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Would Dasha have allowed me to be with Raychel right now if he were alive?
I would never know that answer.
I was pretty damn sure that there would be harsh words, a punch to the face, threats… but in the end, I believed deep down that Dasha would understand.
A knot formed in my stomach as Raychel lay panting and crying softly over my lap. I rested my hand—which was probably just about as sore as her bottom—at the small of her back and began to rub.
When her breathing had pretty much returned to normal, I whispered huskily, “Let me help you up.”
But she shrugged my hands off as soon as she got onto her feet, reaching immediately down to pull up her jeans and panties, avoiding my eyes at all costs.
She turned to leave without a word to me, still occasionally hiccoughing a sob. I reached out, caught the edge of her shirt, and pulled her back. “Don’t leave like this.” I tried to pull her into my arms, but she stayed put as if her feet had been planted in cement, head doggedly down, arms hanging at her sides. So I came to her, opening my arms to wind them around her, but Raychel remained stiff as a board within them. I leaned down and kissed the top of her head.
* * *
Raychel
His arms wrapped around me, holding me close. Not in a sexual way, but in a manner that offered comfort. But to me it was cold comfort indeed. I didn’t want to be standing in the arms of this man, who had just seen my bare bottom and spanked it to within an inch of my life. I should be resisting more, I thought, even as I allowed myself to melt a little against him. I should be home by now, where I could soak my butt in a bucket of ice.
He’d started to rub my upper back and rock back and forth just a little, not enough to disturb me, but just enough to make me feel better than I wanted to. My tears came more quickly at his kindness. I felt the safety and comfort of him surrounding me, and it made me feel more cared for than I had in years.
“There, there,” he murmured against my hair.
And it all felt good. Too damned good. It was just what I wanted, almost. So close, but still not close enough. I was trying to stand there and enjoy and absorb as much as I could of it for later, when I could roll the moments around in my mind at a more leisurely pace. But then I didn’t want to enjoy or revel in it.
He had just spanked me!
Again!
I didn’t think I would ever get over it. He’d taken me over his knees and paddled me with his hand like an errant child. He wasn’t treating me like a woman he desired. He had treated me like a little girl he needed to teach a lesson to. I should be livid. Furious. Not allowing this man to hold and comfort me.
Reaching back to rub my bottom, I realized that it looked like I needed to make a trip to Goodwill and buy a damn coat, as much as I didn’t want to.
Anthony looked down at me as I clutched awkwardly at my own butt. “What should we do together next week?”
“How about avoid each other entirely?” I suggested sourly, fidgeting within his arms.
Anthony squeezed me tight then let me go. “No, I don’t think so. Why don’t we go bowling?”
I sighed. Another week of skipping lunches… and a lot of dinners. “Sure.” I started to wander toward the door again, wondering if he was going to reclaim me again.
But he didn’t. Instead, he drove me home without further incident, and he decided that we would bowl in a week then maybe go out to eat. The last thing he said before driving away, though, was that he expected to see my winter coat the next time we met, or what I had just gotten would resemble friendly pats.
I watched him drive off after honking his horn, and wandered into my apartment. We had essentially gone out on two dates. We had kissed—the most amazing kiss of my life. He had seen me naked from the waist down, and had spanked me—hard. So much for keeping him at a polite distance.
What the hell was I supposed to do now?
Chapter Nine
Raychel
When I got into my place, the first thing I did was go into my bathroom where there was a full-length mirror on the back of the door. I shucked my jeans and panties down and turned around to see if there was any evidence of my ass getting smacked, and there was plenty. I was so fair that I could see not only a definite all over pinkness, but also telltale separate and distinct handprints. His hand was so big that he’d gotten all of my butt in one hard whack.
