Bound, Spanked and Loved: Fourteen Kinky Valentine's Day Stories (8 page)

“So, when you say you had your eye on me...” I prompted.

“I had my eye on your heart shaped ass. It was hard not to, with those super tight jeans you were wearing. The rest of you was just a bonus.”

I squirmed as he reached to fondle the aforementioned part of my anatomy. Yep, I was wearing tight jeans again. He gave my left ass cheek a sharp slap. I moved closer to him and gazed into his deep blue eyes. His dark hair made them seem even more piercing and handsome. With half my attention, I noticed the music had changed. I cocked my head to listen.

“The DJ’s playing our song.”

“Yeah, sounds like it.”

I wondered why. The Turtles “Happy Together” wasn’t part of Santino’s usual playlist, even if Mateo and I sang it to each other all the time. Maybe they were instituting some kind of oldies night, or maybe...

Mateo grinned at me with a twinkle in his eyes. He took my hand and turned me to face him, and started singing the words with such theatrical sweetness that the people around us turned to watch.
Me and you, and you and me...
I was torn between laughing and tearing up with emotion, and by the time he got to the second chorus, I was doing both.

Then he turned me around so I could see everyone downstairs. The entire club had come together in one big cluster to back him up on the vocals. They waved up at us, laughing, bouncing, belting out the chorus as they hopped up and down.
Bah bah ba-ba-ba baaahhh...
In the middle of the group, I could see Sage directing everyone while wearing a huge smile.

“Did you arrange this?” I asked, turning back to him.

“I might have. I’ve made a lot of friends here over the years. All of them were happy to help out with a big moment like this.”

“A big moment...?”

As the song came to a close, he went down on one knee. The clamor inside the club drowned out the final notes of the song, but I wasn’t listening anymore anyway. All I could do was stare at his beloved face and then at the ring he held out to me.

“I’ve thought about it, and I want to spend the rest of my life at your side. I promise to make you happy, and love you, and well, spank you every once in a while if you’ve been naughty,” he added under his breath, beneath the noise of the yelling and celebrating from downstairs. “What do you say, Heart Shaped?”

I gawked, beyond words. Oh Jesus, Oh God, I needed to answer him, but I was so shocked and happy and emotional that I couldn’t think. I dashed away tears from behind my glasses and nodded as hard as I could. To the accompaniment of laughter and cheers, he took my hand and slid the ring onto my finger. I noticed the diamond was cut in the shape of a perfect heart.

“We do belong together, don’t we?” I finally said. “Yes, I want to marry you. Yes, yes, yes.”

His strong arms slid around my waist, his big hands pulling me close. “I’ve got a bathtub full of champagne waiting at home with your name all over it,” he whispered in my ear. “Candles, rose petals, the whole deal.”

“Really?”

“Well, all but the champagne. You can’t really bathe in champagne. We can drink some though, and fuck in the bathtub while we do it.”

I laughed and hugged him, and thought how far we’d come from our first awkward conversation outside the club. If I hadn’t said it out loud—
I want him to spank me
—that girl would never have told him, and he would never have known.

Maybe Valentine’s Day wasn’t actually cursed for awkward dorks like me. Maybe it was a day when magic and love happened.

And maybe that Sage chick wasn’t such a huge bitch after all.

About Annabel Joseph

Annabel Joseph is a multi-published kinky novelist whose stories celebrate the complexity and romance of erotic power exchange. When she’s not penning hot spanking tales, she can be found on Twitter discussing show tunes, Tom Hiddleston, trapeze sex, and other such vital topics.

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Chapter One

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F
uck.

Ever since he’d been unceremoniously dumped on his ass three years ago, Logan Powell had done the world a favor by avoiding the fairer sex. Women had very real needs, emotional as well as physical. They deserved to be involved with someone who was a better person than he.

So what the hell was he doing in the dungeon of his friend’s home, at a BDSM play party, staring at the petite blonde on the other side of the room?

It wasn’t just her strong, athletic build that attracted him, but also the short spiky hair, fuck-me boots, tight black T-shirt, and a skimpy leather skirt. But what did him in was the way she tugged on the hem of her skirt in a betrayal of nerves.

