Sweet Surrender (16 page)

Jessie frowned. “You’ve gotten on board with this rather suddenly, and enthusiastically.”

“I’m certainly not opposed to pitching in and taking one for the team.”

She rolled her eyes at his sudden eagerness, although relieved to have finally gotten his acceptance. “I guess it’s a good thing we found each other since you’re a freak who likes to spank and I’m the perfect spankee.”

“I think the term is ‘spanko.’”

She shoved his shoulder and said, “Whatever,” which earned her a pinch.

Turning serious, he said softly, “I want to help you,
cara
. You trust me to do this, don’t you?”

“Yes,” she answered promptly without the least hesitation, for which he kissed her soundly.

“Let’s do this, then.” He patted his thighs. “Skirt up, panties down, and assume the position.”

He waited expectantly, his features neutral. He wasn’t smirking or smiling, just matter of fact, accepting that she needed this. She slipped her hands under her skirt and hooked her panties with her thumbs, pulling them down. When the silky material stuck on her sneakers, she held onto his shoulders and toed off her shoes, then kicked her panties free. It was go time; she hesitated.

“Second thoughts?” he asked.

“Um, maybe we should just have sex after all.”

“We’ll do that after.” He tilted his head to the side and studied her. “You were serious when you asked for this, correct?”

“Yes, although talking to you has really helped.”

“Good. This uncertainty is only cold feet, I think. We need to continue. However, for this to work, I have to be in charge. Like in our bedroom and when I punished you before. That means I decide when, where, with what, and how many. Do you agree?”

“Uh—” Her heart and spirit wanted to scream yes, while her brain was lagging a bit behind out of self-preservation. Could she give him free rein to spank her anytime he thought she needed it? If her behavior of late was any indicator, he’d be a busy man, risking carpal tunnel syndrome from repetitive use, at least. Knowing his unwavering gaze was fixed upon her as he waited for her agreement, her breath hitched as she felt her anxiety rise.

“You said you trust me. You don’t honestly think I’d take advantage or harm you in anyway, do you?”

“No.”

His hand grasped her right wrist and he slid the spatula from her fisted grip. She stared at it in amazement, not realizing she still held it in her hand. “Across my lap then,
cara mia,
let’s get you spanked.”

Then, unbelievably, she climbed over his lap for the spanking she had asked for. His hand brushed up her skirt, baring her and his fingers immediately began tracing over her skin, lightly at first then faster and harder, rubbing and squeezing firmly in between palming handfuls of her pliable ass cheeks.

“Let’s warm you up with my hand a bit, before we get down to business, eh?”

What followed were open-hand swats, well placed and of moderate intensity, all over the curves of her backside. A lot more than a play spanking, which she’d enjoyed in the past, and a lot less than what he’d given her that night she’d overflowed the lasagna. He paused for a moment, adjusting her position with a shift of his legs. Her head and shoulders angled sharply downward, which lifted her ass high in the air, both feet leaving the floor. Her thighs parted slightly and his fingers soon sought the cleft in between. Marc’s low hum of acknowledgement told her she was as wet as she felt. His searching fingers found and circled her tingling clit, slid along her slick lips, and then dipped into her wetness. They repeated the path—slowly, unremittingly—until she was squirming over his lap. Only then did he resume her warm-up, spanking firmly along the lower curves of her cheeks near her thighs. After two dozen or more, he stopped. She froze, lying quiescent over his lap, her body trembling, anticipating what would come next. She felt like a tightly stretched rubber band, about to snap.

“I think maybe my hand is sufficient. I’ll just kick up the intensity a notch.”

“No!” she cried out, breathless from what he had already given her. It had been lovely, yet not nearly what she wanted. She was close to that feeling, needing more however to get her to the point of surrender that would set her free.

“Baby?”

“You’re holding back. Don’t you see that I need it? I’m still coiled as tight as a spring.”

“Okay. It’s this spatula… Are you sure this is what you want?”

“Yes, I trust you to be careful, please.”

He paused before agreeing. “All right, but give me your hand. I don’t want any injured fingers.”

