Under His Hand (4 page)

“Wrong answer.”

“Drew, you can’t—”

Crack!
She yelped again, a shock wave of pain blistering through her ass.

“Whatever you think I can’t do, I can. The windows, Tess. Why?”

If he intended to keep this up until he got the answer he wanted, she could see the benefit of coming around to his point of view. The only problem was she didn’t know what he wanted her to say, and she told him that.

Crack!
“Think about it, Tess,” he said, with a low, peremptory chuckle. “Take as long as you need.”

He was
amused
? “You…you…
jerk
!”

The crack of flesh against flesh ricocheted around her bedroom. She jumped again, felt his hand spread in warning against her lower back, and muffled her startled cry in her folded arms.

It
hurt
.

Another measured smack landed in the same place, flat on her bottom. Raw sensation expanded in pulsar waves as he moved to the other cheek and administered five smacks there. A hot ache swelled and spread, much as pleasure did during long, lazy afternoons in bed. He switched sides again, settling into a methodical pace, not so hard and rapid that she felt battered in either body or soul, yet not slow and light enough for her to surface from the pain of each smack’s sharp impact.

He worked at his task while she twitched and wriggled with each stroke, gripping his cap and trying to choke back the gasps fluttering from her throat. The weight of his hand near her center of gravity anchored her, body and soul. The strength of his thighs under her stomach and legs, the solidity of his abdomen at her side all kept her focused on the painful, erotically charged, emotionally laden moment.

What the
hell
was this all about if it wasn’t about her dogged independence and how that affected him? She wouldn’t do it again. He trusted her to keep her word, and he was certainly keeping his. He’d said he would spank her, and here she was, naked and facedown on her quilt, while his relentless hand moved from cheek to cheek and he steadfastly ignored her stifled yelps, which threatened to become sobs as the stinging grew to burning. Despite the undeniable sexy undertone, she knew this wasn’t his first choice of activities on his first night home. He could have ignored the windows, the broken air conditioner and her crushing financial strain in favor of simple sex, pizza delivery and sleep. He could have yelled at her and left. Worse, he could have just turned around in the street.

But here he was. Doing what he’d said he’d do.

He hadn’t left when he found the evidence of her disobedience. He’d stayed, and as painful as it was, he’d kept his word. He’d stayed.

He would stay. No matter what she did.

The smacks continued inexorably, but realization broke through the burgeoning ache. Deep down, she’d doubted his commitment. She thought he would disappear for real, not because he was mobilized. He’d just leave one day and not come back. Like her father, and then her mother. If she goaded him into it, then she could control when it happened.

That’s why she’d needed the spanking, both for her lack of trust, and as physical proof that he would keep his word. She could trust him to give her what he said he would. What she needed.

“I get it,” she gasped over the rhythmic slaps. “I get it! Drew, please!”

His hand came to rest again on her now stinging, heated bottom, leaving an expectant, vibrant silence. Slowly, carefully, she relaxed her taut, quivering muscles, subsiding into his lap, but while the muscle tension eased, liquid flame burned in her swollen, wet folds. He reached out and gathered her hair in his hand, sending it spilling over her shoulder. Surprised by the temperate touch, she turned her face and looked back at him.

“Why did you leave the windows open?” he asked gently.

The truth hurt. It really, really did. More than her ass, in fact. “Because I wanted to see what you’d do if I did.”

“Even though I told you what I’d do.” He wasn’t asking. He knew. He’d known before she even walked into her bedroom.

There was a time and place for obstinate defiance. This wasn’t it. “Yes.”

“And what did you learn, Tess?” His voice was so soft and open she could hardly believe it came from the same man who’d purposefully paddled her into next week.

“To trust you.” She took a deep breath and let it rush out onto the thin quilt under her hot cheek. “I learned you always keep your word.”

“Always.” The single word hummed with the unshakable confidence of a United States Navy SEAL. “You tell me to go and I’m gone. But you can’t make me abandon you because you act up.” He caressed her stinging butt. “You can earn yourself another spanking, no problem. But I’m here for the duration.”

