Aching to Submit (6 page)

“Smells good,” Michael said, still holding onto her, his eyes searching her face as if they were looking for something. She had the impression he couldn’t have cared less about the food as his hands kneaded the flesh of her upper arms.

“I just took the salmon out; we should probably eat before it gets cold,” she said. Something was off.

“M-hmm.”

He was acting strange. He released her arms and she went back into the kitchen. He followed her in.

“You’ve already had a glass?” he asked, taking a wineglass out of the cupboard and pouring from the bottle that stood open on the counter.

“Not much, I just poured it.” She’d needed something to help her relax.

He took a bigger sip than she would have expected; he was usually so controlled. When she turned to plate the salmon, she could feel his eyes on her back the entire time.

“Is this the new bottle you bought?” he asked, picking up the bottle and looking at the label.

She nodded without looking at him as a chill ran up her spine. “It’s the Chablis. Everything okay, Michael?” she asked, trying to sound casual, keeping her hands busy.

“Everything’s perfect,” he answered. But his tone said everything was anything but perfect. “We ready to eat?”

She looked at him, then nodded. “If you’ll bring the bottle.” She dropped her gaze first and walked into the dining room. When she got to the table, what she saw lying in the center made everything stop. Everything except for the plate of fish, which shattered on the hardwood floor.

“Sit down, Sophie,” Michael said, coming up behind her.

She shuddered and turned to look at him over her shoulder. Her face, she was certain, was as white as the wall.

His gaze was blue ice on hers.

“Sit down. Now.”

Crushing shards of her favorite serving dish beneath her shoes, she walked to take her seat. Her eyes turned once again to the black leather paddle that took up the center of the dining room table.

He knew.

* * *

Michael put her glass in front of her and topped it off. He then took his seat, his body relaxed, casual even, although it certainly wasn’t how he was feeling. He was still processing his conversation with Kyan.

Kyan had told him everything. He’d been, from what Michael could make out, honest. Sophie hadn’t done anything that would have broken a marriage vow. In fact, she’d told Kyan she was married and wasn’t interested in anything sexual. He looked at her, his young wife, sitting across from him. She was trembling, sweat glistening on her forehead. She was a lovely thing, pretty, just so pretty in a naïve, young, almost childlike way. He imagined what would have happened to her if she’d walked into any other club. If she hadn’t met Kyan, who sounded more like the voice of logic and reason than his wife. The fact that she hadn’t come to him, her husband, hadn’t trusted him enough to tell her what she wanted, what she really wanted—that part made him feel both angry and hurt.

But now it was time to get some answers.

“Take a sip of your drink,” he said.

“I’m not thirsty.”

“Take a sip of your drink,” he repeated.

“Michael…” Her face crumpled; she was unable to keep the façade of happy homemaker.

Her obvious pain tugged at his heart and wrenched his stomach. How long had she been struggling with this? Alone? He made sure his voice was softer when he spoke next. “We’re talking, Sophie. Just talking. Take a sip of your wine. Just relax.”

She reached a trembling hand and took the glass. She had to hold it with both hands once it was at her mouth so it wouldn’t splash as she sipped. Michael waited, watching her as she slowly set the glass back on the table and turned her gaze to her lap.

“I came home early to surprise you today. You know how worried I’ve been about you the last few months. Hell, the last year.”

She glanced at him from beneath her lashes, but quickly dropped her gaze again.

He sipped from his glass, taking a moment. He didn’t want to frighten her, but he was going to get the truth, all of it. And he was going to get it tonight.

“So I came home early to find you gone. Groceries were still on the counter in their bags, which was strange, and when I called your cell phone, there was no answer.”

She looked at him. “I’m sorry, I…”

He put up a hand to stop her from continuing. “No excuses and no more damn lies, Sophie. I’ve had it. I’m finished. You’ll sit and you’ll listen to what I have to say and when I ask you to answer a question, you’ll answer the question. Period. Am I clear?”

She studied him as if trying to make sense of what he had said. He’d never been anything with her but gentle to an extreme. To a fault.