With her hand pinned to her lower back, her body was tense with anticipation. Having come loose from its clip, her hair fell around her face in a thick wavy curtain, limiting her sight. The loss of one sense made her rely more heavily on the others. She heard him breathing and the sound of the bed as he shifted their weight. She smelled the subtle scent of his aftershave, woodsy with a hint of spice. However, the most heightened of all was her tactile perception, the light caress of his fingertips against her inflamed skin, the hardness of his muscled thighs beneath her belly, the insistent press of his erection against her hip, and incredibly, the exquisite pressure of his jeans against her mound and swollen lips.

Her bottom quivered, waiting anxiously for his attention. An instant later, he brought the wooden implement down crisply, twice on each side. The waves of heat that rocked through her were incredible, eclipsed only by the intensity of sting, and wow, did that innocent little spatula sting. She must be insane to have asked for this.

Four more landed, lower, an inch or so below the first set. She opened her mouth to speak, but only a whimper emerged. Not holding back any longer, he didn’t stop there. Moving lower, he continued to set her ass ablaze with sets of four swats until he had bathed both cheeks with a fiery burn.

It was the last four, applied to her most tender of flesh that elicited a hoarse cry, not one of pain, but of raw emotion. His hand followed rubbing in wide circles as her tears at last began to fall. As if he knew it wasn’t enough, he smacked her again using his hand now, the crack of his palm on bare flesh echoing through the room.

“Marc,” she cried urgently as a flurry of smacks rained down relentlessly. Tingling encompassed her sweltering ass, rivaling the sensations that invaded her pussy. She wrapped her hands around his ankle and pressed her face into his denim-clad leg. Her cries rose as he delivered the final blows that released her gut-wrenching sobs. As she collapsed over him, his fingers found her, two driving into her slick center, pumping in and out, the heel of his hand connecting with her well-spanked bottom as his pinky and forefinger brushed over her clit. Easily, he brought her to climax, her body arching as she screamed her cathartic release.

Marc gently turned her over and gathered her quivering body up close as he crawled into bed. He laid her upon the pillows and stretched out alongside her, still fully clothed. Her arms, which had wrapped around his neck, clung to him as she curled into him. While he held her, his hand stroked along her back and over her tender bottom cheeks. She didn’t know how long they lay like that, her body alive with sensation, yet totally relaxed.

“I love you so much,” she sighed with deep contentment, welcoming the calm that suffused her body for the first time in what seemed like weeks.

With his lips at her temple, she felt them curve into a smile. He angled his head as he tilted her face up to his, his thumb stroking slowly down her cheek in that endearing caress she’d come to love so much. “Do you feel better now?”

“Yes, very.” With the heat of passion gone, she had a hard time meeting his eyes. Her smile faltered.

Of course, astute as he was, Marc noticed. “Uh-uh, Jessie, there’ll be none of that. No regrets or second-guessing. I’ll happily spank your ass for the rest of your life if it relieves your stress and makes you come as beautifully as you did just now.”

“What about you?”

“Don’t worry about me. Spanking you to orgasm was as satisfying for me as it was for you.”

There was a pause, along with a little giggle. “I sincerely doubt that.”

He chuckled. “All right, maybe not quite as satisfying, but it was close. Don’t you worry about me, I’ll get mine later.”

She snuggled deeper into his embrace, absolutely sure that he would. They lay together silently, enjoying the intimacy, until her stomach rumbled loudly, reminding her of their spoiled dinner. “Handsome, can we eat before later?”

Laughing, he patted her behind gently. Before he let her go, he lowered his head and claimed her mouth, kissing her until she was breathless once again. When he lifted his lips after several bliss-filled minutes, he grinned as her stomach growled again. “Let’s get you fed.”

“Hmm, spanking me, drying my tears, loving and cherishing me, keeping me fed… I’m rather high maintenance, huh?”

“You don’t hear me complaining, do you?”

“No, thank goodness. If you whined and complained as much as me, we’d get nothing else done.” She leaned up and kissed him. “I’m going to clean up. I’ll be quick.” She leaped from the bed and with a thoroughly warm and tingling behind, rushed to the bathroom.

Once inside, she retrieved a clean washcloth and towel from the linen closet beside the sink. When she shut the door, she caught sight of her red bottom in the mirror and screamed in alarm.

Marc’s head popped in an instant later. “What’s wrong?”

“Look!” She presented her red behind with a multitude of clearly defined s-shaped marks emblazoned on her skin.

