Page 12 of Chasing Amber

But the biggest thing of all is that my girl needs a firm spanking. She doesn’t get any release. She has no outlet for her frustration. I’m certain if she let me spank her ass until she was brought to tears, she would feel so much better. She could clear her head of all the shit that seeps in throughout the day.

Another thing my girl could use is some Little time. Now that I’ve caught her curled up asleep in her closet, I'm more certain than ever before. She was stressed when we got home and managed that stress by going into Little space. It relaxed her enough that she even fell asleep. Does she not recognize the benefits of Little space?

My hands are tied. I can’t push her to acknowledge the obvious. I would never betray her trust and tell her brother or her therapist what I believe. I have no choice but to wait for Amber to come to her damn senses and see that what’s right in front of her is a Daddy Dom who would give his life for her.

Eventually, I step into the hallway. Her door is still closed, of course. The lights in her room are off. I assume she has gone to bed. I don’t even know what Amber wears to bed. I’ve pictured her a million times in her sleepwear, but I’ve never seen her.

She does her own laundry and is very discreet about it. I’ve never even switched her load to the dryer or emptied it for her. I’ve never offered. It wouldn’t be right for her bodyguard to touch her panties and bras. It’s out of the question.

Does she sleep in nightgowns? Lingerie? Somehow, I can’t picture my girl in lingerie, not because she wouldn’t be sexy asfuck wearing it. She would. I just doubt she would buy it for herself and wear it alone. Maybe she has pajamas or shorts and shirts that match. What color would they be? She’s not a pastel kind of girl.

Perhaps I would be better off putting my energy toward far more important thoughts, but I’ve been plagued by visions of what my girl wears to bed for two years.

I don’t know how the fuck I’m going to sleep. It’s still early, but I think it would behoove me to get some shuteye now. The hairs on the back of my neck are tickling. Tomorrow is not going to be a normal day.

After changing into my usual loose shorts and T-shirt, I climb into bed and stare at the ceiling. The apartment is quiet. I’m so tuned in to Amber that I would know if she were moving around or…crying. I don’t think she’s doing either. And I’ve never known her to cry. She could use the release.

I flex my right hand. I’m itching to spank her. If I spanked her hard enough, she would cry. She would end up sobbing. The amount of stress she could release from a spanking would be huge. If I followed both of those up by plunging my fingers into her pussy until she came, she’d sleep for twenty hours.

But none of that is going to happen. Not tonight. Not in the near future.

I close my eyes and take a deep breath, letting it out slowly. After two more of those, I remember nothing until I suddenly jolt awake.

Sun is streaming into the room. I bolt upright and glance at the clock. It’s seven in the morning. I run a hand down my face, breathing heavily. I haven’t slept that long or that hard since I was about five. I can’t believe it.

It occurs to me that a noise woke me up. I think it was a door. I shove the covers aside, slide my legs over the edge, and rush out of the room. I swear to all that is holy, if I find out Amberhas left the apartment, I will catch her before she reaches the first floor, drag her back up here with a hand wrapped around her bicep, and spank her naughty bottom without saying a word.

None of that is true. But it’s what I want to do. I jerk my gaze to her bedroom. The door is standing open, so she did exit that room. However, the room across the hall—her studio—is closed. It’s never closed unless she’s in there.

She’s a sly Little girl, though. It’s possible she shut that door as a decoy to buy herself some time while she plays Houdini. On silent feet, I stride toward the studio and set my ear against the door. I don’t breathe while I wait.

Finally, I let out a long, quiet exhale when I hear movement. She’s probably setting up her easel and paints. She’s very particular about her workspace.

Rarely have I watched her paint. She doesn’t like anyone looking at her. She goes into her head when she works, and anyone watching makes her feel oddly violated. It breaks her concentration so she can’t fully focus. I respect that. I’ve never opened this door when she’s working.

In addition, Amber has never once gone into her studio at seven in the morning. She doesn’t get out of bed this early. She’s far more likely to work at two in the morning, having not gone to bed yet, than get up early.

Apparently, today is a new day.

I’m so relieved she’s in her studio that I lean against the wall for a moment and allow myself to come fully awake. The last thing I feel like doing is chasing Amber around Seattle this morning.

I head back to my room, change into my workout clothes, and get on the treadmill. I’m late, but I need as much of my workout as I can get. I sense a challenge. The air between us is going to be thick. She’s probably not going to speak to me oracknowledge I exist for most of the day. I’m used to it. I refuse to let it bother me.

I up the pace and start jogging. I need to focus so I don’t end up missing a step and falling on my ass off the back of the machine. It’s impossible to keep thoughts of Amber from my mind, though.

Any other man would have said “fuck it” to this arrangement about twenty-three months ago. Some days, I think I’m a fool for sticking around. My hands are tied. I’m in love with her. I can’t and won’t leave her until she forces me to. And she won’t because she’s in love with me, too.

I’ve often asked myself if she’s just using me. She needs me. She feels safe with me. I’m the best bodyguard she’s ever had. Hell, I’m more than a bodyguard. I cook for her, drive her when she wants to go somewhere, and wait for her while she shops or meets with a gallery owner.

I’m like a fucking puppy in many ways. I should be more frustrated than I usually am. This morning, I’m pretty fucking tense. I have to keep reminding myself that my girl is hurting. She’s in pain. She holds me at arm’s length, often farther than that, because she’s afraid to let me get close.

I’ve never fully understood why she won’t let anyone close to her. I don’t think it’s because of the kidnapping. That doesn’t add up. I suspect it has to do with her parents passing when she was only a teenager, but that was so long ago. It’s not as though everyone in the world abandoned her.

I’m well aware that Spence didn’t flinch. He took custody of his sister, helped her get through high school, and set her up at the local university. She was there for two years before she dropped out. After the kidnapping, she never went back. I suspect Spence insisted she could only return if she had a bodyguard, and she told him to fuck off. That adds up for Amber.

I wonder if she had a bad relationship or two before or after the abduction. She was almost too young to have had her heart broken before she was twenty. Maybe she had a boyfriend at the time, but he didn’t stick around to help her through the aftermath. Spence never mentioned anything like that, but it’s possible he didn’t know.

I don’t have the answers I want, and I don’t have anyone to ask, either. All I can do is wait for Amber to let me in and tell me. What if it takes her five years to see what’s in front of her face? What if she never does?

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