A Weston Wedding. Gray Gardner
For some reason, that got me really hot, and I would've done almost anything he said after that. Almost.
"I'm sorry, Drake, I shouldn't have…I should've told you about the real reason behind the marriage thing."
"I'm not going to pressure you. Okay?" He grinned, kissing my jaw and neck so tenderly. "If we get there, and I kind of think we will, I want it to happen organically."
"Yes," I breathed, and my eyes closed as he gently touched his moistened lips to my ear. His hands trailed down his Stanford shirt I had on and paused at the hem then ran up my thighs to rest on the black Hanky-Pankys I was wearing.
"And I think you know," he continued between kisses, "that you're going to get spanked sometimes."
In my head, that declaration had been like a bucket of cold ice water. I huffed and pushed back into the wall with my hands pressing against his chest. But, naturally, there was the matter of my body and its downright betrayal.
My stomach swirled. Yes, it was exciting to hear him say that. His control? My loss of it? I didn't know. Wasn't I supposed to be a modern, self-sufficient woman?
"Chandler," he muttered, running his finger along my embarrassingly wet underwear. "My angel, this is how it is between us. Would you want it any differently?"
"We aren't West and Blake!" I argued, feeling my neck and ears flush. I was flustered and feeling a little lost.
Drake's arms wrapped around me as he leaned down, squeezing me to him. I fought for half a second before melting into him and letting him hold me. When he lifted me up and sat back on the gray tufted sofa in front of the fireplace, I broke into tears. Who knows why. I just felt so safe with him.
"You feel safe with me, right?"
I smiled up at him and knuckled away a tear, so comfy in his strong hold. "I was just thinking that."
"But you also think that feeling safe is at odds with me wanting to hurt you."
"Well, yes." Nail. Head. He'd hit it.
"You know I would never hurt you," he softly said, holding my back and the back of my head as he looked right into me.
"You wanna hit me. For real," I whispered, feeling a little ashamed for some reason.
"I want to spank you when you misbehave. Get your backside a dark shade of pink so that you learn a lesson. That's all. Well, I'll probably make you come at least twice afterwards. Then that will be all."
"So, what, it's for me to learn a lesson—and for your amusement?" I frowned, leaning back.
"I won't hate it; I'm not gonna lie," he sighed, holding me still as I tried to push back off of his lap to get some distance between us. "And judging from that heat radiating off of your little body, you won't hate it, either."
My mouth dropped open. Christ, he was astute. I certainly didn't want to congratulate him by telling him he was right, though.
"I…when we're just playing around, maybe, sure, but…"
"Angel." He grinned, leaning in for a kiss and frowning as I pushed hard against his chest and fell back against the couch cushions.
"I'm not going to allow that, Drake," I stated loud and clear, standing to give the words a more genuine feel. "That's not the kind of relationship I want."
He quirked his eyebrow again. Damn it. Did that mean anger? Was he just thinking? Giving me a chance to cower away? But I couldn't back down. Not on this point.
"I think you're lying again, Chandler," he said, standing and staring down at me, hands on his hips. "But we'll discuss it and you can decide later whether or not you want to be with me."
My heart jumped when he said that. Did he really think I didn't want to be with him? Was it such an important issue?
The questions in my head stopped as he grabbed my arm and pulled me into him, giving me a look that I'd never seen before.
"Regardless, my naughty little angel, you're getting a spanking. Now."
I squealed as he fell back to the couch and pulled me with him, my body crashing down on his hard, jean covered legs.
He was going to go through with it. My question as to what I meant to him felt asked and answered.
He really was a shitstick.
Chapter 2
Blake Campbell
I finally understood. He loved me. Cared about me. And I didn't just have to guess anymore because he was finally explaining everything.
Weston Hamilton had changed. For me.
Granted, I was sitting on the covered nail head bench at the foot of our bed awaiting a nighttime spanking, like that was a common thing in the real world, but still, I felt good. I felt like we were on the same page.
"And I'm sorry I started a brush fire. I know it could have easily gotten out of control and burned down the whole ranch," I repeated, having to apologize for my July fourth roman candle incident every night before he, well, you know.
He shifted his stance as he stood before me. He'd already lectured me. Again. Then, like the six nights before, he'd sit down and pull me over his lap and spank me. Then he'd stand and lecture me some more. Then he'd get really tender and make love to me. Creatively, I might add. It was something to look forward to, but it didn't mean that I felt completely good about it.
Conflicted about the dynamic of our relationship? No. I understood West. It was just his way. And it was a little bit like foreplay in a weird kind of way. I just felt guilty about nearly destroying his beautiful ranch and the majestic national park that ran adjacent.
"You still think I'm mad about the destruction of property," he stated, his voice low and rumbly. He was all ready to get through the punishment and start the lovemaking. I liked that voice.
"You kinda sound like a cop," I murmured, a little embarrassed that he had me sitting on the bench with my pajama pants at my knees while he was still fully dressed in jeans, boots, and a blue, pearl snap shirt.
"Well, you're kinda talking to me like I'm one. Like I exist only to enforce rules. Like I don't care a thing about you," he responded, hands on his hips now.
"But I don't know how else to apologize to you," I sighed, looking up at his gorgeous face. Seriously. It would make David Beckham cry out of jealousy.
"Think," he stated, tilting his head.
Christ, what else could he possibly want out of me? I was humiliated and humbled. Wasn't that enough? I didn't want to snap at him, though, since I'd been in the wrong. So, I went to my go-to back up plan. Being cute.
"Is this about the 1-8-7 of your tool shed?" I asked, wide eyed. In the wake of the roman candle blowing fireworks into a dry brush pile, his toolshed full of Grainger tools had gone up in flames as collateral damage. I hadn't known how expensive tools could be until I saw the insurance claim.
Then it happened. For the first time all week during this disciplinary stuff, he cracked a smile. He looked at me adoringly. Then he sat down, pulled me over, and began smacking my uncovered and already quite tender skin.
"If you think this is about money or land or insurance or anything as trivial as that, then maybe I haven't been getting through to you," he calmly stated between smacks.
I squeezed my eyes shut but had to cry out. He was not being as gentle as before.
"West!"
"This is about you. Being stupid. Not taking care of yourself. This is about me losing you in a fire. Do you understand now?"
"West!" I cried out again, unable to concentrate on anything at the moment.
He stopped and flipped my legs around so that I was on my back. He lay on top of me, hands in my hair, his thigh between my