Taking His Hand (Under His Roof #2) (14 page)

“
How was Aria able to drive?”

“
Virgin cocktails.”

David raises his eyebrows at me. “Think you can do the same, next time?”

I shrug, and relax into the seat while we drive home. I’m lost in brainstorming how I can help Aria get ahead at the company, and kicking myself for not seeing her talent sooner.

Every year, Lakeside Advertising gives a few design scholarships away to interns who show promise. There’s a clause in the scholarship contract that the intern will continue to work at the company throughout their time in school, and one full year afterward. I doubt Aria would mind that clause one bit—she likes working at Lakeside enough to work with a sleaze-ball like Jeremy. Maybe I’ll figure out who to talk to about getting Aria in on the program tomorrow. But for now, I decide, I’ll hold off on telling Aria. I don’t want to get her hopes up.

~8~

David

I let Rachel have the night free of spankings, and warn her I’ll be spanking her when she comes home from work the following afternoon. I also let her know how much I appreciate the fact that she included Aria in the meeting.

I really don’t mind at all that she got drunk with her clients. If she’d called me while she was doing it, I wouldn’t plan to spank her at all. Or if she was sorry even a tiny bit, I would go easy on her.

But she doesn’t seem sorry at all, and I don’t know if it’s because she’s focused on how well things went with Aria, or that she takes some secret pleasure in disobeying me.

However, rules are rules. She’s not supposed to get drunk unless I’m with her. I’ll give her a paddling that she won’t enjoy, but I won’t be too hard on her.

Tuesday morning, I’ve got an appointment with Dana Parker before going to lunch with Marilyn. I met Dana years ago when I was in school. We knew a bunch of the same people, and while I never dated her—she was never single long enough for me to have a chance back then—she was responsible for a fairly memorable party proclamation one night.

I met her at a party she was hosting. She must have been
very
comfortable with her friends. When someone mentioned spanking, she said, and I remember the exact quote, “I cannot even explain how much I love it when Scott spanks me!”

All of us started laughing, but there were some of us, me included, who probably recognized that she wasn’t joking. Intrigued, I brought it up with her later in private. She admitted her boyfriend spanked her for fun, and on occasion for punishment as well. She was open and unashamed about it, and I learned a few things from our conversations.

When I heard she was splitting up with her boyfriend, I shot her an email letting her know what I’d ended up choosing for a profession. She’s been a client ever since.

I have a lot of fun spanking her. Dana mostly wants it for the emotional release. She doesn’t need to be spanked hard. She just needs to be over my knee, submitting to a strong man who can spank her just a little harder than she thinks she can take.

Today, she’s on time as usual. I meet her outside and lead her along the new pathway around the house.

When she sees the building, she gasps.

“
Oh, David, it’s just
wonderful.
”

Smiling, I let her inside and give her a tour.

“
This is crazy. You know you started in the world’s sleaziest Holiday Inn, right? Then, when you bought the house and became Mr. Official Professional Disciplinarian, I was beyond impressed. And now,
this!
” Dana twirls around in the discipline room with her arms out wide, her skirt flying up a little, giving me a view of her naked thighs.

She’s a round woman with one of the most robust bottoms I’ve ever spanked. That’s another reason I love spanking her. With a woman like Rachel, my hand covers each of her ass cheeks easily. With Dana, I have more area to work with. Since I don’t need to spank her hard, it doesn’t take a lot out of me. She might be my most enjoyable client.

She’s wearing her usual plaid skirt with white, knee high stockings. It sounds like a school girl outfit, but on Dana, with her hair styled up and her voluptuous chest, she couldn’t look more womanly.

I close the door to the discipline room and cross my arms over my chest.

“
Are you ready for your spanking, Dana?” I ask.

Her smile fades, and she nods and swallows hard.

“
Put the chair in place.”

Dana and I have fallen into a routine we love. Sometimes, if she requests a harder punishment, I’ll use a paddle or strap on her ass. Very rarely, if she needs comfort more than pain, I spank her lightly with her lying flat on the daybed. But most of the time, I take her over my knee and give her a long, moderately hard, bare-handed spanking.

That’s exactly what I plan to do today.

The chair is in the middle of the room. I hold my hand out to her. She grasps it and lets me ease her over my knees. Flipping her skirt up and finding bare cheeks and a black thong, I run a finger along the elastic of her waistband, resisting the urge to squeeze her full behind.

“
I’m waiting,” I say. She knows the routine by heart.

“
Please spank me, David. I need it,” she whispers.

Long ago, I learned to ignore Dana’s pleas and cries while I spank her. With most of my clients, tears are a sign that my job is almost done. Not with Dana. She’ll cry throughout, and thank me for it.

Her skin is dark, so I don’t rely on visual marks to gague the job I’m doing. I know I’m getting through to her by her moans and the heat created by the beating. Her body is completely relaxed over my knees. Dana rarely struggles with a spanking like this.

I pause when my arm is tired. “How’re you feelin’, hon?” I ask.

