Page 13 of Love Me

I shook my head. “No appetite right now.”

“And your appetite for…” his voice was low. He cupped my ass, bringing me in closer. As he was looking into my eyes, something flickered, and his voice changed. “You need to eat. You have to stay healthy.”

I titled my head. “I’m a grown woman who can make her own decisions,” I said.

His shoulders relaxed, as if realizing that I was right.

I reached up and held the back of his head, bringing him in for another kiss. He moaned, then in one fluid motion, turned off the stove and pulled my hips up so that he was carrying me, my legs wrapped around him. I raked my fingers down his back, scratching his smooth, slightly damp skin. Closing my eyes and breathing in his scent, I was in the woods, being hunted by a predator, feverish to capture his prey.

He carried me to the study and bent me over the arm of the chaise lounge, pulling down my pants and ripping my shirt off as quickly as he could. I wiggled my hips, pressing into him with my ass, but the first strike came like a lightning bolt, swift and strong, and I lost my breath. It was like he had knocked all composure out of me. I looked back and saw his raised hand.

“What are you doing?” I asked, confused. We had done this before, but why did it feel worse than before? Like this was personal. Like I hadn’t asked for it.

“Are you questioning me?” he asked, his voice cold.

The next strike smacked me so hard I swore there would be a visible handprint on my ass. But when I turned and looked, there wasn’t any mark. Was he spanking me harder than usual, or did it just feel like he was?

“Why are you hurting me?” my voice cracked.

“For not—”

I don’t know what stopped him, but his voice quieted. He touched my ass, rubbing it, as if to prepare it for the next strike.

It was just a spanking, I told myself. We had done this before.

So why did it hurt so much worse?

It was irrational, I knew it was, he had used a cane on me before, for fuck’s sake, but I couldn’t stop feeling like I was going to cry. Then nausea lurched in my stomach, showing its ugly face once again.

“I have to go,” I said. I pulled up my underwear and pants and found my shirt and bra as quickly as I could.

“Go where?”

“I can’t—” but using my voice made it worse. I held my hand over my mouth and ran to the bathroom.

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