She nodded and he couldn’t help but notice the hardening of her nipples beneath her white blouse. This was new. This was very new to him at least. But were the signs there all along?

“I went upstairs thinking maybe you were there, but you weren’t. Figured I’d read through the mail while waiting for you and when I went to pick it up off the desk, found this sitting next to your laptop.”

Michael held up Kyan’s business card.

There was a physical change in her in that moment. She shifted in her seat, her guilt no longer allowing her to meet his eyes.

“So I thought I’d look up the place, see what exactly it was. I’d never heard of it, you see.” He turned the card over to look at the private number Kyan had handwritten on the back. “Strange to find another man’s business card on your desk with a cell phone number scribbled on the back. Not really what any husband hopes to find among his wife’s things.”

She opened her mouth to speak, but he put his hand up.

“It’s still my turn,” he said.

She dropped her gaze to her lap once again.

“So I boot up the computer and type in the web address, only to find it’s stored on memory. After figuring out what this place was, I thought I’d go have a look for myself. You can imagine my surprise when I got there only to find my wife wrapped in another man’s arms…”

“It wasn’t like that. It was never like that. I swear, Michael, I never cheated, I wouldn’t.”

He ignored her frantic outburst and continued. “Once you were gone, I went inside to beat the son of a bitch up.”

“You didn’t…”

“No. I didn’t. Only got one hit in before the bouncer got there.”

“Oh my God!”

“Kyan’s fine, Sophie.”

“Michael…”

“I want to know why you haven’t told me this. Why you had to go behind my back looking for something like this.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, tears sliding down her face.

“Explain to me why. Help me understand what I’ve done wrong that you couldn’t trust me with something as important as this obviously is to you.” His voice cracked on that and he was the one to break eye contact this time. He picked up his glass and downed the contents.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” she said. “It was me, it’s my fault. I was just… scared.”

“Of me? Of my reaction? Of what? All I’ve ever done is love you!” he said.

Sophie covered her mouth with her hands as she wept.

“Shit,” he said, standing and walking away. He ran his hands through his hair. When she started to speak again, he turned back to her but didn’t resume his seat.

“I didn’t want you to look at me like I was some freak. Some perverted, disgusting…” She broke down now, fully sobbing into her hands.

Michael’s own eyes watered as he went to her, lifting her from her seat and taking her into his arms. He held her while she wept, muffling the sound of her agony in his chest.

“I would never, could never… Oh God, Soph.” He kissed the top of her head, holding her tight to him. Once her sobs had died down and her body stopped shaking with the after-effects, he pulled her backward, forcing her to look up at him. Mascara smeared her face black, her lips were pale, her skin blotchy from crying, and Michael was sure he’d never loved her more. “I love you, Sophie. You’re my wife and I plan to be a better husband to you, but for me to do that, you’re going to need to communicate. With me.”

She nodded, sucking in a breath.

“I’m going to clean this mess up. While I do that, I want you to go upstairs and have a shower. When you’re finished, I want you to braid your hair so it’s off your back, just one long braid. I then want you to wait for me in the bedroom. You’re not to come out until I come upstairs. Is that clear?”

She searched his face and after a moment, reached up to kiss him, obviously not understanding his intent.

He put his hands on her shoulders to stop her, but she pushed and when her lips met his, he kissed her back.

“I love you,” she whispered. “I’m sorry I hurt you.”

“Did you understand my instructions?” he asked, holding her inches away. She needed what he had planned for tonight. And so did he. If he’d doubted it for a moment, it was crystal clear now.

She nodded. “Yes.”

“Good. Go get ready for me.”

He let her go and after a long moment, she took a step.

“One more thing,” he said.

She turned back.

He held out the paddle for her.

“Set this on the bed.”

Her eyes remained on the thing for a while before she extended her hand to take it, and she met his gaze. Michael’s cock stirred at the look on her face, at the flush on her cheeks, at the trembling of her hand as she took the paddle from him and walked quietly to the stairs.

