Page 40 of Dare to Love Again

“How long has it been since you’ve had a spanking?”

She shouldn’t have been surprised by his directness, most dominants were, but he had the uncanny ability to home in on the problem after talking to her twice, tonight included.

“Here’s a perfect time to give you a rule. Truthful answers and honest emotion—I’ll accept nothing less. How long, Esme?”

“Four years,” she replied promptly, but the rest wasn’t as easy. “I tried the public clubs, but they didn’t... It wasn’t...” Talking about her need to anyone, let alone while naked to a veritable stranger was too damn hard. Embarrassed, she dropped her gaze.

“You didn’t find what you needed,” he supplied with an experienced dominant’s insight.

“No.” The single word was barely a whisper, but it echoed in the stark room.

“And how long since you’ve cried, Esme? Not crocodile tears, but really let loose and had a good, hard cry to release the emotions you’re holding deep inside?”

“Forever, it seems.”

“Your husband wasn’t able to give you that?”

“No,” she whispered. “It’s been since my parents died. After Andrew, I was numb.”

“Darlin’,” he whispered in a tone that conveyed a deep understanding.

Before she could blink or think, she was facedown over his hard thigh. He hauled her in close to his body. One hand curved around the back of her neck, keeping her upper body down, while his free leg settled over both of hers. Held securely, she didn’t teeter and doubted if she could buck or kick, and she didn’t need to reach for the floor to steady herself. Instead, she wrapped her hands around his leg, and curled her fingers into supple leather, and hung on for what she knew was coming next.

His open hand came down hard on her bare bottom.

“My rules are few, lovely Esme, but nonnegotiable. Complete obedience while we are in the club. I dislike hesitancy so you can plan on a bottom warming if you delay. You will come often, but only when I say. Punishments will be appropriate for misbehavior and never more than you can bear. And I will not limit them to your naughty behind. We’ll use the club safewords, red and yellow, which I expect you to use when needed, but are not to be taken lightly or abused.”

While he listed his rules, he steadily smacked the full curves of her bottom. These weren’t trifling, teasing swats, but crisp, heavy-handed spanks meant to prove to her who was in charge. It had been years since she’d felt anything like it. She’d forgotten how much she craved a dominant’s control, and how the pain of correction mixed with the intense pleasure of submission, and the euphoria that she knew would follow.

“Most of all, Esme, I insist on honesty and will give you the same. Anything less and we’ll have a problem. No stiff upper lips and suffering in silence; that’s for the Brits. We Irish live in the moment, and that’s what I’ll help you do. You’ve spent a lot of time trapped by the tragedy in your past, and sure as certain, your husband, who, as you say loved you very much, wouldn’t have wanted that. It’s time to look forward and live all the moments of your future to the fullest.”

He hadn’t let up, and her bottom was on fire, but that wasn’t what broke her.

Exhausted from trying to deny what she needed for so long, a strident cry erupted from her throat and echoed off the bare floor. It didn’t deter him or slow him a fraction—what a disappointment if it had. Because finally the damn burst and the deluge of tears she’d held back for so long surged forth.

She lost count of how many he gave her. Not that she’d really kept track since he’d started. He covered every inch of both cheeks and the uppermost aspect of her thighs with his extra-large paddle-like hand. When he stopped, she lay as limp as a noodle over his thigh, breathing hard between her sobs. While the stinging tenderness in her backside captured most of her attention, she couldn’t ignore the ache in her pussy, especially with him stroking the skin he’d just set on fire.

After several minutes of these soothing caresses, when her hitching sobs had nearly subsided, he lifted her, perched her tenderized butt on his lap, and enfolded her in his arms. Then he simply held her.

Even more than the spanking which had brought forth a Vesuvius-like eruption of tears, this tapped into what her submissive nature needed more than anything and had missed so desperately, strong arms surrounding her, an understanding shoulder to lean on, and intimacy—not the sexual kind.

This prompted another wave of tears.

“Hush now,” Master Finn murmured, as he cupped her chin, his thumb sweeping over her wet cheeks once more. “Or did I stop too soon?”

“No, sir! My butt is on fire.”

“That isn’t what I meant, Esme, and you know it. How do you really feel?”

“Like a weight has been lifted from my chest. Thank you, Master Finn.”

“You’re very welcome, lovely girl. I’ve been a dominant for a while and have learned the healing effects of a good cry. Some submissives can’t get there without a little help.”

She shifted, hissing when her hot flesh stuck to his leather pants. “I think your help was more than a little, sir.”

He gently rolled her body toward him, his large hand moving in slow and rhythmic strokes over her backside, thighs, and up her spine in long sweeps. With her head nestled beneath his chin, she let out a deep sigh of contentment. It was a moment she’d dream of having again for so long, and one of pure bliss.

Amused, he chuckled. “It has been a while for you because I went easy. I’d consider that not much more than a warmup.”

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