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It was almost as if all the guilt and disappointment she’d ever felt in her entire life was being purged from her system with each spank, and that purging just happened to come in the form of tears.
After another set of ten, Dean rested a hand on her back, rubbing slow, soothing circles over her sweater. “How are you doing, sweetheart?”
“I’m okay.”
“Good. We’re halfway there.”
Now the swats did fall a bit harder, closer to what she’d imagined but still not nearly as bad. By twenty-five, she was yelping with each and every one, squeezing her eyes shut against the burn of his hand against her ass, and by thirty she was openly and loudly crying. The final ten barely registered through the emotional purging, and it surprised her when he spoke again in those low, soothing tones.
“You took your spanking so well, sweetheart. Would you like a hug now?”
More than anything in the whole world, though she would never have said that out loud. “Yes, p-please.”
Sitting up, she curled into him, crying out all the yucky feelings inside her as he held her and murmured to her about what a good girl she was and how well she’d done.
It wasn’t until the tears had completely dried and she let her eyes flutter shut and her head rest on his shoulder that she realized her brain was, for the first time in her entire life, completely quiet.
CHAPTER8
Spanking MaryAnn was without a doubt the most selfish thing he’d ever done. He’d spent years watching over clients, even holing up in safe houses with them for weeks on end, and never once had he crossed that line.
Less than a week with her, and he’d thrown his integrity out the window. Worse, he’d done so with a woman who had more trauma than he could shake a stick at.
At least she didn’t seem any worse for wear. She’d cried more than he’d expected, considering he hadn’t spanked her very hard at all. It was doubtful she’d even still be sore by dinnertime. But other than the unexpected tears, she seemed perfectly fine.
He wasn’t delusional enough to tell himself it wouldn’t happen again. Already, his brain had conjured up plenty of images of her bare ass over his knee, bouncing and jiggling as it turned pink under his hand. There was no way he’d be able to resist making that fantasy a reality if she gave him half a chance to do so.
Just like he knew he was going to kiss her again the first chance he got.
Fuck.
“Feel better?” he asked, pushing the guilt aside to focus on the woman in his arms when she sighed and snuggled closer.
“Much. Thank you.”
“Any time, sweetheart.”
God, he’d forgotten how much he enjoyed this part of the ritual. Almost as much as the actual spanking itself. He really was a selfish bastard because he knew he should let her go and give them both some space, but he also knew he had no intention of releasing her until she insisted on it.
There was a special place in hell for men who took advantage of vulnerable women, and he had a front row seat.
“Dean?”
MaryAnn’s soft, uncertain tone pulled him out of his self-flagellation. “Yes, sweetheart?”
“Are you okay? You seem… mad.”
He debated with himself for all of about thirty seconds before deciding honesty was indeed the best policy. “I am, but not at you.”
“Then who are you mad at?”
“Myself.”
“Why?”
“Because.” Sighing, he ran a hand through his hair, doing his best to settle his own emotions before they spilled out all over her. “I took advantage of you, which makes me the worst kind of asshole. I’m sorry, MaryAnn, you barely know me. I shouldn’t have laid a hand on you in any way, and I sure as hell shouldn’t have spanked you.”
The look on her face when she sat up made her feelings on his apology clear. “I pretty much begged you to spank me, and somehow, you’ve twisted it around so you’re the one who took advantage of me? How does that work?”
