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Eventually, after what seems like an age, she bends down and slips her sandal off her foot, handing it to me as she straightens up. She’s fearful, I can tell. She’s worrying her bottom lip with her teeth and there’s a wariness in her eyes. Her body language is screaming ‘demure’ and ‘submission’ but it’s also obvious that she’s fighting it. The sensible part of her clearly wants to surrender, to obey me and save her hide, but the stubborn part of her (the biggest part?) is refusing to let her.
I take her sandal, weighing it in my hand, turning it over to look at the sole. It’s not heavy, but it’s rigid and hard, and I’ve nodoubt it will pack a sting. I won’t even have to wallop her very hard to leave her sore and distressed.
“Hands against the wall, bottom out,” I tell her quietly, and, to my surprise, she obeys. Perhaps the sensible part of her is winning out over the stubborn. That’s what I hope, anyway. If she can rein in that stubborn rebelliousness of hers, we might actually enjoy our time together in New Zealand before her father arrives and she starts filming, and I walk out of her life forever.
Except I don’t want to walk out of her life forever. Just the thought of it brings a pang to my heart. Maybe I’m kidding myself, but I’m starting to build a rapport with her. There’s the beginning of a bond between us, at least most of the time I think there is. I can see the potential in her. Jade Owens: movie star. It’s got a nice ring to it, and I can imagine her on the red carpet, hamming it up for photographers, in her element. I shake my head. Right now, she’s Jade Owens: brat. And part of me likes that part of her, too. Or the challenge of taming her, at least.
I slap the sole of the sandal against my palm, not very hard, and wince at the sting it imparts. But I nod, satisfied. In just a few minutes, Jade Owens: brat will have disappeared and I’ll be left with Jade Owens: one very sore and sorry little girl.
Jade hisses in pain and rises up on her toes as the first swat of her sandal lands hard against her left butt cheek. I repeat the swat on her right cheek, using a decent amount of force, and a little squeak escapes her lips. This sandal is obviously very effective—it’s clear she’s feeling this already and the spanking has barely begun.
Two more good smacks have her whimpering and squirming.
I let my arm, and the sandal, drop to my side and I reach for her with my left hand, tangling my fingers in her hair, tugging her head back so I can look down into her face.
“Are you learning your lesson yet, little girl?” I growl.
“Y-yes,” she whimpers. “Please, Jaxon, I’m sorry. Truly.”
I frown, letting go of her hair and pushing her back into position. The hand I used to tug her hair trails down her body, wrapping around her waist, holding her steady. I think I’m starting to get through to her, but she needs a few more yet.
With my arm around her waist, her bottom is pushed out more, in a much better position for me to spank, and I land a hard whack right across the middle of her bottom. She stifles a cry against her forearm, and I repeat the whack, slightly harder, smacking the sandal down exactly where it just landed. She jolts upright this time, and even though I’m holding her so she can’t stand up properly, she’s no longer bent over and accepting her spanking. Both her hands fly behind her, rubbing frantically at her burning ass.
“Get back into position,” I growl. “Or I’ll smack your hands.”
“No.” There’s that snarl again, the stubborn side of her overriding her sensibilities. I’m sure she hasn’t forgotten what I’m capable of. Her sheer determination is admirable, but it must be reined in.
“Yes,” I reply, equally as forcefully, giving her a second to obey. When she doesn’t, I raise the sandal and bring it down with a flick of my wrist, aiming carefully for the fleshy part of the back of her hand, between her knuckles and wrist. I know the nuns at the convent school my aunties attended in the sixties rapped wooden rulers directly across knuckles, but personally, I thinkthe practice is barbaric. The thought of bruising Jade’s knuckles is horrifying to me. I do want to remind her that I’m in charge, though. So hopefully the light-but-stingy swat to the back of her hand will be enough.
It is.
She yelps in pain, ripping both her hands away, cradling the sore one, rubbing the red splotch frantically.
“Hands on the wall, bend over, bottom out,” I command and, mercifully, she does it.
I wrap my arm around her waist again just as I held her before, helping her stay still. I draw my arm back and slap Jade’s sandal hard against the lower part of her bottom, right where her ass meets her thighs. She squirms and hisses in pain but doesn’t struggle to get away. Obviously she’s learning. I repeat the smack on the other side, punishing her sit spots evenly. Left. Right. Left. Right. Middle.
And that’s all it takes. Seven good whacks. The change in my charge is instant.
Jade’s shoulders shake, either from sobs or from the effort of holding them back. Her body is limp, and if it wasn’t for my arm around her waist holding her up, she’d probably collapse against the wall. She’s surrendered to my authority completely.
Propping Jade’s shoe carefully on the side of the basin, I turn her so she’s facing me, then I draw her in to my chest. She needs comfort now, and that’s exactly what I’m going to give her.
The accusations she made earlier, about me not liking her or caring about her, come back to haunt me now, and I wrap her tightly in my arms, rubbing her hair comfortingly, whisperingsoothing words to her. I want to show her that I do care—that yes, I will punish her when necessary, but I’ll tend to her afterwards, too. I’m not just going to drag her back to her seat afterwards. I swallow. Maybe that was the mistake I made last time? This time, I’m going to give her all the time she needs, and all the comfort she needs. It’s me and her, and I want her to know that she can rely on me. For everything. I press a soft kiss to her temple. More than anything, I want her to know that I care.
“Shhh,” I whisper against her hair. “It’s okay. It’s all over. You’re okay.”
She feels so tiny in my arms; her body is so small pressed against mine. She feels so fragile, so vulnerable. Once again, my protective instincts are firing on all cylinders.
Tentatively, I slide my right hand—the hand that held the sandal that spanked her—down her spine, and let it rest right there on her tailbone for a second, before I slip it lower, rubbing her scorched bottom through her pants. Even through the linen, I can feel the heat. She stiffens at first, but then relaxes against my touch, settling into my arms, even hugging me back in return.
CHAPTER 9
Jade
Although I don’t want to—my inner voice is screaming at me that I’m stupid, a traitor, and what am I doing?—I snuggle in against Jaxon’s chest, grateful for the strength of his body. His strong arms around me, holding me tight, making me feel secure. His big hand pressing my face against his broad chest. I can hear his heart thudding rhythmically, slightly fast. My emotions are all over the place, my thoughts all jumbled. I can’t make head or tail of this situation. One second he’s smacking my ass with my very expensive Prada slide, the next he’s got me in his arms and he’s holding me tight, crooning sweet nothings in my ear, touching his lips to my head in the softest of kisses.
I shouldn’t be liking this. I shouldn’t be relaxing against him. I should be resisting him, pushing him away, fighting him. Calling him all sorts of names and putting him in his place… Except I can’t. My body is responding in ways that I have no control over.