She let out another shuddering sigh as his words sank deep into her psyche, absolution and commitment rushing in to replace fear and abandonment. But her body still had a pressing need for relief. Undulating on his lap generated a sharp, longing twinge when her pubic bone made contact with his hard thigh. She’d never felt this way before, never had urgent, immediate desire thumping under her skin while she lay limp and pliable against his hard body. Soft give and sharp need melting together, and oh, how she wanted him to assuage the ache between her thighs.

Possessive admiration softened the line of his jaw as Drew slowly scanned her from toes to calves to thighs, lingering at her ass before sliding his gaze up the length of her spine, to her brown hair draped around her sweaty shoulders, then to her face. She didn’t turn away, but let the heat throbbing in her bottom reflect in her eyes as she lifted her butt against his hand.

Admiration gave way to molten lust. “You want me to finish this,” he said, but he wasn’t asking.

All she could do was nod.

He raised his hand and she closed her eyes again, but this time she lifted into the stroke that fell not on the marked, throbbing skin, but rather on the soft inner curve where her buttocks met her thighs. The blow, lighter than the others but carefully placed, sent a sharp shard of heat flashing into her pussy. Once again she jumped and gasped, but even to her own ears the gasp wasn’t one of pain, or shock, but the sound she made when he flicked his tongue against her clit. Which was exactly how this felt, except from the inside out. It felt as if he’d struck sparks in her clit, and the tender flesh swelled in demand.

She peered over her shoulder again. His eyes locked with hers and he deliberately raised his hand, landing another smack in the same place, but on the opposite cheek. Sharp, swift pleasure speared through her. The slap was different, the landing spot different, the sensations different, the moan different. Deeper. Throatier. Could have been lust, could have been pain.

He paused. “Too much?”

Yes, but oh, so good
. “Don’t stop,” she groaned, winding her fingers through the hair gathered at the nape of her neck before she buried her face in her arm again.

His cock pulsed hard against her hip bone before his hand fell. The pace was slower, giving the pleasure time to build through the fire that exploded with each crack of his hand against her bottom. She found herself rocking back into each stroke, waiting for each one to fall, focusing on the ache expanding in her throbbing clit. The soles of her feet burned, and her nipples rubbed against the worn cotton quilt as she gasped and writhed under each blow.

Finally, when the ache threatened to destroy her, when she teetered on the edge of all-consuming pleasure, a smack landed that detonated the burgeoning heat. Orgasm flashed bright inside her and rolled to the tips of her fingers and toes as she threw her head back and let out a soft, high-pitched moan.

When she could rouse herself she felt his hands stroking her back, bottom and thighs. Little tingles chased through the steady pulsations in her ass. She let her arms fall beside her face, gathered her strength and pushed back. As she moved, he pulled her panties off, then put his hands under her elbows to help her upright, supporting her but letting her situate herself as she pleased.

What pleased her was to straddle his lap,
carefully
ease her bottom back against his thighs, and look him right in the eye while she tucked her hair behind her ears, wiped at her own eyes with the heels of her hands, licked her swollen lips. He watched each movement, then cupped her cheek and brushed his thumb over her mouth. He threaded his hand through her hair and pulled her down for a hot, swift kiss, his tongue flickering over her lips until she softened against him.

His gaze searched hers; his fingers gently rubbed her scalp. She returned the look, hiding nothing, avoiding nothing. What he saw must have pleased him because his lips quirked into a grin.

“You okay?”

Good question. Her heart pounded, whether from the exertion in the hot, muggy, still air, or from the pitch and heave of her emotions in the last hour, she couldn’t say. The rough material of his damp BDUs chafed her tender skin. A new tenderness drifted inside her, unfamiliar yet not the slightest bit scary.

“My ass hurts,” she said bluntly, “but yeah, I’m okay. Tomorrow I’ll make an appointment to get the air conditioner fixed. And…um…thank you. For loaning me—”

“Giving me,” he corrected.

“Giving me the money.”

“My pleasure,” he said, but the wicked gleam in his eye betrayed the formal tone and words.

