Page 83 of Dizzy

He’s breathing hard, but his muscles aren’t quivering at all, and his grip is strong and sure.

He presses a kiss to my temple. “We need to get you on the pill.”

I nod my head, gasping down air. Damn straight. “No babies.”

“We’ll get you to the doctor. I’ll make the call.” He sets me gently on my feet and trails his fingers over my burning ass. He groans in appreciation. “You okay?”

I crane my neck, check out the damage. It hurts worse than the spanking, for sure, but it’s a bearable pain. Mostly stinging. The stripes from the belt are hot, the skin raised and pink.

“You didn’t break the skin.”

“Nah. It’s an old belt. Worn edges.”

We both stare at my ass, him stroking alongside the raised welts.

“Kind of wild,” he says.

“Yeah.”

I shake my head clear and try to bend over to tug up my pants, but I’m too wobbly. He helps me out, easing my panties over my sore ass. The pants are too rough, so I kick them off. He scoops them up, and then turns me, wrapping me in his arms and peppering my face with kisses. His beard tickles. I wriggle, and he holds me closer, trapping my palms against his chest.

There’s a sharp twinge. “Ouch.” Oh, damn. I have a splinter in the mound of my thumb from holding onto the stair. It’s bleeding. Dizzy notices it the same time I do. His dopey smile disappears.

“Damn it.”

He lifts me into his arms and carries me up the stairs as if it’s nothing. I squeal, but I don’t fight him. I don’t think my brain’s reconnected to my legs, yet. I’m lost in this yummy, hazy fog. My limbs are weak, and I’m yawning.

It’s like when you spend a whole day at the river, swimming, and then you lay out in the sun. That kind of perfect peace and exhaustion.

When we get to the kitchen, Dizzy leans me against the counter. Thank goodness he doesn’t set me on it. My ass would not take kindly to granite right now. He takes out his trusty first aid kit, removes the splinter, pours some hydrogen peroxide over it, and slaps a bandage on. I get the purple convertible this time.

When he’s done, he nips the tip of my index finger and then kisses it. I giggle. I’m as content as I’ve ever been, and the unsettled feeling from the morning is gone.

He pours me some tap water. “Drink.”

I hate room temperature water, but my mouth is dry. I chug, and he refills the glass.

“You want to take a nap or watch TV?”

“TV.”

He carries me downstairs, knocks some action figures off the sofa, and sets me down. I curl up on my side. Actually, I’m probably gonna take a nap.

He covers me with a camouflage comforter.

“After I get the boys from school, we can go somewhere. I’ll be done with work by then.”

“Why can’t I watch you?” I mumble though a yawn, although I’m no longer interested.

“It’s top secret,” he says, smoothing my hair. “I could tell you, but I’d have to kill you.”

He grabs the remote and sets it beside me, and then he tromps upstairs. I sigh, snuffle under the covers, and sink into a deep, dreamless sleep. Safe. Satiated. Warm.

I wake up to a flood of light and an angry woman poking me with a plastic sword.

“Where are my kids?”

I bolt straight up, flailing, my legs tangled in the comforter. My top has worked its way up past my boobs. I yank it down as I kick at the blanket.

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