A New Forever (5 page)

He hadn't, of course, he was dead on, but Elodie was as unlikely to admit that to him as she was to cop to kidnapping the Lindbergh baby. He was the closest family member to her. The rest of the clan had moved away—they were all boys, and had wives and families of their own they were busy with. It wasn't that they didn't love her, they did. But they weren't there, and they didn't know, and as long as there wasn't some sort of an emergency, they didn't have much interest in knowing about all of her trials and tribulations.

They were seasonal family; Christmas and Easter, and the occasional birthday.

But April had been in the same town, and they had been automatically closer, and Clay was included in their relationship by extension. He was the closest family member to her, despite April's loss.

It was an entirely sobering thought.

"So," Clay continued as if she hadn't been dumbstruck at what he'd been saying. "When should we get together next week?"

Elodie had to suppress a snort. It wasn't as if her social calendar was so terribly full that she wasn't going to be able to fit him in between her couture fittings and her flower arranging classes. It was more likely that she wasn't going to be able to afford to see him more often—she was barely able to cover the lunches they had.

But she didn't want to challenge him; not here, and not now. She imagined he'd notice her absence when the time came. She could only hope that decorum would keep him from doing anything drastic—like spanking her—despite his threats. It wouldn't be right for him to spank her, even though she couldn't fight the desire of wanting him to do so.

Taking self-delusion to its highest level, Elodie sat back in her chair, mentally trying to finagle her barely there finances so that she might actually be able to afford to see him next week... depending on what bills she could put off paying, and how little she ate until then. "I don't know. You have more of a life than I do. You tell me."

They decided to meet and go to a movie the following Saturday afternoon. Clay had wanted it to be an evening show, but Elodie pushed for a matinee, which was less expensive.

The rest of dinner was much less intense. Clay got her talking about the water right issues the local farmers were struggling with, and television, and other relatively neutral subjects. She seemed to relax a lot, until he glared at her when she put the dessert menu down and announced she didn't want to have anything.

"Pick something. We'll split it," he fairly growled. "You look like you need a good solid meal and could stand to put on a few pounds. I've noticed that you have lost quite a bit of weight since April died. I understand it's a normal part of the grieving process, but, Elodie, you are literally skin and bones."

Seeing that he wasn't going to relent, she gave a little angry sigh, then reached for the menu again. They settled on a brownie sundae that was literally sinful—a slightly under done brownie with two scoops of vanilla ice cream, hot fudge and caramel sauce, as well as three big swirly spirals of whipped cream.

Elodie groaned while tasting her first mouthful of the confection, and Clay found himself wondering if she sounded like that in bed. All of a sudden, he was rock hard, and that wasn't a condition he was used to being in lately. In fact, he didn't think he'd had an erection since April had died. It just wasn't something he thought about.

Clay was a one woman man, and that position had been filled for a lot of his life. He and April had been opposites in a lot of ways, but their sex drives and sexual interests had been perfectly matched. He had always had a very high sex drive, and April had more than met that challenge. Frankly, if he ever met and got involved with anyone else—not that he was looking, he wasn't—he could only see the quality of his sex life coming down a few notches from the incredible synergy he'd had with April.

But Elodie… Clay had never considered Elodie in a sexual manner, but apparently his body had. She was the only woman to have inspired this response in him in five years, and it made him want to take another look at her—and watching her eat this dessert was just about going to kill him, he could tell.

She was unselfconsciously sexy. Clay knew that Elodie wasn't trying to entice him—exactly the opposite was true, in fact. She wanted to melt into the woodwork with pretty much anyone, especially him, apparently. But she was taking a spoonful of that decadent dessert and eating it, then pulling the spoon out of her mouth very, very slowly, with her eyes closed, her face the very picture of bliss.

He wanted to see her like that, but not in relation to food. He was getting more and more uncomfortable by the second, having to shift in the chair and try to adjust himself as discreetly as possible. He was afraid that, when he had to stand up when they left, the evidence of his desire was going to be in plain sight.

Clay barely had one bite of the brownie—he was spending all his time watching her, although he tried not to let her see it, knowing she would stop as soon as she realized that his eyes were on her.

All good things must come to an end, though. Elodie put her spoon down in the bowl and looked up at him sheepishly. "I'm so sorry! I ate the whole thing on you! It just tasted so good—"

"No problem at all. I don't need it anyway, and I much preferred watching you enjoy it so much."

She blushed the way she always did, but she seemed happy and content for the first time the whole evening, and he found himself wanting to make her feel that way again.

They each had a cup of coffee, which gave him just about the time he needed to recover some control over himself. He realized, in his truck on the way back to her place, that he didn't want to let her go. But when he suggested that he come up to her apartment, she got that wary look in her eyes again, and practically backed out of the truck and away from him.