He eyed her bottom calmly. “That’s what happens with a slotted utensil, I’m afraid. It’s unavoidable.”

“Did you know this would happen?”

“I suspected. Remember I asked if you were sure about that spatula?”

“Oh, my God! I didn’t know what you meant. I grabbed the first one, not even thinking.”

“I was wondering, what’s the ‘S’ for? Swanson?”

“Stewart,” she answered, still gawking at her welted butt.

“Huh?”

“You know,” she answered vaguely as she shifted from side to side, her eyes on the mirror and the reflection of maze of ‘S’ tattoos on her ass. “As in Martha Stewart; it’s from her home collection from Macy’s.”

He chuckled, gently gliding a hand over her marked behind. “Start looking for one with a ‘T,’
bella
. I have a feeling we’ll be using that sucker often.”

She stared at him, imagining T for Trent emblazoned across her behind. A warm feeling spread through her, beginning between her thighs and engulfing her entire being. The warmth in her cheeks broadcast her renewed excitement and she glanced up at him, wondering if he noticed. The twitch of his lips told her he had; he rarely missed anything. As she watched, the twitch became a grin, which transformed into a hearty chuckle as his hands traced more firmly over the marks he’d left.

“You’re enjoying the fact you left your mark on me, aren’t you?”

“The ring does that. These,” he growled, gripping both cheeks tightly with a none-too-gentle squeeze, “are for my eyes only.”

Her noisy stomach forgotten, Jessie moaned into his mouth. Evidently, food would come after ‘later,’ and she didn’t mind a bit.

Chapter Twelve

Collapsing onto the bench seat, Jessie slumped against the backrest, rubbing her forehead as she released a groan of frustration. “I can’t believe I’m getting another migraine.”

Stacy, who had been focused on her phone, took one look at her face and slid her venti caramel macchiato in front of her. “I’ll order another. You obviously need this more than me.”

She smiled gratefully at her dearest friend as she reached for the coffee. Stacy’s sacrifice (considering that her drug of choice was Starbucks’ caramel macchiato) meant a lot and reinforced what she already knew; she looked bad. Having stopped by the ladies’ room on the way to meet Stacy, she’d been appalled at the dark circles under her eyes and her pale, washed-out complexion. Concealer and blush didn’t begin to hide the signs of her exhaustion. At this special time in her life, she should be happy and excited; instead, she was having trouble sleeping, her stomach always seemed to be in knots, and the migraines that had been under control for years were occurring several times a month now. She put her fingertips to her temples, applying pressure.

“I’m sorry, Jess, should we go?”

“No, I took one of my new pills before I came in. It’s supposed to work in thirty minutes.” Checking the time on her phone, she sighed and leaned her head back against the booth. “Seventeen more and I should be all better.”

“Is it stress that’s causing them? You’re a bigger wreck than me these days.”

“Possibly, with work and the wedding, I am the definition of stressed. It’s less than two months away and I don’t have a dress yet. My mom is helping as much as she can but she’s been working overtime too and hasn’t had much time.”

“I haven’t seen her in forever, how is Lily?”

Jessie shook her head. “I saw her over the weekend and she is not doing well.”

“What do you mean?” Stacy shot back, concern edging her voice. “She’s not sick, is she?”

“No.” Grabbing her purse, she began searching through it, knowing the tears were coming. She pulled out a small pack of tissues and dabbed at her eyes. “Oh, Stacy, she broke my heart. My dad contacted her.”

“What? I thought he’d disappeared off the map.”

“He’s resurfaced. He left when I was thirteen and neither of us has heard from him since, until now.”

“Why is he popping up now—clear out of the blue?”

“He wants a divorce.”

Taken aback, Stacy blinked at her. “You mean after fifteen years they’re still married? Dang!”

Jessie bowed her head, frustrated with the tears pooling in her eyes. As soon as she wiped one away, another spilled over. She scrubbed them away, blinking rapidly, hating to shed a tear over her father. They were a waste of time and energy anyway. She’d cried gallons the first year and throughout high school, but eventually learned it changed nothing. After that, she’d locked down her emotions, rarely crying at all. Until Marc, that is. He’d broken through her carefully constructed shields to the soft unprotected core beneath and now her emotions, often in the form of tears, came without warning, which she wasn’t so sure was a good thing.