I wasn’t sure how to breathe for a moment.
‘Stay there,’ he said, letting go and retreating.
He was wearing proper shoes now. He let his feet fall audibly as he walked away. Every moment, I expected him to issue a command, but he dragged out the tension until I was ready to sob, ‘Get on with it!’
I heard him drag a chair a little way across the floor – one of the wooden ones from the dining table.
Surely now …?
‘Turn around,’ he said.
I kept my hands on my head, since he hadn’t said anything about removing them, and sidled the hundred and eighty degrees. When I saw him, my mouth watered. He was wearing a beautifully cut dark-grey suit, standing behind the chair with his hands gripping the back, leaning over it so his tie dangled a little.
His hair, dishevelled at our last encounter, was slicked neatly down again and he’d even trimmed his beard into pointy neatness.
He looked compelling, a bit frightening and outrageously sexy.
‘Bloody hell,’ I breathed, before I could stop myself.
‘I beg your pardon? Were you given permission to speak?’
Was I? Should I even answer that if not?
‘Er, I don’t think so. Sir.’ I had to press my lips tight so as not to laugh awkwardly.
‘No. So I think you’ve earned what’s coming to you,’ he said, then he beckoned me.
I wanted to get a video camera and record the gesture for all time.
I bit my lip, hoping to get a smile out of him, or some other reassurance, but he looked unshakeably stern, so I gave up and stepped forwards. It felt absolutely real – the kind of dread I remembered from school when I hadn’t done my homework and was about to get busted for it. I’d been such a conscientious child – even the possibility of a mild word of rebuke had had me in agonies.
This was in a different league.
I stopped at the chair. He still stood behind it, facing me.
‘Kneel,’ he said, his downward glance making it clear that he meant I should climb up on to the seat first.
I put my hands between his on the chair back and slid my knees on to the unforgiving wood.
‘Yes,’ he said, running his thumb along my jawline before moving away to the side. ‘That’s it. Spine bent, head over the back. Bottom out.’
I wanted to ask him if he was going to hurt me. I needed to know. Luckily, he answered the question before I asked it.
‘I don’t intend to hurt you,’ he said. ‘Not this time. This is more about finding your natural li
mits, testing your tolerance. When we reach your threshold, I’ll stop.’
I gripped the chair tighter, letting a breath of relief pass through me.
‘You’ve never been spanked before?’ he asked, patting my bottom.
‘No.’
‘So you don’t know how much you might be able to take?’
‘As long as you aren’t doing it with a bramble.’
He paused to take that in.