"I'm fine. I can let myself in. No need for you to get out of the warm truck," she said as she quickly shut the door and made her way to the rundown apartment building.

"Hold on!" he called as he killed the engine and bolted after her. "You are stripping me of my gentlemanly duty of walking a lady to the door."

Clay caught up with her at the top of the stairs and, without thinking and acting on impulse alone, followed an age-old instinct. He took her into his arms and bent her back, making it necessary for her to reach up and cup the back of his neck to maintain her balance. Those small, soft fingers landed on his sensitive nape as he settled his mouth gently down onto hers.

Elodie's mouth was open from the shock of it, and Clay took advantage of that fact, slipping his tongue past her lips to plunder beyond. She still tasted of caramel and chocolate, and he wanted more. He wanted all of her, and the need that washed over him was so great, he wasn't at all sure he could control it. It flooded through him like an avalanche, leaving him aching for her, for every inch of her. Always, before, there had been April to sate his voracious desires.

Now, as he was beginning to see, there was Elodie—to both spark and satiate his appetite.

And he wanted her.

And he would have her.

"Clay…" She murmured against his lips, but didn't pull away.

He continued to dance his tongue with hers, feeling sensations course through his body that he had thought long dead. For the first time since April's death, he felt alive again. Truly alive. His heart beat harder with every second of the kiss. It was almost as if Elodie was breathing life into his soul once again.

"Clay," she breathed again, this time putting her hand against his chest and softly pushing him away. "This is wrong. We can't."

Shaking his head, he continued the kiss. He didn't want to stop and face the harsh reality of their situation, but she continued to press away. Reluctantly, he pulled back to stare into her startled, wide eyes. "Tell me it doesn't feel right," he said.

"It does," she whispered. "But we can't… April."

He positioned her body so he could embrace her fully against his chest and stroked the back of her head, not sure he could find the right words to say. "She's been gone a long time, Elodie."

She snuggled her face against his chest, clearly enjoying the close proximity as much as he. "She has. But she was your wife, and my sister. This isn't right."

A small bubble of rage attacked his core at the unfairness of his fate. "Says who? Who gets to make the rules in something so tragic as this? Is there some rulebook I'm not aware of? This is between you and me, and us alone." He pulled her off his chest so he could stare directly in her eyes. "I don't have the answers. I don't know how to make this right. But I know I feel something, and I know you feel something, too. What that is? I don't know." He kissed her softly on the lips before adding, "All I ask is that we walk toward what could be between you and I instead of pushing away. Let's at least be open to the possibility. Okay?"

Tears welled in her eyes and her arms clung tighter around him. "Yes. I would like that." A single tear dripped down her cheek. "Does it make me an awful person because I want that?"

"No, Elodie." He hugged her so tight he worried he may actually break her fragile frame. "You are not an awful person. We will take this very slow. So slowly that we don't have to search for the answers… they will just find us."

She nodded in agreement. "So now what?"

He kissed her softly, but for longer this time, and then he begrudgingly pulled away. "We go on another date to the movies. One date, one step at a time." He kissed her one more time and wiped the tears in her eyes. "Goodnight, Elodie."

"Goodnight, Clay."

They'd met for the movie just as he'd wanted. He'd stopped and picked her up, then they'd gone to the theatre. But in the parking lot, he turned off the engine, and swiveled in his seat to look her straight in the eye. "You didn't buy the coat, did you?"

Elodie looked down, suddenly finding the third button on his flannel shirt to be infinitely fascinating. "How did you know?"

Clay snorted. "You're not wearing it."

Elodie guffawed. "Even if I'd bought it, I could have chosen not to wear it."

"Not if you realized you were going to be spanked for not wearing it when it's cold. Do you have a good reason for not buying a coat?"

This was her out. She could just explain that the price of buying a coat didn't fit in with her monthly budget, but her pride got in the way. She had no choice but to lie. "I just didn't feel like it," she said, jutting out her chin. Lying to Clay didn't feel good, but at least she still had her pride.

"Well, then." He paused for a long moment. "I believe a spanking is in order."

"You are not going to spank me, Clay Carver." She said it aloud for the first time, after having said it in her fantasies for almost the past decade. It came out firm and strong, just the way she'd intended.

He didn't say a thing. Nothing. Elodie didn't take that as a good sign. Instead, he got out of the truck and came around to her door, since she'd made no move to get out at all. He opened the door and stuck his hand in at her. "C'mon. Do you think I'm going to spank you in the theatre?" he asked as a young couple was walking by. They turned and laughed, then walked toward the cinema.

If only to shut him up, Elodie got out, refusing to touch the proffered hand. "Will you please keep your voice down!" she growled.

