MIA
What the hell just happened?
I haven’t even turned the light on in my room. I can’t move. I’ve been leaning against my door for… I have no idea how long. I can’t wrap my head around this. How I’m supposed to feel. What I’m supposed to do next?
It was wrong, wasn’t it? What he did was wrong. Spanking me like I’m a child. I don’t even think my mom ever spanked me when I was little. But now here I am. My ass stings and it took all I had not to burst out crying.
At first. When he first threw me over his knee.
After that…
I don’t think I’ve ever been so inexplicably wet. My panties are sticking to my skin. I’m so turned on that it hurts. It only got worse every time his hand made contact. Am I one of those people who gets off on being spanked? What the hell am I supposed to do with this new knowledge?
Was it only because the spanking was coming from him? Maybe I wouldn’t have gotten off on it if it was anybody else. But I’m not going to go out and experiment with somebody else, either.
My head is spinning. My heart is still racing. How can I face him again?
At first, the idea of calling my dad is appealing. He would never pull anything like this again once Dad found out about it. But at the same time, it would mean getting him in trouble and also getting myself into deep shit. I can’t forget that part. That’s something he’s always going to be able to use against me. Everything he does results from me going against his orders, meaning Dad’s orders. I’m always going to be stuck. And it’s not like I can make up a reason for him to spank me, either.
If Dad found out Zeke ever so much as laid a hand on me, he could say goodbye to his dick. I do not doubt that. The one thing Dad wants more than anything else is for me to be pure, untouched. It’s gross and intrusive, but I guess he’s old-fashioned like that.
When my phone buzzes, it snaps me back into reality. Shit, everybody is waiting for me at Dean’s. The text is from Posey. Where are you? Do you need campus police?
It’s almost enough to make me smile. My dad should take a hint from her: she cares about people she likes, but she doesn’t have to be up their ass every second of the day. However that doesn’t mean she won’t offer to call for help when somebody is twenty minutes late, which is where I am right now according to the time on my phone.
Sorry, can’t make it out. But I’m okay. Have fun, and I’ll talk to you later. That will have to be enough for now. I leave the phone on my dresser, dragging my feet across the room. I can’t even be all that disappointed about not getting to go out. Not when I don’t know how I’m ever going to face Zeke after this.
He had to know. When I shivered, he had to have felt it. It wasn’t a shiver of disgust or revulsion or anything like that. I wish it was; that would make everything so much easier. No, that was me shivering with pleasure.
I almost wanted more. I wanted to feel his hand on my bare skin, no pants in the way.
I’m never going to get him out of my system, am I? He’s always going to be there, tormenting me. Reminding me of that awful night and how embarrassing it was when he didn’t want me. Reminding me he still doesn’t want me but making me want him more all the time-God, I do, and I hate myself for it. Why couldn’t it be anybody but him?
I undress slowly, taking my time to remove my jeans. I can’t help but turn on the lamp on my dresser before turning around to see what he did. There aren’t any handprints-I don’t know if I’m disappointed or not-but my entire ass is red, and it stings to the touch. But in a good way. Just when I thought I understood my body and the way my brain works, something like this had to happen. What does it even mean? Is it supposed to feel good?
A knock on my door scares me enough that I jump and fumble for my jeans like I got caught doing something bad.
“What?” I manage.
“I want to talk to you.”
“I think you’ve said enough already.”
“I want to talk for real. Seriously.” He sounds serious, too. He also hasn’t apologized. I don’t know if I’d be wasting my time hoping for an apology, though. Something tells me I would be. Even if he’s sorry, he’s never going to admit it. That much, I already understand about him.
“Give me a second. I’m getting changed.” I hurry through pulling on a T-shirt and sweats before unlocking the bedroom door. I don’t open it for him, though, sitting on the foot of my bed instead. It still hurts a little, but not too much. If anything, the ache is nice. I hope he never finds out because I would die of embarrassment.
He opens the door slowly, hanging his head a little. “Hey.” I notice he’s wearing different clothes now-he was still dressed when he caught up with me, and it occurs to me he never got ready for bed. He was waiting for me to sneak out. I have to take a deep breath and calm myself down enough not to start a fight. If I’m easy to read, that’s nobody’s fault but my own. “Hey.”
“That might have gotten out of hand.” He looks at the floor, the wall, the dresser, my desk. Not at me, though. Running a hand over the back of his neck-the hand he
used on me-he grunts softly. “I lost control.” “I know.”
Then he does something that takes me by surprise. Instead of growling or acting all macho or whatever, he lets out a soft sigh. The kind of sigh that makes his shoulders slump and his body sort of sag. “We can’t keep going on like this.” He sounds like himself, but different. Like his whole big, badass image is just that. An image. Something he puts on like he’d put on his leather jacket.
“I agree.” I’m not going to give him too much. I want to see where he’s going with this.
