His Loving Guidance Page 7

  “Watch your mouth.” The firmness of his tone sent a shiver down her back, but anger soon followed in its wake, and her face heated as pent up frustrations rose to the surface.

  She straightened in her chair and met his gaze. “Or what?” Her voice held a note of challenge that caused Marcus’s eyes to widen. “Let me guess? You’ll say you’re going to spank me, but then you won’t follow through with it? Or even better, you’ll take me over your knee and give me a few halfhearted slaps over my jeans and act like it was a proper spanking?”

  “Don’t start this argument now, Stephie. You’re not going to New York by yourself. If it’s really that important to you, I’ll take off work and drive you myself.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Never mind.” She didn’t want a babysitter.

  Anger simmered inside her as they picked at their breakfast in silence. Why did it have to be this way? When would he start treating her the way he’d treated her before her illness? If a year of health wasn’t good enough, what was? Two years? Three years? She couldn’t continue, day after day, with his constant coddling. They’d taken a break from domestic discipline when she’d gotten sick and hadn’t returned to it until a few months after her remission. Except they hadn’t really returned to it. He still handled her like a delicate piece of China. It maddened her.

  A real spanking—a real punishment over his knee that brought her to tears—wouldn’t break her. Allowing her to travel occasionally by herself, as she’d done many times prior to her diagnosis, wouldn’t invite catastrophe. No amount of reasoning and arguing, not to mention intentional misbehavior, seemed to change their current circumstances. Marcus had agreed to start up the domestic discipline part of their marriage again, but it felt weak and contrived. The few times he’d actually decided to punish her, he’d slapped her bottom a few times through her clothing, and that was that.

  Tension sizzled between them on the drive home. As Stephie sat in the passenger seat fuming, she decided to spend the day in her studio. Hiding. She didn’t know what else to do. He’d stood by her through her illness and he’d been the perfect, most attentive husband during the most trying time of her life. Now that they’d made it through to the other side though, it felt like their marriage was disintegrating. His reluctance to take her in hand left her angry and resentful, and though she tried to be patient, she often lashed out at him with hurtful words and cold silences.

  She hated what she was becoming. She hated the dark cloud hovering over their marriage, and she sensed a real storm brewing on the horizon. Surely they couldn’t continue this way forever. Distant. Struggling. Constantly at odds. It was hell.

  But oh how she loved him. A tear rolled down her cheek, and she turned to gaze out the window, letting it fall in secret. Most of her tears fell in secret, usually in her studio as she threw herself into her paintings. The paintings were the only thing she had absolute control over. The freedom to create any image she wished, to disappear into a world of her own making without Marcus standing over her, suffocating her with his overprotection.

  The tires crunched over gravel as Marcus turned onto the winding road leading to their home. Their large, three story brick house rested on a clearing in the woods about ten miles outside of town. The entire third floor was an open space that functioned as Stephie’s studio, with wide windows and skylights making the massive room feel endless.

  “Home sweet home,” Marcus said, reaching to squeeze her thigh. He frowned at her when she flinched at his touch. “Stop it.”

  “Stop what?” God, she just wanted to get out of the car without a fight.

  “You know what.” He arched an eyebrow at her, an action that used to feel like a warning. You’re this close to getting your bare bottom spanked bright red, young lady. But not now. Now it felt empty, because he wouldn’t follow through. His threats were empty, his discipline lacking.

  “No really, I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Smirking, she reached for the door handle. She knew her behavior was childish and her constant disrespect hurt Marcus, but she couldn’t stop herself sometimes. Panic rose in her chest as she entered the walkway, storming past the yellow and purple mums she’d planted yesterday without sparing a second to admire her favorite fall flowers. She rushed in the house and slammed the door behind her, ignoring Marcus’s shouts to stop. She felt completely out of control. And afraid. God, she was so afraid. She didn’t recognize herself or her husband anymore. They’d become different people. Strangers to each other and to themselves.

