Back Where We Belong (A Second Chances New Adult Romance) (14 page)

I'm not sure the sheets will ever
recover from our playtime with that ice cream. But really, I don’t care. After
he makes me come over and over until I don't know where we are, after we make
love every which way we can, scooping up more of the chocolate until it's all
gone and we are covered in the stuff, I don't care about anything. I'll get new
sheets. We are playing again like kids, just as carefree as we were back then,
and it feels so good.

We take a shower together,
squashed together in my tiny little cubicle, and it's good to be pressed up
close, to feel the hot water coursing down on our bodies, sticky with
chocolate.

When he says, “I love you,” I
don't know if I'm hearing right under the noise of the spray, but he says it
again in my ear so he knows I can hear him.

“I love you too,” I say. “I
always have loved you from the first time we ate chocolate ice cream together.”
We get out and grab some dry towels from the radiator.

“You were a lot better behaved
then,” he teases. “You didn't make a mess with your food at all in those days.”

“You'll have to teach me to
behave again.” My heart thuds in anticipation. I remember the last time at the
beach house when we were younger and how it felt when he spanked me. I remember
how I loved it.

“I'd like nothing better, but...”

“Spank me, Luke. I want you to
spank me.”

“Oh, I'd love to take you right
over my knee right now and spank your little bottom until your cheeks turn pink
and you come for me, but Madison, give yourself a chance to recover. You're
just getting better. Taking control. I don't want to push something that might
get in the way of that. ”

And I guess he's right, but I
would have liked him to try. I guess that's not going to happen today. But
we'll get there. I know we will.

“Besides,” he says, “we'll have a
lifetime to play any way you like.”

“A lifetime? That's a long time.”

“Yes, a lifetime. I want to marry
you, Madison.”

I wasn't expecting that. Not
already.

“No, Luke, I can't.”

“You can't? Or you don't want
to?”

“You think I'm broken. What if you
always think like that?”

“I don't think you're broken.
Maybe a bit fragile right now.”

“Exactly. You're holding yourself
back. Treating me differently.”

“Fuck, Madison, I'm doing my best
to help you get over it. Is this all because I wouldn't spank you? I just don't
want to be like them. I don't want to hurt you. I don't want to remind you of
them.”

“You're nothing like them. I
don't want you to treat me like some china doll you can't play with. You used
to tell me what to do. I liked that. I miss that Luke.”

The tears are rolling down my
cheeks. I can't stop them.

“You're nothing like them,” I
say, “because when I tell you to stop, you stop. You always did. I trust you.”

“I’m sorry. You're right. You can
trust me.”

“And I'll let you know if I want
you to stop.”

“You promise?”

“Yes, don't worry. You'll be the
first to know.”

He dries my tears and kisses me
so tenderly on my hair, my nose and then my mouth, and then the kisses become
more passionate, deeper, and I lose myself in them, in him. Our towels have
long ago fallen to the floor.

“So,” he says with a smirk on his
face. “You're naked. I'm naked. And I've got a free rein.”

“Not quite, I've got a say in
this too.” I laugh.

We're going to be okay. I know we
are.

I don't spank Madison that night.
I fuck her in the bathroom with her leaning over the counter. I fuck her harder
than I might have done before we talked, and she squeals in pleasure. It's good
to know she can take it hard, that she still likes it, but I don't spank her.

We shower again, get dressed and
eat dinner. She throws the sheets in the washing machine.

“Look at the mess you made of
those sheets,” I say as she shuts the door on the machine.

“The mess I made?” she says,
turning around and laughing. “What about you?”

“You started it and I'm going to
punish you for that, but not tonight.”

“No? When, then?”

“Saturday. I'm going to come
around on Saturday. I'm going to take you over my knee and spank you then.”

She throws her arms around me and
kisses me on the lips like she's happy I gave in. But I want to be sure that's
what she really wants. That she's not just saying it because she thinks that's
what I want from her.

“I can't wait,” she says. “You
sure you don't want to spank me tonight?”

“Anticipation is everything.”

She pouts a little. I love that
little pouty look. It takes all my control not to take her over my knee right
then.

“And you have to let me know you
want it.”

“I can tell you now, I want it.”

“No, not like that. If you want
it, you have to show me you're ready. Wear a skirt for me and no panties.”

Her eyes widen. I’ve never asked
her to wear anything special for me.

She seems to like the idea so I
go on. “And if you want to be spanked extra hard, some of those thigh high
stockings with lace around the top.”

She chuckles. “Yes, Sir!”

Roll on Saturday. The week crawls
by. I go shopping and come back with a slim red pencil skirt and stockings with
lacy tops. I can't wait to wear them for Luke. Why wear any old skirt when I
can wear something that makes me feel good?

I grab a few groceries so we’ll
have something to eat if we end up not going out.

I hope we don't go out. I really
do.

He turns up at seven. He looks so
good, so sexy. Every time I see him, I can't believe he's here for me.

