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I paused, wondering how late I could be before he lost patience and started leaking my sex photos to his cronies. I’d been a reckless freshman when he took them, just out of high school, and Leo had been a graduate assistant, ten years older than me, and far wiser and circumspect. He’d been smart enough to keep himself out of the photos so he could blackmail me with them years later, to force me to his professional will.
He knew that dispersing those photos would make it impossible for me to navigate the touchy gender politics within our field. They’d be forwarded from phone to laptop, from lab to lab, none of my male partners or competitors ever admitting they had them, even as they shouldered me out of important papers and projects because I wasthat slut.
I couldn’t let that happen, but how was I going to get out of the Azores now that Devin was gone? I’d never manage to fly to New York on my own, not next week or next month or next year. I should have left with him while I had the chance, but it was all so sudden, so recklesslysoon. Now I had to negotiate with disgusting Leo, project leader and predatory scientist, to find out how much leeway I had in my start date.
I stood in a huff to close the drapes. I was tired of looking at the ocean, tired of its taunting waves and endless blackness. Why had I gone over to Europe in the first place? Why hadn’t I stayed in the U.S., where I could drive or take a train wherever I needed to go?
I turned at the sound of a keycard in the lock, a beep, and an aggressive turn of the handle. Devin, whom I’d imagined was somewhere over the Atlantic by this time, strode into the room.
“What—what are you doing here?” I asked.
“I checked out of my room before I left for the airport.” There was an edge to his voice. “So I guess I’m staying here.”
“I thought you were leaving for New York.”
“So did I.” He slung his suitcase onto the bed, arranged it on the edge, then turned. “You,” he said, pointing. “Come here and bend the fuck over. I’m not a happy camper right now, and I’m going to take it out on your ass.”
I stared at the suitcase, then into his eyes. “What?”
“You heard me.” His hands went to his belt, unbuckling it and pulling it from the loops. “It’s your fault I’m still on this island.”
I felt a flurry of panic. “I told you, you didn’t have to stay.”
“Oh, but I did stay,” he said, doubling the belt over. “And your butt cheeks are going to pay the price. Stand up and get over here.”
I looked at the email I hadn’t finished, then glanced at the way his fingers wrapped around the ends of his belt. I loved belts, and I had a feeling he knew how to wield one. I made a decision and stood.
“Fine,” I said, all bravado. “If that’s what you feel you have to do, then okay, but only over my jeans.”
“Fuck that noise. You don’t decide, I do, because I’m the one who’s fucking stranded here. We’ll start over your jeans, but you better believe I’m going to tan your bare ass before I’m done with you. I’m stuck here until Friday, Ella, until there’s another direct flight to New York, which youwillbe on, by the way. Now bend the fuck over.”
I took in his hard gaze. He was angry, yes, but this was something else, too. Playtime. Perversion. Maybe a little more adrenalized venting, like after the crash. I was so relieved he hadn’t left, I felt adrenalized too.
“Go on,” he said, gesturing with the belt. “You need this. You feel guilty for being a cowardly lame-ass, and I’m frustrated that I have to stay here when I could have been home in a few hours.” When I hesitated, he shook his head. “Uh-uh. I’m not going to do it for you.”
He meant he wasn’t going to force me to comply. He wanted me to bend over on my own steam, to ask for him to punish me. It was so much harder to do it that way.
“This is mean,” I said, bending over his suitcase. With the height of the bed, I had to straighten my legs to keep my toes on the floor. “I can’t help that I’m afraid of flying.”
“I can’t help that I’m annoyed by your fear of flying. Put your palms on the bed.”
God, I was already wet, just from the sight of him, the sound of his voice, and his rough orders. I opened my hands against the puffy white comforter, stuck out my ass, and waited for the first blow. When it came, it was hard and sharp, catching me across the bottom of my seat.
“Oh, shit,” I cried, reaching back to cover my ass.
“Don’t.” He pressed his crotch to my ass and grabbed my hands, holding them down on the bed. His chest covered my back, a Devin-cage, as he hissed in my ear. “A naughty, stubborn maso like you knows better than to reach back and interfere with a whipping. Keep your hands where they are.”
“It hurts,” I whimpered. “You didn’t even give me a warm up.”
“Having your jeans on is a warm up.”
I stared at the belt that had seared into my backside. It was thin, dark brown, real leather. Made for pain.
“Are you ready for more?” he asked.
He knew I was. I was practically vibrating from the feel of his body over mine, his hands pushing mine down. It seemed he knew everything about me, every button to push. “Yes, I’m ready.”
“Yes, Sir, I’m ready,” he scolded. “Scene language.”