“So you know. I could yell at you a little more and call you spoiled and stubborn and all that shit, and I partly believe that, but at the end of the day, I think you need to remember you’re not the only one who’s a little lost in all this.”
“You? Lost?”
“Yeah.” That’s enough to make him look me in the eye, and now I wish I hadn’t said anything. There’s outright disgust in his eyes, in the way his lip curls. “Lost.
Congratulations, you got me to admit it.”
“But how? I don’t get it.”
“Obviously.” He hooks his thumbs into his pockets- seriously, even their pajama pants get pockets when I can’t get pockets on a simple dress-and lowers his brow. “You think this is fun for me? There’s nothing in the world your father cares about more than you, and I’m the person who’s supposed to be keeping you out of trouble.”
“I wasn’t-”
“Let me finish. You might not have gotten into trouble tonight, but that’s not the point. I’m supposed to be with you. You know, he calls me at all random times of the day and night. Did you have any idea?”
“No,” I admit.
“I’m just waiting for the time he tells me to put you on the phone. He’s going to test me, and he’s going to test you, too.” He sighs again, looking away from me, toward the window. “Do you have any idea the kind of man he is? I mean, really?”
“He’s rich, and he has a lot of bodyguards and stuff like that.”
“Yeah. He needs bodyguards. Do you think…” He closes his eyes for a second before opening them again. “Do you think he does that because he’s paranoid or because there’s a reason for it?”
My heart sinks. “What are you trying to tell me?”
“You know what? I don’t have the first idea.” He chuckles ruefully before looking my way again. God, he’s so fucking sexy, it’s ridiculous. Now I wish more than ever he had taken things further. I wouldn’t have stopped him. “But if he was unhappy with me, rest assured, he’d find a way to let me know. And I wouldn’t like it very much.”
“I know that.”
He throws his hands into the air. “Then why do you keep doing this? This is my ass here. I’m trying to do the right thing by him, and you’re making it impossible. I don’t like this any more than you do, believe me. You think I want to watch over you twenty-four-seven? You think I wouldn’t like to, I don’t know, make friends of my own? Have a life? I’m not allowed to leave your side. What do you think that does to me?”
I hate to admit it, even to myself.
I never thought of it that way.
What is wrong with me? I’ve always thought of myself as a decent person. I mean, I don’t go around abusing small animals or anything like that. I always try to be kind when I can. I once kicked the shit out of a bully back in ninth grade when they were picking on another kid.
But I never put myself in his shoes. I’ve only ever scorned him for doing his job. “That must suck. And it’s a lot of pressure.”
“No shit.” He barks out a laugh that trails off quickly. “So you see the position this is putting me in? I know you don’t like it, but this is how it has to be. So we’d better figure out a way to make this work.” “Are you willing to compromise?”
He lifts an eyebrow. “Your father’s daughter. Yeah, I’d be willing to talk about a compromise.”
Great. Now I have to come up with something. “I can hang out with my friends when I want, where I want, and I understand you’ll come with me.”
His eyes narrow to slits. I can practically see the wheels turning. “Your friends come here. I know who they are in advance in case I have to do any research into them.”
“What? Are you going to run their credit reports?”
“Are you trying to shut down talks here?”
“No, fine. What if I want to go shopping?”
“I’d have to go with you, anyway. Remember? Your card. And no,” he adds when I open my mouth, “you’re not getting that. Those are the rules.”
And he wants me to act friendly when he pulls a stunt like that? “Fine. But we agree I can go shopping if I want to. Or out to get something to eat after class, that kind of thing?”
Again, he narrows his eyes. “I drive the car. You can have people in it with you, but you’re not getting into anybody else’s car.”
I can live with that. “Okay. Agreed. But if I go out to eat, you’ve got to sit away from us. Like at another table or a booth or something.”
“You think I want to hang out with your friends? Give me a break.”
“I just wanted to make sure you understood.” What else, what else?
He beats me to it. “Going out at night. If you want to go out, I’m coming with you. No, you will not go to any guy’s apartment or dorm room or anything like that. That is completely off the table. And if there’s going to be guys hanging around, I need to know in advance.”
I don’t like that at all. But if I shut him down, that’s it. I might as well give up. “No guys’ rooms or apartments. Okay. But I can’t promise there won’t be guys anywhere I go. Like, if a friend invites me to her apartment, what if her roommates have guys over? I don’t have any control over that.”
He folds his arms, pursing his lips as he thinks it over. “Fine. Then I come up with you, and I take a look around. I
meet everybody or at least get a look at them. Then I wait somewhere nearby. Balcony, outside the front door, whatever. Close enough that I can get to you fast if you need help.”
Now I’m starting to wonder what kind of danger he thinks I’m in. “I doubt I ever will.”
“But never say never, right?”
It’s like he’s waiting for me to get assaulted. “What about parties?”