Sweet Surrender (37 page)

She squeezed his hand as he kissed it. “I’m sorry I made it so you don’t trust me anymore.”

“We both need to work on trust and communication. We’ll seek a professional if need be, but this is fixable. As long as the love is still there, we can work this out. You believe that, don’t you?”

“I’m counting on it.”

“We’ll talk later, when we’re calm and our emotions aren’t running so high.”

“After you spank me, you mean.”

“Do you think it’s undeserved?”

“No. If truth be told, I think it might help.”

He pressed her hand with his lips, letting go only long enough to change gears as he turned out of the parking lot. With a firm grip, he held on until they reached the beach house a few minutes later. He carried her inside and up the stairs to her bedroom, as if he was afraid if he didn’t hold on, she’d vanish again. Setting her down beside the bed, he didn’t waste any time in stripping her, a few tearing noises accompanying his haste. Jessie didn’t care; she was too busy divesting him of his own formal wear. When they both stood naked, Marc lifted her and set her sideways on the mattress, immediately following her down, covering her body with his own.

As they kissed, his need matched her own. Her hands drove into his wavy hair, her mouth opening wider, giving freely as his tongue delved inside and tasted her hungrily. Before long, when they were both gasping for air, he pulled away, his lips blazing a trail down her neck and over her breasts, pausing to nip and suckle the tips briefly before continuing downward, past her belly and hips to the place he sought most, the place she wanted him most. She spread her legs wide, her body trembling in anticipation as he wedged his broad shoulders between her widespread thighs. His searing hot mouth found her, fulfilling his promise as he devoured her pussy.

After a month without him, she was wild with need, in seconds arching off the bed, her hips jerking against him as he used his tongue and teeth to impel her to an immediate climax.

As she moaned, her body convulsing and jerking in orgasm, he rose over her and with one long motion, plunged into her. Their coupling was fast and wild, their hands and lips melding, voraciously reacquainting one another with the texture and taste of their skin, the pliability of muscles, breasts, and clenching cheeks as they writhed against each other, hard meeting soft in a wild frenetic joining. Seconds later, she cried out, coming hard again with Marc’s shout closely following as they both found ecstasy in each other’s arms.

“I love you,” he murmured against the damp skin of her temple, “more than life.”

“I love you too,” she panted, feeling like jelly in his arms, “more than I ever thought possible.”

Chapter Twenty-Five

For a long time they lay together, wrapped in each other’s arms until their hot skin cooled and the beads of sweat had dried. The whole time, Jessie clung to him, tears pooling in her eyes, unable to believe he could still want her after all she had done. Her guilt was overwhelming.

As she relived the last month and all his attempts to reach out to her that she’d spurned, the remorse increased tenfold. The tears spilled over as she curled into him, pressing her face against his neck. “I’m so sorry, Marc.”

“
Mio tesoro,
” he entreated. “Please don’t cry.”

The endearment spoken in his beautiful rolling Italian made her cry all the harder.

“Tears never help anyway; only make my eyes red and swollen.” She pushed up into a seated position, using the sheet to dry her tears. Twisting to him, she looked down into his much-loved face, her hand pressing flat over his chest. “Are you going to spank me now?”

“I had planned to, baby.” His hand swept up her arm, running under her tousled hair, gathering it in a fist near her head. “You’ve shed so many tears already. A spanking now isn’t going to make them stop, is it?”

“Um…” She closed her eyes for a moment, desire rushing through her as the thought of his hand on her behind made her tremble. He spanked hard and she’d never withstood it without tears, whether from discomfort or the release of her emotions. Tonight, as wired as she was, there was no way she could make it through without blubbering like a baby, so she might as well fess up. “Probably not, but I think I need this to move forward. We both do. I could try not to cry during my spanking, but…”

“That’s impossible.” His smile was sweetly indulgent. “Tears during a punishment spanking are expected, Jessie. What bothers me are the other times, when you’re hurting and won’t talk to me about it, or when you’re crying behind a locked door and I can’t get to you to help ease your pain.”

“I did all of that, didn’t I?”

“Yep, your mother was a very efficient guard, I might add.”