  She paused to throw her purse on the kitchen counter and clicked her nails on the granite surface. The front door opened and slammed so hard the walls rattled. Her tummy flipped. Would Marcus head directly for his home office? Or would he storm into the kitchen to continue their argument? Even though he treated her like a fragile doll, he always liked to get the last word in. His coddling had some limits.

  Heavy footsteps approached.

  “Stop clicking your nails. You know how much I hate that noise.” Marcus loomed in the kitchen doorway.

  A sarcastic retort ready for launch, Stephie opened her mouth, but soon shut it when she glimpsed the sadness lurking behind his livid expression. Her hand stilled on the counter. He remained in the doorway, his eyes on her. They were in the middle of a fucking staring contest. Or a glaring contest. Whatever. Childish stuff.

  He crossed his arms and his expression darkened.

  She raised an eyebrow at him, mimicking the stern expression he’d leveled on her. She resumed clicking her nails on the counter. Faster and louder than before.

  *

  Unbelievable. They were at it again, engaged in a ridiculous fight like two siblings kicking each other under the dinner table. Her clicking her nails. Him barking at her to stop. For fuck’s sake, this had to end.

  Marcus cleared his throat and felt his eyebrow lift higher. Still, she kept clicking. Click click click. A smile split across her face, but it didn’t reach her eyes.

  He advanced in her direction, but paused halfway to her. She paled and stopped clicking her nails. He itched to give her a proper spanking. Lord knew she needed it. She’d been asking for one for months. But every time he put her over his knee, he couldn’t even pull her pants down. An image of her skinny, sickly form would flash in his mind, and he’d freeze up. How could he possibly hurt her when she’d endured so much pain?

  Fear held him captive. The fear of hurting her. The fear of losing her. All the fears he’d experienced during her two rounds of chemo became stuck on repeat, and try as he might he couldn’t shake them away.

  “I’m sorry, Marcus.” She broke his gaze and studied her feet. “I’m just so frustrated. Why can’t it be like before? The spanking and the domestic discipline part of our marriage. It’s so … so half assed now. Pardon the pun,” she said with a brief smile. “And you not allowing me to travel like I used to is unfair. I feel trapped. Trapped in some ways and too free in other ways. It’s been a year since my remission you know.”

  “Sweetheart …” He stopped himself from delivering his usual speech. About how it would take time to find their roles again. Christ, had it really been a year? He counted the months backward in his head, and yes, it had been a year.

  The pain in Stephie’s eyes wrenched at his heart. She appeared lost as she stood before him in the kitchen, her hair in disarray from her run into the house. Marcus took a deep breath and another step toward her. He wasn’t stupid. He knew what she wanted. She craved his loving authority over her.

  But dammit it wasn’t easy. The thought of marking her bottom or bringing her to tears scared the hell out of him. Even though she’d done plenty recently to deserve a punishment spanking, he usually couldn’t bring himself to put her over his knee. Although now she was starting to resent him, and that scared him just as much as the thought of hurting her.

  Marcus swallowed hard and rose to his full height. He pinned Stephie against the counter with a hand on either side of her. “All right, sweethea
rt. I’ll try. I’ll really try. I don’t want to lose you.”

  Her face melted. “Baby, you’re not going to lose me. I’m not sick anymore, and I get regular checkups.”

  “That’s not what I meant.” He cupped a hand over her heart. “I meant I didn’t want to lose you. Us. Our marriage.”

  Moisture shone in her eyes and she shook her head. “You won’t.” She grinned. “You’re stuck with me for life. Annoying nail clicking habit of mine and all.”

  He chuckled, then drew back as his laughter died. He grew serious, and as she fidgeted under his gaze, his cock began to harden against her thigh. An idea sprung into his mind, and he seized on it before the usual seeds of doubts had time to take root.

  “Speaking of that annoying nail clicking habit, hold out your hand. The left one. Palm up.” He reached around her to a container holding various kitchen implements and grabbed the smallest wooden spoon.

  Her eyes had grown impossibly wide, and she stared up him with her lips parted slightly. Little gasps emitted from her as her breathing increased. She squirmed in place.