He kisses me at the door for a
long, long time. My insides melt.

“I missed you,” he says.

“Even when you were working?”

“Yes, even then.”

 “So,” he says. “You wore a
skirt.”

“Yes.”

He grins at me. “Does that
mean..?”

“It means I fulfilled my end of
the bargain.”

I look him in the eye. I can tell
he's excited by the thought of what's underneath, lovely though my new red
skirt is.

“I'll just need to take a look
and check that out. Do you remember your safe word?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

I expect him to take a little
peek, but he doesn't. He leads me into the bedroom and yanks my skirt right up
so it's bunched around my waist and I gasp. I am bare. Bare for him.

“Nice,” he says. “No panties and
stockings. I like that. That means you need to be punished. Extra hard. Do you
agree?”

“Yes, that's what it means.”

“Excellent.”

I feel vulnerable standing there
so exposed in front of him, but I also feel desire running through my veins,
and when he says, “Take off your blouse. I want to see more of you,” I can feel
myself squirming in pleasure at his words and his commanding tone and I do what
he asked.

“Good.” He sits down on the bed.
“Over my knee.”

I lie over his lap and feel the
heat of his hard thighs against my stomach. He runs his hands over my bare
bottom. The he pulls my breasts out of the cups of my bra and he runs his hands
over them, too.

“All mine,” he says.

“All yours.” I mirror his words.
I'm all his, to punish, to do whatever he likes until I want him to stop. It
feels so good to give myself up to him. I think I've been in chains of my own
making for the longest time and now I feel strangely free. Despite him telling
me what to do, I feel in control. I can stop this any time I like. I have that
power. I don't want him to stop.

His hand comes down on my behind
with a crack. It's a shock. I forgot how much that hurt. He gives me time to
get used to the glow left there and then he does it again. And when I don't
protest with anything more than a little squeal each time he spanks me, he gets
into his stride and so do I. I relax into it. I relish it, the sting there, the
heat.

“You want more?” he asks.

“Please. Yes, I do.”

I'm already anticipating the
onslaught of sensation, yet not quite believing how much I'm enjoying this.
There was just that one time we played like this so long ago, but I never
forgot it. Pain leading to pleasure. Immeasurable pleasure.

He hits me harder now. It feels
like he's stopped holding back, as if he no longer expects me to break, as if
he knows that’s what I really want now.

Every five or so swats, he stops
and runs his hands over my glowing skin, soothing me, and his fingers trail
between my legs, teasing and building the desire in me.

“Last six,” he says. “Then I'm
going to fuck you. Hard.”

I relish every last stroke,
painful though each one is. He smooths his hand over my burning bottom and
teases me once more with his fingers over my soft folds.

“So wet,” he says, “so ready.”

And I can't help it. I come right
there lying over his lap against his fingers.

He waits for my peak to subside
and then he picks me up from his legs and lays me down on the bed, removing my
bra and skirt.

I think he's going to take me
there, hard like he said, and I'm lying there waiting for him, wanting him. I
look at him, and he grins, and I recognize the signs. I know he just thought of
something he wants more than that.

“The dining table,” he says.
“Bend over it for me. I want you there.”

“There?”

“Yes, there. Indulge me”

I get up. It feels so hot
following his requests, his commands. The hard wooden surface of the table is
cool and hard under my body, a welcome contrast to the stinging heat of my
behind.

“Wait for me,” he calls from the
bedroom. I imagine he's taking off his clothes. And I think of the hard planes
of his chest, the muscles of his stomach, his hard buttocks, his thighs.

“So beautiful lying there,” he
says, when he joins me. He runs his hands over my bottom once again and between
my legs. The wait is almost unbearable.

But then he's inside me, his body
hard against mine, reigniting the burning sensation against my skin, yet it's
good, it's all good. With Luke inside me I could conquer the world. And he's
taking me hard, filling me, ramming my sore body and taking me to the edge
again and over it. And he doesn't stop.

I don't tell him to stop, and he
doesn't.

He fucks me through my orgasm as
I contract around him. He fucks me on and on over that table, my breasts
against the unforgiving surface, my sore buttocks rising up to meet every
thrust. He fucks me until he comes with such a loud groan I fear anyone
wandering past outside on the sidewalk will hear and guess that a woman is
getting the fucking of her life. And they would be right.

He picks me up and holds me then.
I can feel his heart pounding in his chest, matching mine, our breath ragged.
And he kisses me like we had just been to hell and back and made it out alive,
like there were never enough kisses in the world to make up for what we had to
go through to be together here tonight.

“You're not broken at all,” he
says when we finally stop to draw breath. “No one can break you.”

“Well, only one person. You could
break me.”

“I'll never do that,” he says.

“No, I don't think you will.”

“Are you going to marry me now I
spanked you? Because you cut me to the quick with your refusal.” Luke smiles at
me. I don't think he's really upset. I think he understands why I said no.