“I feel awful about that.” She sniffled. “I’m a real piece of work. No wonder you’re walloping me all the time.”

“Jessie…”

“Okay. Here’s my suggestion. After you spank me like I deserve for putting us through all this, and you cuddle me in your lap, drying my tears and soothing the sting away as always—that’s the best part, by the way—and after you love me breathless again, as promised…” She paused, reconsidering. “Wait, I’m wrong. The loving is actually the best part, first the loving then the cuddling afterward. After all of that, I’ll try to be brave and not cry so much anymore. Better yet, I’ll come find you when I’m feeling sad or unsure and we’ll talk it through. How’s that?”

Once done, she looked at him expectantly. His eyes were a little glazed by her rambling, but there was a hint of a smile along his lips. Only a moment of deliberation passed before he nodded.

“I can live with that,” he said simply, releasing her. No questions, comments, or discussion whatsoever.

“Well, don’t let me twist your arm or anything.”

Her sass was cut short when he pushed up and slid back against the headboard. He lifted her onto his lap, his hands cupping her face as he looked intently into her eyes. “We can’t ever let this happen again, baby. A house divided cannot stand.”

She blinked. “I’ve heard that before, Abe Lincoln, right?”

“I believe honest Abe was paraphrasing the good book when he said that, but either way it’s the truth. This last month has proved it. According to your mom, you didn’t sleep or eat, and I can tell you’ve lost weight. Stacy says you were miserable and I can honestly say I’ve never been so unhappy in my life. I was such a grouch, I’m amazed none of the nurses filed grievances against me. We are much stronger together than apart. Don’t we owe it to ourselves to do what it takes to make us work?”

“I’m a mess, I admit it. I think I need to see someone. This thing I have with money, well, it’s more about my dad than anything, I think.” Her head dipped and she pressed the top of her head to his hard muscled chest. “Stacy gave me the name of her counselor and I plan to make an appointment as soon as I get back.”

“I was going to suggest counseling, but I’m glad you came to that decision alone.”

“I’m neurotic, Marc, not stupid. Even my mother told me I needed help dealing with this. Coming from a woman who clung to the hope her husband was coming back for fifteen long years, that’s really saying something. She’s going to see someone too.”

“Good for both of you, then. Treating your particular phobia shouldn’t be so difficult now that it’s out in the open.”

“What phobia?”

“Peniaphobia.”

Her head came up as she pushed off him, leaning back. Fear of… “What?” Did that mean what she thought? “I’m not afraid of your penis.”

“Thank the heavens above for that.” His chuckle rumbled through his chest and jostled her from her perch. As she collapsed against him, his arms held her tight. “Phallophobia is the fear of a penis. Peniaphobia is the fear of being poor,
penia
coming from the Greek word for poverty. It is actually one of the most common phobias and like the others it usually stems from severe anxiety related to some traumatic event. In your case, it’s from your father’s desertion, I’m sure. I’d like to beat the bastard to a bloody pulp for what he did to you and your mom.”

“Get in line.”

He grunted. Jessie knew why. She was a girlie-girl, a nurturer, she released bugs back outside rather than squashing them, and wouldn’t dare kick anyone’s ass in defense of herself. Now a friend or loved one, or an abused or neglected animal, that was different. Still, she very much enjoyed her little fantasy of one day kicking her bastard father where the sun did not shine.

“
Bella,
I think it would be helpful if I participated in therapy as well. Couples counseling could help us work on our communication and trust issues.”

Anxiety over baring her soul to a stranger already churned in her belly; having his support was a huge bolster for her confidence and determination to see it through. “Thank you, Marc. Especially for sticking by me while I’ve been off the rails. Not many men would do that, I wouldn’t think.”

“I’d do anything for you, I love you that much.”

“Including spanking me?”

“Especially that; for you, a spanking is therapeutic, don’t you agree?”

“Yes. Peniaphobia, spankophilia, and neuroses out the wazoo, my shrink is going to have a field day with me. I’m twisted, aren’t I?”

“Then we’ll be twisted together.” He kissed her soundly. “Okay, let’s get on with this so I can make love to you again. Over my lap,
cara mia
.”

This last bit, despite the endearment, was clearly an order.