Double fuck.

He propped a foot against the wall behind him and watched her exhale as he considered his next move.

It had been months since he’d scened. And on the rare occasions when he did play, he always engaged with experienced submissives. If his tingling detective senses were anything to go by, the woman in question had never been dominated.

He shouldn’t ache to be her first.
Shouldn’t.
But he did.

Joe Montrose, the house’s owner and tonight’s host, walked over and stood next to Logan. “Name’s Jennifer...” Joe said.

“What?” Logan cupped his ear to indicate he was having difficulty hearing over the thundering pulse of a Nine Inch Nails song.

Joe repeated himself. “Her name’s Jennifer Berklee. She works with Noelle. It’s her first time at one of these events.”

“I’m not interested.”

“You don’t miss it?”

“Playing with a new partner?” Teaching her about her own responses? Driving her to the edge of distraction, keeping her there, then shoving her over it so he could catch her and care for her? “No,” he lied.

“Not at all?”

Jennifer dropped her hands to her sides and moved toward Simon, a Dom who attended a number of events in the area. With the way her hips moved, she looked sexy, as if she’d practiced walking in the booted heels. “Is he still looking for someone to collar?” Logan asked.

“Yeah.”

Shouldn’t matter. Nope. Not a bit.

Joe said something that Logan missed. Despite the fact Joe knew he was being ignored, he kept talking. “So, are you?”

Logan shook his head. “Am I what?”

“Coming to Noelle’s surprise birthday party? She’s turning thirty.”

“When is it?”

“Three weeks.”

Logan turned and narrowed his gaze at the man who’d been a friend since basic training, through two years of the Middle East’s skin-searing heat and an explosion where most of the team had died. Because of what they’d shared, Logan knew Joe was hedging. “What date? Specifically.”

“Ah. February fourteenth.”

Logan scowled. “I fucking hate Valentine’s Day. You know that.” It wasn’t just the cloying expectations but the still-raw memories he preferred to leave buried. Being among happy, loving couples only made it worse.

“Missing the party will make you a bigger asshole than you already are,” Joe replied cheerfully.

“Fuck off.”

Joe grinned. Not much bothered the man.

In silence, they watched the interplay between Jennifer and Master Simon.

“Sure you’re not interested?” Joe didn’t wait for a reply. Instead, he moved off.

Dom and sub spoke for a few moments, and eventually Master Simon nodded toward the St. Andrew’s cross.

A blaze of possession arced through Logan as she closed the distance toward the X-shaped BDSM equipment. He wanted to be the one behind her, pressing her against the wood, instructing her to lift her arms high so he could secure her wrists to the attached cuffs.

Instead, Simon had that honor.

The Dom affixed her wrists in place, and Logan noticed her test the bonds. She managed to pull her right wrist free. If he were in charge, he wouldn’t have allowed that to happen. Even if all she wanted was a taste, he’d make sure it was a good one.

After putting her wrist back in place, Master Simon rubbed her buttocks through her skirt. Logan’s cock thickened.

Because he needed human contact to maintain touch with his sanity, he showed up at Joe and Noelle’s events several times a year. While watching others scene interested him, he’d rarely gotten aroused from it.

Then again, he’d rarely had this kind of visceral reaction to a woman.

Master Simon selected a sturdy leather paddle. It wasn’t a bad decision, Logan mused. The toy was intimate, but not overly so. And since her delectable derriere was covered by leather, the impact would be minimal. Good choice for a neophyte.

Logan settled in to watch the pair.

Master Simon gave the sub three swats.

The third made her move her body to one side—something she did easily since her ankles weren’t secured.

That was a mistake Logan wouldn’t make.

He wanted his subs to feel every damn thing he did to them. He wanted them aware, aroused, interested, committed, and he wanted them to stay in place while it was happening.

Without any change to the rhythm, Master Simon delivered two more swats.

Then the man put down the paddle on a nearby bench while she freed herself from the restraints.

Logan watched in shock. Before it had really begun, the scene was over.

