Arrested By Love (10 page)

"Are you kidding?"

He raised one eyebrow. "Does it look like I'm kidding?"

"Nooo," she conceded as she slowly got out of the bed. "Bottom drawer?" she clarified, wanting to be sure she wouldn't come across anything that might spook her even worse before she went rummaging through his dresser drawers.

"Yes," he answered, not moving.

Opening the drawer, Tiffany immediately spotted the item in question, then saw a few others that made her cringe with suspicion.

"What's this?" she asked, picking up what looked like a leather whip between her index finger and thumb.

He raised his head slightly to see what she held, then lay back down and answered, "A riding crop."

She wrinkled her nose and let it drop back in the drawer.

"You may use that instead if you prefer," he told her. "Ladies choice, tonight."

Putting her hands on her hips, Tiffany turned back to glare at the man she thought she knew and loved. "Are you some sort of pervert, Kyle Sinclair?"

He glanced over at her. "No. At least I don't think so. Although I have done some experimentation."

"Really?" she huffed. "And were you thinking of experimenting with any of this kinky stuff on me?"

He shook his head. "Not unless you wanted me to."

She gaped at him in dumbfounded amazement. "God, I really don't know you at all, do I?"

"You do," he assured her calmly. "Better than any one else does, Tiff. Look, I will dispose of everything in that drawer if the stuff inside it bothers you. Those items mean nothing to me. Only you matter."

She shrugged and reached back into the drawer to pick up the paddle. It was a lot heavier than she expected it to be. "This looks like it might hurt. A lot."

He lifted his head saw what she held then lay back down. "Actually, it can be more comfortable than a paddling with the hand, since its padded. It certainly causes the user less discomfort. Again, it's your choice."

She tossed it onto the bed, noticing how he jerked a little when the wooden handle brushed his leg before landing beside him.

"You're really willing to let me do this?" she asked again, not certain she fully believed him. There had to be some sort of catch she wasn't getting.

He met her gaze. "Yes. If that's what it will take for you to feel better about what I just did. I realize now that I was very wrong in the way I handled the situation, so I will submit to whatever punishment you think I deserve."

Tiffany gave a dubious scoff as she climbed back up on the bed. "Yeah, right." She picked up the paddle again, thinking her arm would tire very quickly if she were ever to use it. "How does this thing work, anyway?"

He met her gaze. "May I remove my hands from behind my head to show you, mistress?"

She shook her head, not in answer but with well-earned suspicion over this sudden servility he displayed. However, he mistook her head shake as her answer.

"Very well. I will try to explain through words. Grip the wooden part of the paddle as you would a tennis racket," he instructed, watching her. When she wrapped her fingers around the wooden base of the implement, he nodded. "Yes. Just like that. Now bring it down on the spot you wish to hit."

Raising an eyebrow, she asked "Shouldn't you roll over on your stomach for this?"

"If that is what you wish," he responded evenly

"Well, if you don't, I could...." Her eyes widened. "You'd really let me hit you there with this?"

"I am at your command, mistress. Tell me how you wish me to position myself, and I will obey."

She shook her head. She wasn't at all comfortable with this shift in power and control. He must have sensed her ambivalence, because he lifted his eyes to meet her gaze again. "It's okay, Tiff. I was wrong, and you have every right to be angry enough to want to punish me. Trust me. I'm a big guy. I can take it."

She hefted the paddle so it was vertical to the bed, then glanced over at him. "Roll over, please."

When he instantly obeyed her, she lowered the paddle again. His buttocks were taut and muscular, and she couldn't help running her hand over the smooth, white flesh. He gave a small jerk at her first touch, but said nothing. She could see his muscles ease as he tried to relax.

She'd always wondered what he would do if he'd been wrong instead of her, and now she knew. This couldn't be any easier for him than it was for her. Though, as she continued to stroke him, Tiffany wasn't at all sure she could actually carry through with this punishment. Right now, she was too surprised to be angry, and yet....