Clay merely smiled, reaching for and capturing her hand to tuck it into his elbow and escort her into the movies. Elodie was quite efficiently trapped. She desperately wanted to continue their conversation and strengthen her objections; her refusal to let him discipline her in any way whatsoever. But she did not want to get into that kind of a discussion in the middle of a public theatre. So, after he insisted on buying the tickets, she grudgingly ate the extra-large popcorn he'd gotten, and dutifully gnawed on the hard Milk Duds—which, in truth, were her favorite movie treats—all while being transported into a land of elves and fairies and magic spells that completely absorbed the both of them, even though it was an extraordinarily long movie.

When it was done, however, and they were back in his truck, she deliberately picked up the conversational thread. "So. No, I didn't get a coat. But you are not going to spank me for not having done so."

Elodie peered closely at his face, but Clay merely continued to stare straight ahead as he drove, smiling slightly.

She paused for a moment, but he apparently wasn't going to say a thing.

"Clay?"

"I have to admit that I like the sound of my name on your lips."

"Clay…"

"Yes?" he asked, as innocently as was possible for him.

It was then that Elodie noticed that he wasn't taking her home to her house—he was heading to his own place.

"Take me home, Clay." A flat, hard statement that left no room for doubt.

"Okay. I'll spank you there," he agreed all too readily, putting on his blinker to change directions.

"No! No—not there!" She was getting so flustered that he might see her dilapidated living conditions that she started to forget the original threat. "You're not going to spank me at either place, Clay."

He stopped at a red light, considering her for a moment. "Well, you seem to be very vehement about not wanting me to see your apartment. I'll have to investigate why at a later date."

That pronouncement sent a chill down Elodie's spine.

"But right now, I am going to spank you, and I think it should be at my house. I'm a man of my word, Elodie. I told you what I would do if you didn't buy a coat. I'm not about to become a liar now."

"Are you crazy? You can't spank me! I'm a grown woman!"

Clay's response was annoyingly laconic. "So was April. And she got her butt blistered whenever I felt it was necessary."

"But she was your wife. You were lovers. It was natural for you both, and it was understandable since you had that kind of relationship…"

He didn't say anything more, even though Elodie's entreaties became more and more fervent. When he'd driven through the large gate that read 'Carver Ranch' and finally pulled into the horseshoe-shaped driveway and up to the front door, he stopped and turned to her. "No, we don't have that kind of relationship. Yet. But you understand my beliefs on Domestic Discipline, and I care about you, and I can see that you're not taking care of yourself the way you should be. It's been relatively balmy around here lately. But we've had some snaps of below zero weather. I can't bear the thought of you walking around shivering in that kind of temperature. I want you to have a winter coat. I don't think it's too much to ask."

He reached out and tugged gently on an errant blonde lock of hair. "And, when I ask you to do something, I expect to be obeyed. You're going to learn that very, very quickly."

It was on the tip of her tongue to confess, hoping that would help her get out of a spanking. Pride be damned—she didn't want anything to do with being spanked by this man. He was too darned big, and too determined by far. If she had to cry poverty, she would. Now that her little fantasy was actually becoming a reality, it didn't sound so sexy anymore.

But while she was pondering what to do, he had gotten out of the truck, come around to her side and opened the door, putting his hand out to her much more imperiously than he ever had. Elodie huddled back in the truck, as far away from him as she could. "I am not going to get out."

"You would prefer that I reach in there and haul you out over my shoulder, in broad daylight? You know my head foreman lives right next door. And my other guys are working on mending fences nearby—I'm sure they wouldn't mind getting a show. And can you imagine when they get home and tell their wives, how fast the news that Elodie West got her butt blistered by Clay Carver will spread?"

It wasn't the first time she'd cursed living in a small town. She knew that if she found herself in that house, she'd end up getting spanked. But he didn't look like he was going to back down in any way, shape or form, and, knowing Clay for as long as she had, she knew he wouldn't budge an inch.

"I'm not going to wait forever, young lady." His voice was as calm and patient as if he was telling her he was going to go out for a stroll.

Finally, as slowly as she dared, she climbed out of the truck. Clay took her arm and escorted her into his house.

It had been a while since she'd been to the ranch. Elodie could remember the first time April had shown it to her. She'd been positively glowing. It was a white house with a round portico in the front. In the olden days, they used to call it a center hall colonial, because the front door opened into a center hall; a foyer, with a formal parlor along one whole side of the house, on the right, and an informal parlor—which Clay used as a study—and dining room along the left side of the house, with the kitchen and an added bathroom along the back. The beautiful, winding mahogany staircase in the hall led to the bedrooms and another two bathrooms upstairs.