She trailed her fingers across his beautiful cheekbones and lips, down over the glittering gold scruff on his chin to dab at the sweat pooling in the hollow of his throat, then down his abdomen to snag her fingers in his waistband and press her pussy against the hard ridge in his pants. His shirt was so sodden she could probably wring it out like a wet rag. The gleam in his eyes went from wicked to intent.

“You liked that,” she said, but the accusation was a mild one. There was a thin line between play and punishment.

He wasn’t a liar, so he just gave her a wink.

“How red is my ass?”

“A pretty rosy pink,” he said huskily, as he throbbed hard against her soft folds.

Interesting.
“You going to spank me again?”

Heat flared in his eyes and he tightened his grip on her hips. “If you need it, or if you ask me very, very nicely.”

“That sounds promising,” she started, as she leaned forward and set her hands on his ribs. The quick, indrawn breath he gave at the pressure of her hands on his chest made her stop, then sit back. He loosened his grasp, but his lips pulled tight over clenched teeth. A couple seconds later his breath eased out and his jaw relaxed.

Oh God, oh God…
“Drew?” she asked, and began to tug his sweat-saturated T-shirt from his pants.

“Easy, Tess,” he said, but his voice was resigned as he submitted to her efforts to undress him, sitting forward and lifting his arms over his head so she could pull his shirt off and toss it to the floor with a wet thud.

Once again, icy fear wicked through her veins. The left side of his torso was a mass of bruises, some faded to yellowish-green, others the fresh deep purple of recent blows. A gash too deep to be a scratch but not deep enough to need stitches bisected his torso from just under his right pectoral down to his left hip bone. Much deeper and he would have been gutted.

“Drew,” she breathed, her fingers trailing over the abused skin. “What happened? Did somebody
hit
you?”

The words sounded astonishingly stupid as they left her mouth, but he just gave a little smile at the incredulous tone of her voice. “A little dust-up. Ain’t no big thing, baby,” he said, mocking mortal danger in the Alabama drawl that lingered despite nine years in California.

Which meant he couldn’t talk about it. He’d matter-of-factly explained that anything really serious would mean members of his team at her front door and an introductory meeting with his family next to a flag-draped casket.

“Are your ribs broken?”

“Not even cracked,” he said.

She looked back at the vicious, spreading bruises and quirked an eyebrow at him, but let it slide. There was no point in pestering him for details he couldn’t provide. If someone got close enough to do this kind of intimate damage, whatever he’d done hadn’t been the usual clockwork “in and out without a shot fired” mission. With her hand at his nape she kissed his forehead, then rested hers against his.

“I love you, Tess,” he said, his voice husky. “It’s good to be home.”

He needed a shower, a meal, twelve hours of sleep and about half a tube of antibacterial ointment, but fussing and hand-wringing went over as well as sleeping with the windows open. She pushed her concern aside, sat up and affected a disbelieving pout. “Really? Because from my perspective, you being home means me scared witless and spanked. But I’m glad it was good for you.”

One golden eyebrow quirked up at her sassing. “That wasn’t good for you? Because it sounded damned good at the end there.”

“Okay, it was pretty good,” she said with a mock eye roll.

“Pretty good? I can do better,” he promised, then those seductive, dangerous hands went to the fly of his cargo pants and began to slip buttons from holes to free his straining shaft. His knuckles brushed against her damp mound, coming closer with each undone button. He pushed himself off the bed with both hands, lifting his hips for Tess to tug the clinging, sweaty fabric down. The pants made a louder, squishier thud than his shirt had when she flung them heedlessly behind her. From her crouched position she kissed her way up his long, leanly muscled legs. After a brief, assessing look at his cock, straining thick and dark red from the blond nest of curls, she ran her tongue up the underside, the taste and scent of sex and sweat a heady aphrodisiac.

She kissed each hip bone, then licked the ridges of muscle forming his abdomen. Each wicked bruise received a gentle touch of her lips, as did the edges of the slice through his skin. She poured words not yet spoken into the caress of her breath, the flutter of her tongue against his skin, the not-quite-gentle pressure of her teeth against each nipple in turn. His breathing had slowed and softened with her ministrations, but stopped altogether at the sharp pressure, before easing out in a guttural groan.