Jennifer turned toward Simon, adjusted her skirt, then smiled politely before scurrying up the staircase.

With a curse, Logan pushed away from the wall and followed. If she had scened with him, he would have made certain her experience was more rewarding than it obviously had been. He would have talked to her, asked her questions, not simply allowed her to escape after what was probably her first paddling.

When he found her, she was near the front door, reaching to take her coat from a rack.

“May I?” he asked.

“I...” She dropped her hand and turned toward him before meeting his gaze. Her eyes were blue, bright, wide, and vibrant.

If he hadn’t been attracted before, he was now. “Logan Powell,” he said by way of introduction.

“Thank you.”

He grabbed her coat and held it for her. She settled into it, then knotted the belt around her waist as she faced him.

“I watched your scene with Master Simon.”

Her shoulders stiffened.

“You didn’t seem all that into it.”

Her mouth was pressed into a firm line, making him realize he wasn’t any more adept than Simon had been. Bulldozing on, Logan took a business card from his wallet and offered it to her.

She hesitated, and he wasn’t sure she’d accept it.

“Feel free to call me if you want to experience a real scene.”

“That felt real to me,” she replied.

“Perhaps I’m wrong. It seemed like you might have wanted something more. It’s not just about feeling an impact. There’s a mental and emotional component as well. Trust is involved, and so is getting exactly what you’re looking for. I think you know that.”

She glanced at his contact information before accepting the piece of card stock. But rather than look at it more closely, she stuffed it into her pocket.

After saying good night but not responding to his offer, she left, closing the door behind her with a decisive click.

“Your technique’s a little rusty,” Joe observed.

“How long have you been lurking?” Logan pivoted to level a glare at his friend.

“Lurking? I prefer to think of it as making sure my guests find their way out safely.”

“He’s being nosy,” Noelle said, joining them. She lightly pressed her fingertips to her husband/Dom’s forearm.

Logan didn’t miss the sign of deference and affection. Until this moment, he hadn’t envied the pair their hard-won relationship. Tonight, though, he felt a twinge of regret for the choices he’d made.

“I was hoping Jennifer would talk to you,” Noelle said.

“Maybe if he had more manners than your average gorilla, he might have had a chance.”

Noelle frowned at Joe.

“She took my card,” Logan said in his own defense. And maybe, maybe, she’d call.

*****

“Y
ou should call him,” Noelle said.

“Call who?” Jennifer asked, feigning ignorance.

Noelle snagged a garlic bread stick from a basket and wagged it at Jennifer.

“Who are you talking about?” asked Eden, another member of the infamous Divas Dinner Club.

To avoid the question, Jennifer reached for the bottle of Chianti and topped off the wineglasses of the three other women gathered around her kitchen table. They’d started meeting two years ago when they were all going through divorces. Even though Noelle was happily remarried, she still attended. Jennifer couldn’t blame her. Everyone brought something delicious, and the drinks were always plentiful.

Tonight, they were meeting in her somewhat renovated Highlands bungalow for the first time. To save money, she was doing most of the work herself, which meant some things were almost finished and others were nowhere close, including the dining room walls that were still a shocking shade of canary yellow.

“We’re talking about Logan Powell,” Noelle went on. “A hunky Dom who’s interested in Jennifer.”

“What?” Eden demanded, turning to face Jennifer. “Details. All of them.”

Hyperaware that she was the focus of everyone’s attention, she took a drink. “There’s nothing to tell. Really.”

“Okay,” Eden said, apparently undaunted. “Where did you meet him?”

“At a play party at my house,” Noelle replied.

Jennifer scowled.

“You went to a party? Finally?”

Ever since she and a few members of the Divas club had gone to see a movie about BDSM, Jennifer had been intrigued, and afterward at a bar, she’d pestered Noelle with dozens of questions. But it had taken Jennifer several months to accept an invite to experience it for herself.

“So,” Eden persisted, “did you play with Logan?”

She shook her head. “No. With someone else.”

“And what did he do to you?”

“He, um”—she ran her finger over the base of the wineglass—“gave me a few swats with a paddle.”