Both April and Elodie had had an appreciation for big old houses, instilled in them early by their house-happy mother, who desperately wanted to get out of the small place they all grew up in. Unfortunately, Momma never did, but April found a beautiful place where she and Clay could be happy and raise their children.

Elodie had never imagined entering her sister's house in such a state—with a spanking hanging over her head—one that was coming from Clay himself, no less! He hadn't changed the house or the furnishings one bit; Elodie almost expected April to come bounding down the stairs.

Clay saw her face and grimaced. "Feels like she's still here, doesn't it?" he asked softly, a sudden sadness settling on his face.

She could only nod solemnly in agreement.

"It's okay for us to think about her, to talk about her," he softly said as he wrapped an arm around her shoulder.

"But you said we have to move on." She was fighting back tears.

"We do. But that doesn't mean we have to forget. Or not talk about the elephant in the room."

She nodded again. "You're right. I have been away from this place for too long. Trying to avoid."

Clay gave a little squeeze, and softly kissed her on the forehead. "There's no easy solution, no answer. All we can do is move ahead."

Elodie looked up into his eyes and matched his warm smile. "What do you think April would think?"

He chuckled. "She'd feel really bad for you since she knows what's in store for you." He released a belly laugh, which was just what was needed to break the morose mood that had been set.

Elodie shoved him playfully and feigned annoyance. "Clay Carver!"

He took a few steps towards the double doors to his study, then turned and crooked his finger at her. "Come here, Elodie. And don't even think of bolting back out that door, because if I have to chase you, it's going to be that much worse."

She hadn't been thinking that, but his comment made her wish she had. She'd been too deep in her memories to remember that the health and welfare of her bottom was on the line here. And there he was, standing there, crooking his finger at her as if he was going to give her a gift or something when she got in there with him...

Elodie's hands went automatically to her bottom while he stared at her, trying to protect what could not be protected, at least not from him, apparently. She walked past him and into the study that way, standing nervously in front of his desk while he drew the curtains closed on the big bow and side windows.

*****

Clay realized that this needed to be done quickly. If he gave her too much time to think about it, she'd turn tail and run, and he didn't want to have to be chasing her across the cattle fields. So he took one of the straight backed chairs that had been put to such use occasionally during his marriage and set it down in the middle of the cream colored, Persian rug. It was one of the leftovers from their dining room table. Since there had only been two of them, except when they entertained, he and April hadn't needed all eight chairs that had come with the antique carved oak table, so some of them had ended up in the foyer, a couple in his study, and one in their bedroom. Their dual purpose had always made him smile secretly when he looked at them scattered around the house.

He tugged on her arm, and she resisted, but not as much as he expected her to, though. She oofed a little when he laid her over his lap, and that thing that only seemed to happen with her now had happened again, and there was no way she was going to mistake what was poking boldly into her belly. Clay decided to ignore it—as much as was possible. He knew that if he mentioned it to her, she would dissolve right into the floor, and he hadn't really dealt with that situation yet himself. It was best to just concentrate on the matter at hand.

It had been a long while since he had had a beautiful lady over his lap. He'd almost forgotten the feeling, but he couldn't take the time to luxuriate in it, either. Elodie needed to learn who was boss, and he intended to get the message home as quickly and efficiently as possible. One thing which he knew was vitally important in a Domestic Discipline relationship, was to always follow through with the threat of discipline. Consistency was of upmost importance, or the whole dynamic became wishy-washy.

Despite the fact that he wasn't at all sure he should do it, he tugged down her jeans and panties all at once, before she really had a chance to work herself into a lather. There would be time for that later, he was sure. But for the moment, he'd caught her completely off guard, and he was going to use that to his advantage.

Her round, white globes on full display would have made his knees collapse had he not already been sitting down. He couldn't fight the urge to glance at the V between her silky thighs, just begging his hand to dip in and explore. He wasn't sure why, but he was pretty positive that if he dipped his finger into her pussy, it would be instantly coated in her juices of arousal. Her breathing revealed much more than just fear of the upcoming punishment.

*****

Elodie was absolutely mortified. She had begun to reconcile herself with the idea that he might spank her—that she'd have to lie over his lap and feel his hand connecting with her bottom, but her mind had sterilized it nicely for her, so that she didn't have to deal with the more intimate, or painful, aspects of being put in that position.

But here she was, and it was intimate enough when they were both fully clothed. Then he reached around under her and undid the button and zipper of her jeans, and before she could even manage a wiggle of protest, her pants and panties were around her calves.

Oh God! I am completely bare and he can see everything!

Before she knew it, the first swat descended, exploding on her bare flesh and making her draw in a deep breath with which to throw her head back and squall, but then the second and third and fourth smacks came along, and he settled into a rhythm that she knew was going to be trouble, and she didn't have a chance to dwell on the spike that was poking up from beneath her into her tummy.