She sniffles. “Okay.”

“
Want some more?”

“
Yes, David.”

“
All right. Up you go, switch sides.”

I help her up and drape her back across my knees from the other side. I’m right handed, but I can manage with my left hand, especially if I’m not spanking hard. She shifts around a little before she gets into the right headspace to take the pain and relax once again.

By the time my left arm gets tired, Dana’s entire ass is warm to the touch.

“
Good girl,” I say softly as she pulls herself up.

She wipes her eyes with her hands and I point her to the box of tissues. After she blows her nose and composes herself a bit, I wrap her up in a tight hug.

“
You really needed that one, didn’t you?” I ask.

I feel her nod into my chest. Taking her hand, I lead her to the daybed and have her lay down. I lay next to her, our bodies close but not touching, and I rub her back. We stay like that for a full twenty minutes, and Dana’s drowsy eyes convey relief and contentment, until finally she opens them fully and looks at me.

“
Thank you,” she says, which is her way of indicating she’s ready to go.

“
You’re welcome, Dana.”

She points to a small framed print on the maroon wall. “That’s new,” she says. It’s a lithograph of a silvery-grey bird, soaring through an orange sky, its tail obscured in a smudge of flame and smoke. “A phoenix.”

“
You’re right,” I say. “Got it at an art show in Charlotte a year or so ago, but I never got around to getting it framed.”

“
We soar free from the ashes of our destruction, eh?” she says, an eyebrow cocked.

“
We do what we need to do to get by,” I say, and she pecks my cheek before she leaves.

I have huge news to share with Marilyn. I was happy for the appointment with Dana, because it offered a bit of a distraction. Now that Dana’s gone, I’m ready to talk with my sister.

We meet at Maddy’s, and Mitchell’s there cooking and keeping the wine glasses full for a couple at the bar who look like they’re on a first date. It’s late for lunch—nearly three—and Mitchell doesn’t bother with menus. “Spinach salad and some kinda chowder sound OK?”

Marilyn laughs. “Yes, darling. And fetch some lemon for my water.”

“
So what’s this big thing you need me for?” she asks, looking as eager to hear my news as I am to say it.

“
I want you to come shopping with me,” I say, my voice in an unneeded whisper.

“
For what?”

“
For a ring.”

“
What kind of—holy shit!” Her eyes get humongous and she grasps both my hands and squeezes them hard. “Are you serious?”

“
Yeah. I mean…I’m serious about wanting to buy the ring. I still think it’s too soon to do the proposing. But I just know, you know? I know she’s the one. I want to be ready. That way, when the time feels right, I can just…”

“
Holy shit,” she says again, grinning. “How am I going to keep this to myself?”

I give her the sternest expression I can manage and she bursts out laughing, which is totally contagious. We’re still laughing when Mitchell unceremoniously sets down our soup and salads.

“
What’s so funny?”

“
Nothing,” Marilyn says. “David was just telling me about how he farted while he was shopping at Victoria’s Secret with Rachel. Everyone in the store knew it was him.”

I furrow my eyebrows at her and shake my head with disapproval.

“
Classy, David,” Mitchell says, wrinkling his nose in disgust and walking away.

“
Watch it,” I warn, spearing some spinach with my fork. “I’ve got dirt on you.”

“
Yeah, yeah. So, you have time to do some shopping after lunch?”

“
I was hoping to.”

“
Great! I’m totally in. This is gonna be fun.”

While we eat, Marilyn quizzes me, and I realize I know absolutely zero about my live-in girlfriend’s tastes. Or at least her very specific, ring-finger tastes.

“
Does she like white gold?”

Shrug.

“
Ever seen her wear a cut stone in her jewelry?”

Shrug.

“
When’s her birthday?”

This I know!

“
August twenty-fifth.”

Marilyn crinkles her nose. “Ew. Peridot. We’ll skip getting your birthstones set in the sides. I was hoping for September. Then you’d have ruby and sapphire, set alongside a princess cut diamond…” She staring into space dreamily, imagining the perfect ring.

Meanwhile, I’m hearing ruby, sapphire, diamond, and princess. This is starting to sound expensive.

“
Remember, I’m a practical man, Marilyn. A practical man whose disposable income just went into building a new office.”

“
Yeah, yeah. Don’t worry, brother. We’ll figure it out.”

As we finish up, she suggests we head to Overstrom Studio.

“
Isn’t there somewhere closer?” I ask, realizing we’ll be heading to the other side of town for this.

“
They sell ethical diamonds.”

“
Actually, I’d much prefer her to have a sleazy drunk diamond.”

“
Don’t joke, David. It’s serious. Do you really want to buy Rachel a diamond that’s been mined by some poor, one-armed African child who’s working for barely enough money to buy food or water? Do you want
that
on her finger for the rest of your lives?”

Evidently, ‘conflict-free’ diamonds do not involve decision without conflict. Browsing, I feel a bit overwhelmed and physically queasy. I wonder if it’s nerves or the chowder.