  “I don’t like repeating myself, young lady. Now hold out your hand like a good girl, palm up.” He backed away, giving her enough room to reach out and do as he’d asked. He’d paddled her bottom plenty of times with wooden spoons, but he’d never cracked a spoon, or anything else, across her palm before. The idea had taken him by surprise.

  Slowly, she lifted her arm and reached toward him, finally turning her hand over. Her palm flattened and she tensed, as if expecting him to begin immediately. But he wasn’t ready yet. She needed a good scolding.

  “Tell me why you’re in trouble, little girl.”

  She gasped and her breathing increased further. “I … I was trying to make you angry. Poking the bear, so to speak. I was rude to you today, too. Is-is that all?” Head bowed slightly as she awaited punishment, she offered the perfect picture of submission. His cock twitched again, and his balls tightened. Hard and hot. Tingling. It had been so long since he’d truly put her in her place. The thrill of dominating her, even during a serious punishment, had never ceased to arouse him. He’d missed that thrill and reveled in the invigorating power coupled with responsibility and love.

  “Yes, Stephie. You were very disrespectful to me today, especially in the restaurant when you were muttering curse words under your breath. Do I speak to you that way?

  She sighed. “No.”

  “No, what?”

  “No, sir,” she quickly corrected.

  “I love you, sweetheart, and I’m sorry we’re going through a rough patch right now and it’s got you frustrated. But that doesn’t mean you get to disrespect me. I’m your husband and I won’t have it.”

  “Yes, sir. I’m so sorry.” Her voice wavered as alarm filled her features.

  He brought the spoon down with a thwack, hitting the center of her palm. She flinched but remained in place. Again he brought the spoon down, and again. Ten sharp strikes and her skin finally began to redden. After the twelfth blow, she drew her hand back a few inches.

  “Tsk, tsk,” he said. “Do you want me to make you hold out both your hands at the same time?”

  Her eyes widened and she shook her head. Biting her lip, she reached out and braced for the next smack of the spoon. Marcus didn’t make her wait long. He landed the underside of the spoon atop her palm a dozen more times, the blows mimicking the sound of a bare bottom spanking.

  Whimpers escaped her, and pain pinched her face into a grimace. He returned the spoon to its container and gathered Stephie’s hands in his. It was then that he noticed tears glistening in her eyes. She blinked them away, looking embarrassed. He hadn’t brought her to tears during a punishment in, well, since before her illness. The glimmer of tears proved she felt truly disciplined, and it marked a milestone in their journey back to one another.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, almost breathless. Her expression had grown urgent and remorseful. Another sheen of tears appeared in her eyes, and she blinked again and again, forcing them back. She’d always been stoic during punishments, and Marcus knew from experience it took a lot to make Stephie cry. A thorough scolding followed by a thorough spanking. He vowed to bring her past the brink of tears next time she earned a punishment, to take them both to another milestone.

  “It’s all forgiven. Come here, sweetheart.” Her hair tickled his nose as he pulled her against his body. She sighed contentedly, and he squeezed her tighter, praying this moment signaled a new beginning. A chance to reclaim all the precious time they’d lost.

  Chapter Two

  Stephie crawled under the covers, naked, per Marcus’s instructions. Anticipation hummed through her, and her pulse increased at the sound of his footsteps on the stairs. After her punishment, they’d watched a few movies, gone on a walk around the lake, and enjoyed steaks on the grill for dinner. As she’d washed the dishes, he’d playfully swat her bottom with the same wooden spoon he’d used earlier.

  Cradling her hand in her lap, she tried to rub out the lingering sting. Her heart felt lighter, and hope blossomed in her chest. It hadn’t been a spanking, but Marcus had truly disciplined her. He’d been stern and scolding, and the sting of the spoon cracking across her palm had brought tears to her eyes. The embrace afterward had been bliss. Like old times, except this time she had a sore hand instead of a sore bottom.

  “Still hurt?”

  She flushed and sank down under the covers. “A little,” she admitted.

  The lines around his eyes crinkled as he smiled. No, smirked. “Good.”