She didn’t protest or complain, knowing she needed this to assuage her guilt as much as they both did to reset their relationship. Holding herself accountable for her rather irrational behavior in the past two months, she placed herself belly down over his firm thighs. It was impossible to miss the rock-hard erection pressing into her hip.

He repositioned them both, moving her so that her bottom was aimed high over his thigh, the perfect spot to receive his attention. He also adjusted his cock so that it lay between her hip and his belly. As she felt it twitch along her side, he wrapped his arm around her waist and drew her in close.

“I plan for this spanking to make a lasting impression. This won’t be the easygoing playful swats you’ve had before.”

“That’s funny. I don’t remember the spatula being easygoing or playful.”

“I have fond memories of that night. It was your first real spanking with anything other than my hand. I went easy on you.”

“Easy? I had S-shaped tattoos on my booty for days. Will it be worse than the belt? That wasn’t exactly easy, handsome.”

His hand had begun to warm her up, rubbing in circles over her bottom and upper thighs. “That belt was ten years old, Jess, and soft as a noodle.”

“It still stung.”

“Are you saying you’ve changed your mind? That you don’t want a spanking?”

“No! I’m merely trying to put this into perspective.”

“Allow me to help with that. I love you. I don’t want to cause you severe pain or injury—ever. I want to help you deal with your emotions in the way you’ve found most helpful and asked for in the past, and have again tonight. I also want to show you I’m serious about honesty, respect, and not running away from me ever again. Therefore, I’m going to swat you first with my hand, then with the flat of a wooden hairbrush. I’ll be careful and will not give you more than you can stand, but you deserve this for nearly tearing us apart. As a reminder for the future, you’re going to experience every swat fully and I promise it will sting. Does that help put it in perspective?”

“Yes,” she squeaked, ready to take her licks, but dreading them all the same. He made it easier on her as his finger stroked down the cleft of her bottom. She wiggled on his lap, unable to help from becoming aroused. The pleasure before and after the spanking made the displeasure in the middle worthwhile. Was that why she craved it so much?

His fingers dipped between her thighs. “You’re wet. A little sexual excitement makes afterward all the better. We’ll take care of that after I’m done.”

The first swat fell across the lower half of her left cheek. It was crisp, sharp, and made her lungs seize with trapped air. A tingling heat followed. Before she could suck in breath, another smack fell. It was followed by another and another. Soon his hand was administering a rhythmic patter of smacks, concentrating them all on her left side before moving on to the other. All were of equal intensity. He had applied the same treatment to her upper thighs when at long last he paused. Her entire ass was warm and alight with sensation as she lay panting for air across his lap.

His hand began to rub, squeeze, and massage her tender cheeks. She couldn’t keep the moan from escaping or the trickle of moisture that leaked out on her inner thigh. His searching hands found it, of course. He gathered it on his fingertips then teased along her slit, searching until he found the nub at the top. She cried out as he circled, then stroked lightly across the peak.

Writhing over him, she parted her legs, encouraging him to give her more. Two fingers patted her clit, thumping atop her swollen lips and stimulating her clit further. She lifted her hips, offering her pussy, silently begging for more. He gave it, his fingers coming down sharply once, twice… five slaps in all landed against her pussy in quick succession. Her cries came more loudly as he followed the intimate spanking with a slow, sensual kneading of the enflamed lips.

“My Jessie, always so responsive,” he hummed low, as if to himself. Then louder, “We’ll file this interesting tidbit away for later. Right now, comes the brush.”

His hand abandoned her and he shifted slightly. In her heightened state, the slight scraping of the wooden hairbrush on the nightstand sounded like thunder in her ears. When it landed with a loud crack, the sound reverberated loudly in the room, as did her high-pitched yelp of surprise. It didn’t deter him in the least as he brought the brush down in repetitive fashion on first one cheek and then the other. It was worse than the spatula, which wasn’t solid wood; the ‘S’ carved into the wood lessened the intensity, perhaps. It was worse than the belt; old and broken in like the wet noodle he’d spoken of, it seemed insignificant now, but maybe the memory had faded over time. The small wooden hairbrush was worse than his palm; with less area, the blow was more concentrated and it stung like a mother—