Michael went into the hallway closet to retrieve the broom and began to clean up. He exhaled as he did, knowing this could have gone so badly. Much more would be expected of him in the coming hours. He’d never done anything like this before. The thought of hurting her was so foreign, but what was more so was his arousal at what was to come. It was at odds with how he thought he should feel.

Putting the thought aside, he bent to sweep up the pieces of the broken dish.

* * *

Sophie sat at her vanity wearing a white cotton nightie, twisting her dark hair into a long braid.

In the reflection of the mirror, she glimpsed the black paddle she’d laid on the bed. What was going to happen tonight? Was he going to do it? Was he going to paddle her? Punish her? The Michael she knew, the husband she knew, he was not this. He was gentle, he had never raised a hand to her, never to anyone as far as she knew. Except Kyan, apparently. He barely got angry and neither of them ever yelled.

She heard his footfalls on the stairs and her heart began to race. She kept her eyes on her own face in the mirror, her skin looking a little paler, her eyes still red from crying.

Michael opened the door and walked inside. He had removed his suit jacket and tie so he stood in dress pants and a white button-down shirt. He didn’t look nervous or anxious as she expected him to be. Instead, he looked truly like the man in control.

He eyed the paddle, then turned to her.

“Stand up, Sophie,” he said.

She rose slowly to her feet and turned to him.

“Did I tell you to put anything on?”

She looked at him, confused for a moment, then glanced at her nightie.

“No,” she said.

“Then take it off.”

It took her a moment; was he really doing this?

“Problem, Sophie?” he asked.

She shook her head.

“Words, please. And I believe you’ve been taught about proper address.”

“Michael…” she began. This was strange. They’d been together for four years. He couldn’t really expect her to start calling him Sir, could he? As much as a part of her felt embarrassed and battled the thought of doing just that, another part of her wanted him to make her do it. To make her submit fully.

“I mean it, Soph. This is what you want—we’re not doing it half-assed. We’re doing it all the way.”

She looked at him, gauging his words, wondering how far he’d go, before she nodded and quickly pulled her nightie over her head. His glance swept her body and stopped at her white lace panties. He only had to nod once before she reached to slide them off and placed them on top of her nightie on the chair of her vanity.

He looked her over for what seemed like forever. He’d seen her naked before, of course, but him looking at her tonight, like this, felt different. Her nipples hardened beneath his gaze and heat collected between her legs.

“I’m going to punish you for lying to me and for visiting the club alone, Sophie, but I want your consent to do it. I’m going to paddle you hard enough that you’re going to remember it and hopefully think twice the next time. We’re in this together; we can’t keep secrets from each other—especially these sort of secrets. Do you understand?” he asked.

She nodded. “Yes,” she whispered.

“Yes, what?” he pushed.

She looked at his face, searching his eyes, embarrassment making her heartbeat pick up. “Sir,” she managed. It should have sounded strange, but didn’t.

“Do you consent to your punishment?” he asked.

“You’re my husband,” she mumbled.

“Exactly.”

She looked at the paddle on the bed, at his big hands, at the muscle beneath his shirt. She nodded.

“Words,” he said. “I need you to vocalize.”

Her belly quivered and her pussy throbbed. “Yes, I consent to being punished.”

“Sir,” he reminded.

She licked her lips. “Sir.”

“Pick up the pillows and stack them at the foot of the bed,” he said.

She moved slowly, her heart pounding, nervous, anxious, not knowing what she wanted, not wanting this to fail, afraid of the pain to come. Her emotions were a jumbled mess inside her. She picked up her pillow first and set it where he’d said, then went over to his side and did the same, all the while very aware of her naked body as he stood fully dressed watching her while he rolled up his shirtsleeves.

Once she was finished she turned to him, eyeing his powerful forearms, the dusting of blond hair there.

Michael picked up the paddle and she couldn’t help but stare at it.

“Should we talk about a safeword?” she asked. It was strange—as much as she wanted this, wanted him to dominate her, wanted to submit to him, she couldn’t help asking, even knowing she was, in some way, testing him.