Gazing back at the paddle she'd placed beside her on the bed, she curled her fingers about it and gripped it in her right hand. Then tentatively lifting it to determine its weight, she rose up on her knees to give her the best angle.

He didn't move. He really was going to let her do this.

Before she could think better about what she was doing, Tiffany brought the paddle down on his buttocks as hard as she could. The resulting smack was satisfying, though the impact jolted all the way back to her shoulder. He only gave a soft grunt. However, the flesh on his backside immediately turned a bright pink.

"Did that hurt?" she asked, fingering the large angry-looking stripe she'd created.

"Yes, ma'am," he answered with another slight flinch at her touch.

She nodded. Okay, she could play this game as well as he could. "Well, since you were clearly in the wrong, slave, how many strokes do you think you deserve?"

He gave another small grunt, though this time Tiffany suspected it could well have been made to cover a laugh. "As many as my mistress deems I should receive," he replied soberly.

She brought the paddle down again hard, then releasing it, she winced and shook her arm. This wasn't anywhere near as easy as it appeared. "That wasn't a proper answer, slave," she growled, afraid she'd laugh and totally ruin the setup. God, her arm hurt and she wasn't even using her hand to punish him.

"I humbly apologize, mistress, and accept your correction," he answered, his voice deeper than before.

Maybe she was better at this than she thought. "Should I give you a safe word, slave?" she inquired haughtily.

"That will not be necessary, mistress."

Yeah, she really was beginning to enjoy this. "Very well, then name a number you believe will satisfy my need for redress, and we'll see if you are properly humbled."

"One hundred strokes, mistress," he answered promptly.

Tiffany scoffed out loud at that. Yeah, right. She'd be totally flabbergasted if she could deal out ten. Straightening her back, she replied, "I believe that to be a satisfactory number, slave. Should I have you count out loud as I deliver your punishment?"

Like before, his answer was immediate. "If my mistress wishes, I will call out with each stroke she administers to her humble slave."

This time she couldn't hold back her laugh. "Um.... Don't you think you're laying it on a bit thick, Kyle?"

He turned his head and looked at her then. "I truly regret what I did, Tiff. I'll play this anyway you want. Your call."

She shrugged. "I don't think I'm angry anymore, and to be truthful, it hurts my arm to wield this thing."

"Yes. The wood is from an actual paddle used in an English boy's school during the Victorian times. The padding is new, since English school masters believed bare wood and bottoms offered the most humiliating and painful punishment, so it is very heavy. Perhaps you would prefer the crop or the tawse? They are much lighter to wield and able to inflict a deeper, more intense, pain."

Tiffany shook her head, then slumped forward as she struggled against the sudden overwhelming shame that engulfed her. She'd just punished him the same way sadistic school masters had tortured their students nearly two centuries ago. "No. You did your penance. Though I thank you for the offer."

He didn't move. "I'm really, really, sorry, Tiff," he said and she knew his apology was sincere.

Giving her shoulders a slight shrug, she glanced back over at him. "So you made a mistake. Maybe you can cut me a little slack when I make my next one."

He just started at her for a moment, then whispered, "You're a pretty amazing lady, Ms. Tiffany Anne Morgan-soon-to-be-Sinclair."

She gave him a smile back. "You're not too bad yourself there, hot stuff."

This time she could tell he choked back a laugh. "May I be released from my punishment position to hold you, ma'am?"

She nodded, then grinned. "Yeah, I think I'd like that, but only if you put this away first," she said, indicating the paddle. "I don't think I like it very much."

With a chuckle he removed it from her hand and returned it to his dresser, then came back to hold her close.

After a few minutes, she said "Kyle?"

"Yes?"

"I think I'd feel a lot better if you got rid of everything in that drawer."

He drew back to gaze at her with love. "Consider it done, my mistress."

Chapter Seven

The next week passed by very quickly. Kyle still wanted Tiffany to explore her safe word, however, he was careful to remind her before he did anything that might necessitate her needing to use it. Not that he gave her any real cause to stop him from doing what he wanted.