  Her insides fluttered and she drank in the nervousness, squirming as he leveled an intense look on her. Desire darkened his eyes, and she expected him to start stripping his clothes off, but he didn’t. Instead, he strode to her side of the bed, fully clothed in a pair of jeans and a button down shirt.

  “Out of bed.” Each word sounded like a growl emitted from the back of his throat, and her pussy clenched at the air of authority he projected. He continued to stare at her, and she twisted the sheets with her fingers.

  “Um, aren’t you going to take your clothes off?”

  “Not at the moment. No.”

  “But I thought—” Firm hands hauled her out of the bed, cutting off her words.

  “You thought wrong, sweetheart.” He sank down on the bed and pulled her over his lap.

  Her heart raced. Marcus had avoided spanky panky in the bedroom for months, or so it seemed. He’d only spanked her as foreplay if she asked nicely, and lately she’d been too frustrated to ask. He hadn’t initiated it since her illness. Joy bounced around in her chest as her heart raced faster and faster.

  A warm hand cupped her bottom, and he massaged and kneaded her mounds as she settled in over his lap, blissfully resigning herself to her favorite kind of foreplay.

  “Spread your legs, sweetheart. I want a good view of your pussy while I’m turning this little bottom bright red.” A light smack to her inner thigh prompted her legs to part. “Good girl,” he said, stroking her flesh.

  Heat pulsed between her thighs, and her breath hitched as her anticipation heightened. The first smack came down, stinging her lower right cheek. She gasped and closed her eyes, bracing for the next blow. It came a second later, burning into her left cheek. The steady sound of Marcus’s hand slapping her bottom filled the room. Each time her legs closed, even the slightest bit, he moved to spank her inner thighs, drawing whimpers from Stephie as she rushed to open her legs once more.

  “Ouch!” she said, unable to keep silent a moment longer. “Do you have to hit the same spot more than once in a row? Cheese and rice, that hurts!”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Stop hitting the same spot over and over again!”

  He paused and she resisted the urge to reach back to rub the sting out of her backside. His fingers delved in her hair and he tugged her head back. With his other hand, he kept a possessive hold on her bottom, a warning that he could continue swatting her at any time. He wa
s in control.

  “The last time I checked, young lady, you don’t get to shout orders at me during a spanking. This was supposed to be a fun spanking, but now you’ve earned yourself a punishment for mouthing off. The fun stops now.”

  She opened her mouth to protest, but a series of rapid, sharp slaps cut her off. She twisted on his lap and reached to shield her bottom, but he caught her wrists and pinned her hands to the small of her back.

  “Bad girl,” he scolded, not missing a beat as he spanked.

  Shock, elation, regret, and pain consumed Stephie. He was finally spanking her! Oh, but she’d been a tad naughty. And, holy crap, did it hurt. Each smack packed a powerful sting, and the slaps built up and up until her bottom was scorching. She began kicking her legs in a last ditch effort to escape. It shamed her that she was trying to wriggle off Marcus’s lap, but she couldn’t help it. It hurt so much. She’d forgotten how much a real spanking hurt.

  “Please, Marcus,” she begged, kicking her legs faster. He responded by shifting one of his legs atop hers, securing her over his lap. She wasn’t going anywhere. Not until he allowed it.

  A sob erupted from her throat, and she buried her face in the covers as her tears fell. Marcus laid into her sit-spot and she cried harder. She cried from pain and joy. She wept with her whole heart, giving herself over to Marcus, the husband she loved more than life itself.

  “Shh.” His soothing voice penetrated her misery, and she tried to calm her emotions.

  He’d stopped spanking. She took a few deep, sniveling breaths, and remained across his lap while he rubbed her back and murmured loving phrases that only served to bring more tears to her eyes. It felt like she’d waited for this punishment forever, this reconnection they’d so desperately needed.

  Marcus helped her turn over and gathered her in his arms. She winced when her scorched bottom came into contact with his abrasive jeans, but she settled down into his lap and nestled her head against his chest. It felt like she had returned home after a long absence, and though her homecoming had been painful, the pain had been necessary for them both. She soaked up his strength and his power, breathing in his masculine scent and rubbing her cheek against the softness of his shirt.