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“Like pussy.”
I was expecting something more eloquent. But my surprise is wiped away as my body reacts to him saying that word. I thought I didn’t like it, but hearing it fall from his lips puts a new spin on it. He’s so big, rough, and male. The word slips from his mouth like a piece of silk.
Suddenly, I don’t want to fight anymore. I reach across the table and take the contract from him and flip to the next highlighted section.
“Tell me about the diary. What’s that for?”
“Aftercare and communication.”
That sounds harmless. “Okay…um, there was one other thing,” I say. “Why do I need spanked every Sunday?”
His mouth twitches. “Because I don’t enjoy brats. A lot of submissives act up trying to get a rise from their Dom when the dynamic isn’t enforced often. Some subs want to be spanked every day. I think to keep you respectful, we’ll try a spanking every Sunday night after dinner. If you need it twice a week, we can make an amendment.”
My lips part and my hips shift. I’m soaked, I can feel it in my sweatpants and I wish I had panties on. If I sit up and there’s a wet spot, I’ll die of embarrassment.
“Won’t I get…used to it?” I whisper. “I thought it was a punishment.”
His eyes glimmer, arousal and amusement in their depths. “You’ll know the difference between being spanked for maintenance and for punishment.”
My mouth feels so dry. “What’s the difference?”
“When you’re spanked for maintenance, you’ll cry and come,” he says. “When it’s for punishment, you’ll just cry.”
“I don’t want to cry,” I say automatically.
He cocks his head. “Why’s that, redbird?”
He has this way of saying things when he’s this close to me that’s more intimate than sex. It isn’t helping me that whenever he calls me redbird, it feels like being naked in his arms.
I draw myself up. “I never have the time.”
That’s a lie. I cry easily and often, but Clint hated it so much I learned to keep it secret.
He leans back. “No time to cry? That’s too bad. You look like you could use a good cry.”
“I’m not weak,” I whisper.
“No, this is about release, not weakness,” he says. “Once a week on Sunday nights, I’m going to spank you and let you cry it out until you feel better.”
“Do you cry?” I shoot back.
“God’s honest truth?” He tilts his head back like he’s thinking deeply. “The last time I cried was at my mother's funeral and I was eleven. My father told me he’d hit me if I cried in public again, so I haven't done it since.”
My jaw goes slack. It’s the first piece of information he’s volunteered. My mind latches onto it hungrily, trying to imagine Gerard before he was the hard, closed off man sitting before me.
“Was your father abusive?” I whisper.
He shakes his head. “No, he just drank until he turned into somebody else. Now, sign the contract.”
I pause and mentally check in with myself. I don’t feel scared, my body isn’t tensed up the way it always was with Clint.
He reaches into his pocket and takes out a metal pen with blunt ends.
I look up at him.
And down at the pen.
“What happens if I change my mind?” I whisper.