Sometimes they'd start roughhousing in bed, but before he did anything that she might want to object to, like a few hard nips on her stomach or buttocks, or showing her a couple of the restraints police officers were trained to use, he'd say, "Remember your safe word, Tiff."

"Apple," she'd repeat with a nod. However, there was one time when Tiffany decided that she seriously needed to use it.

Even though Tiffany wasn't sure how Kyle had gotten to know her so well, it seemed that he was now able to sense if she was even starting to get uncertain about something. He'd had lots of experience in bed, none of which she suspected she'd ever really want to know about. Even still, she almost didn't believe him when he told her men didn't always use a woman's vagina when making love.

"Sometimes they like to slip into the woman's back passage instead," he said, his expression serious.

Tiffany just laughed. "Yeah, right! Now I know you're full of it, Sinclair."

"I'm serious, Tiff. I'd even like to try that with you."

She shook her head. "No. I don't think I'd like that."

"How do you know unless you try?"

She gave him an "are you real" look. "I guess the same way I also happen to know that a stick in the eye hurts, without actually having to try it first."

He inched closer to her. They'd just made love so there was nothing between them as they lay on their sides, face-to-face on Kyle's bed. And because neither of them wore clothing, Tiffany was also quick to notice that Kyle was quickly growing erect again. Leaning forward to give her a kiss, he reached behind her.

Tiffany immediately stiffened and drew back. "No, Kyle." However, the hand she was most worried about remained stationed at the upper crease of her buttocks.

Kyle merely arched an eyebrow and slipped his hand even lower.

Tiffany's breathing quickened with uncertainty until the moment she felt his finger gently start to probe her. Then, without pause, she whispered, "Apple."

He didn't move his hand away. Instead, he held it still neither retreating nor going forward. "Do you trust me, Tiff?"

"You know I do," she answered looking directly into his eyes.

"So, will you let me play, just a little, with you back there?"

Giving a firm shake of her head, she repeated, "Apple."

With a nod, he withdrew his hand and said nothing more about it. No questions asked, he'd said, and he meant it.

After discussing calendars as well as upcoming events and everything that would need to be done, Tiffany and Kyle set their wedding date for late June of the following year. Since it was only mid-May, that gave Tiffany and her mother over a year to prepare.

Tiffany had waffled for a long time over the date. She wanted to get married sooner rather than later, but she didn't want to have kids right away, while Kyle did. So, a long engagement would give them the time they needed to get to know each other better, making it a little easier for her to consider working on the family Kyle wanted so badly once they were married.

So, after the first time they made love, Kyle was very careful to use protection. However, after about the seventh time Tiffany watched Kyle remove his condom and discard it, she found the process less than romantic. And having them both hot, aroused and ready only to wait until she or Kyle got the condom on him, was even less so.

Also, she preferred the feel of Kyle's velvety smooth skin over latex. Which was why, just two weeks after they got engaged, Tiffany announced that she hated condoms and wanted to go on the pill instead. However, much to her surprise, Kyle immediately vetoed that idea.

"Honey, they still aren't one hundred percent safe, and I don't like the thought of you messing up your system with synthetic hormones. Let's just continue as we are. Okay?"

She wrinkled her nose at his answer. "It's a real mood-killer when we have to stop and wait until you're penis is fully dressed to play, and I don't like the way condoms feel inside me."

"All right," he said on a sigh. "Make an appointment to see your doctor next week, and I'll go with you to talk to him."

"You don't have to go with me, Kyle. I'm a big girl. I can see the doctor all by myself now. I can even drive there."

He snorted at that comment. "That's debatable. Don't forget, I've seen you drive."

She opened her mouth to object when he raised a finger. Tiffany knew that warning well by now, and scowled at her husband-to-be. It was her body. So, she should get to decide what she wanted to use for birth control, not him. Which was why she simply crossed her arms and waited for him to have his say, before she had hers.

"I know you don't think so right now, but this really concerns me as well, Tiff." When she rolled her eyes, he held her face between his two strong hands. "I am going to be your husband, correct?" he said, using the stern voice that caused her butt to tingle.