into
the phone defiantly.

“And
pretzels? Celia!” he chided.

“I’ll
be fine!” she said. “Is this what you called about? To lecture me on my eating
habits?”

“You
need more than a lecture on your eating habits,” he growled.

Her
eyes squeezed shut, as her chest constricted, and her breath caught. He
wouldn’t!

“Well,
then, scooter, better go find me a Dom to keep me in line, because I’m
thoroughly enjoying myself and in no mood to self regulate.”

“Scooter?”
he said.

“Yeah.
I said
scooter.”
She sighed. For some reason, she felt her anger rising
and she wanted to slam the phone on the counter. How could he? Was he a total
idiot? Did he have
no
idea how she felt about him? And why did he have
to go and be all dommy and protective? It wasn’t fair. She couldn’t
take
it.
But she’d die before she’d tell him. “Would dumbass be more appropriate? Or
asswipe?”

She
could
feel
him getting angry on the other side of the line. “Sue me for
caring,” he snapped. “Jesus!”

No,
Maverick. No. It’s not because you care. It’s because you care too much.

“Sorry,”
she mumbled into the phone, suddenly repentant and feeling like a loser. “I
shouldn’t take my bad night out on you.”

“No,
you shouldn’t,” he said crossly. “I hope you
do
find a Dom, a guy strong
enough to take you in hand the way you need it.”

Her
chest tightened and she closed her eyes, but she went on. “Yeah, me too. Hey,
is that all you called for?” she asked.

“Yeah,”
he said. “I’ll see you at seven.”

“Bye,”
she said. He called just to see what time they were meeting? Had he completely
forgotten the fine art of text messaging? She tossed the phone on the counter,
grabbed the bag of chocolate chips, and flopped back on her couch. She tossed a
fistful of chocolate in the air, some landing in her mouth, some on her cheek,
some on the sofa cushions. And she indulged in what she knew was even worse for
her than a peanut butter-icing-pretzel-chocolate binge.

The
door opened and Maverick stepped in. He looked stern, and serious, a scowl on
his face, though his eyes weren’t heated and angry.

“I
thought I told you not to eat the food that will make you sick,” he chided, as
he shut the door and locked it. “If you’re stressed, or upset, you come to me,”
he said. “You don’t run to food, or sugar. That’s not good for you, and you
know it. But the real problem here, little girl, is that you disobeyed me.” He
removed his coat and hung it on the rack. He took his keys and placed them on
the hook by the door.

He
crossed the room and sat on the couch.

She
sat up and looked up at him, ashamed, and repentant.

“I
know,” she said. “And I’m sorry.”

“You
will be,” he said, as he patted his lap. “Now come here.”

Shaking,
trembling, she pushed herself off the sofa, and lay over his knee. His large
hand rested on her lower back, before going even lower.

“You
know I’m going to spank you for this, Celia,” he said.

She
nodded into the sofa cushions.

“What
do you I expect from you?” he asked, as she felt the warmth of his hand on her
bottom.

“To
take care of myself, and to do what you say,” she responded.

Her
phone rang again from the counter.

She
pushed herself up, feeling drowsy from having closed her eyes and sick from the
sugar and pretzels. She took a step toward the kitchen and reached for her
phone.

“Yeah?”
she said.

Rodney.

“You’ve
got some restraints we can use?” he asked.

She
sighed. “Yep. I’ll bring ‘em.”

“Okay,
thanks, Cel. You’re a peach.”

“Thanks.
See you soon.” She shut the phone off.

She
was something.

When
Celia arrived at Rodney and Louanne’s, there were a few unfamiliar cars parked
along the side of the street. Celia had personally asked a Dom she knew for
recommendations for submissives who would be willing to take part in a
demonstration. Each one of the submissives
who
’d agree
to come for the filming was happy to take part, especially when they found out
who’d be performing the scene for the camera.