“No,” I say.

“No?”

“Not yet. Ask me again in a
year.”

“A year? Why a year?”

“Because then you'll know what
you're getting, whether I'm still okay.”

“You will always be more than
okay, just perfect, no matter what state you're in. But I'll wait if that's
what you want. We are going to be so good together, I know you'll say yes
then.”

“I believe you're right,” I say,
and I really do believe it.

I forget about our conversation
after a while. A year is a long time. Anything can happen in a year. You can
meet a guy on a beach and fall in love. You can lose him and go to college and
have all hope of future happiness destroyed in a year.

I just take everything as it
comes. No long-term plans. And I enjoy my life. I feel more at peace than I
have for years. I love spending time with Luke, and every day takes me another
step away from the past, and I feel better.

I no longer need my therapist
every week, but it's good to know she's there if I ever start feeling like
things are slipping back.

I've come to terms with my
upbringing, with the attack, with everything, and I feel a lot more at ease
with myself.

When I see my parents now, I
don't feel hurt by them, at least not as much as I used to. I just see them as
people, as damaged and imperfect as they are, doing whatever they need to do. I
understand now it's not about me. It never was. They would have been the same
parents with any child in the same circumstances.

And I feel safe again. Luke made
me sign up for self-defense classes, and they make me feel less vulnerable when
I'm on my own. He still keeps Denise the bodyguard around. I like her, but I'm
not sure she's strictly necessary. He says we need her because he wouldn't
forgive himself if anything happened to me. But it must be boring for her
hanging around the art gallery, and when she says she's sorry and quits, I
refuse to have anyone else, and Luke acknowledges a bodyguard is probably
overkill. That's when he lets it slip that Brad and his friend Charlie are in
prison.

“What? Did they attack someone
else?” I feel terrible. I should have reported them all those years ago.

“No.” He’s grinning. “It was
fraud. Insider dealing.”

I'm pretty sure he had something
to do with that. Maybe he set them up for a big fall. But if he did, knowing
him, he'll have made sure they'll never find out he was involved and that it
can't be traced back to anything he or any of his companies did. I don't ask
for details. I don't want to know what Luke had to do with it. But I'm happy
they are locked up, and that they didn’t get away with what they did after all.

Michelle and I are really close
these days. Knowing someone else understands what it means to have every bit of
control taken away has helped both of us. She's not seeing her art dealer guy
any more, but she has someone new who she's really excited about. I hope it
works out for her.

And she's still encouraging me to
draw and paint. She gave me a corner of an exhibition last month and I put up
five paintings. She's pretty shrewd when it comes to business so I was
flattered. It means I'm growing as an artist too. Luke wanted to buy all my
work but I said he could choose one painting and that was it. I wanted to know
if my paintings would sell on their own merits, and they did. Every one of
them.

Even Dad was impressed. I might
have known that selling my paintings would mean more in his world than just
painting a great picture or being happy or falling in love. But it's nice that
he approves. And of course, he likes it that Luke and I are an item. Sometimes
Luke tosses some business his way, and we all get along just fine. I met Cara
and his kids and they are just an ordinary family really, nothing to be jealous
of, not now I have Luke. In some ways, I feel that Dad deserves happiness. He
had to live with my mother for all those years.

My mother, of course, is still
not impressed by anything I do. I get nothing but disparaging remarks from her.
I really should listen to Luke and stop going to visit her. Perhaps I will one
of these days. For now, I just go around to see her less and less frequently.
Sometimes I think she hates it that I'm happy. Especially that I'm happy with
Luke, that she was wrong about him. But that is her problem. I feel like
recommending my therapist to her, but I don't. She wouldn't like that at all.
Besides, I like my therapist. I'm sure she doesn't need the client from hell.

***

Though I forget my conversation
with Luke from all those months ago about getting married, I think Luke put it
in his calendar or something because a year to the day, we're in Paris. I'm so
excited to see all the places I've only ever seen in the movies and on TV.

They say Paris is a city for
lovers, and Luke seems intent on making sure it lives up to its name. I’ve never
felt so loved or so in love.

That day, I’m leaning against the
railing on our hotel balcony, looking at the Eiffel Tower. It’s something I
like to do every day when we return to our room after sightseeing for the day,
because the view is so spectacular. We’re in Paris!

“It's time,” he says, coming up
behind me, and kissing the back of my neck. He knows that makes me melt.

“It's time?” I know it's too
early for dinner. Kissing me like that, it seems he has something other than
food on his mind. And I turn to face him, smiling.

“It's time I asked you to marry
me again.”

And then I remember, my heart
pounding. “It's a year since you asked me?”

“Yes, the year is up today. Will
you marry me, Madison?” And his eyes look at me so intensely, so full of love,
yet there's a question there as if he fears I'll put him off again.

“Yes, yes, yes,” I say and throw
my arms round him.

I've never been more certain of
anything.

*****