Big Beautiful Little (4 page)

“You’re an artist.” He was looking toward the studio clearly visible off the living room.

“Uh, yeah,” she said. “Have you ever heard of
Rainbow Rabbits?
”

“No.”

“Of course not,” she said. “It’s a children’s book series. I do all the… all the rabbits.”

Now he was looking at the wall above her fireplace at her collection of signed Winnie-the-Pooh lithographs.

“You like Winnie-the-Pooh,” he said. It was a statement made without condescension, but even so she felt defensive.

“Like I said, I’m a children’s book illustrator. I appreciate the art.” She turned to him. “Is there something I can do for you, Mr. Sawyer?”

“Actually, yes.” He turned his attention away from the prints and back to her. “I honestly did not mean to offend you today. As a respected business owner, it really bothers me…”

“I told you,” she said impatiently. “I’m not going to say anything.”

“This isn’t about my being afraid of what you might say. It’s about the rules I set for myself about how I treat my customers and clients. You left my gym in a huff. I can’t allow that.”

“You can’t…
allow
that?”

“No,” he said. “The way I see it, I’m honor bound to correct my mistake. You obviously came to the gym for the same reason anyone else does. You want to get in shape.”

She looked down. “Well, yeah. Obviously. I mean, look at me…”

“I am looking at you.”

She glanced up, expecting to see mockery in his gaze, but the steel-gray eyes were sweeping her form without judgment. If anything, they were almost appreciative. Tiffany flushed before continuing.

“I’m fat. And… out of control. I thought joining a gym would help.”

“Out of control?” he asked, arching an eyebrow.

“Well, without going into it with a total stranger, my life is kind of a wreck right now. I figured getting a handle on my health by joining a gym might help me get a handle on everything else that’s going wrong…” Her voice died away.

Nice going, Dumbo,
she told herself
. Now he thinks you’re fat and crazy.

“You don’t need a gym,” he said suddenly. “You need a personal trainer.”

She rolled her eyes. “And let me guess. You have a great deal you’re willing to offer me if I sign up today.”

“Yes,” he said. “You’re right, although not about the details. I’m offering you my services as a professional trainer for free, for three months.”

“Your services?” she asked, injecting deliberate sarcasm into her words. “Why?”

“Because I acted like a lout. Even if I meant what I said about your eyes being beautiful, the timing was terrible. I want to make it up to you. In fact, I insist.”

She thought of Dr. Coleman sitting across from her with her notepad and Cross pen, glancing up every so often to glare over the rims of her glasses, lips pursed disapprovingly when Tiffany spoke of her insecurities, her fears, her deep desire to submit to male authority.

You know, Tiffany, that you’re never going to move forward until you control yourself rather than look to someone else for that control, right? Replace that desire to submit with strength, even some anger.

“I don’t think so,” she said, tilting her chin up.

Lance Sawyer was silent as he walked over her. He stopped inches away.

“Like I said,” he replied. “I insist. The gym opens at nine. Be there at 7:30. This is the chance to get exactly what you need.” He walked to the door, glancing back as he opened it. “See you then.”

Chapter Four: Personal Trainer

Lance put the odds at fifty-fifty that Tiffany would even show. It had been risky, going to her house. Even Trey told him it was insane when Lance had filled him in on what he’d done.

“You’re lucky she didn’t mace you.” They were putting up the weights as Lance recounted the visit. “I would have.”

“Well, it’s a good thing she’s more trusting than you,” Lance remarked.

“Personal trainer, huh?” Trey smiled. “Smooth.”

“It’s not like that.”

“Uh-huh. Sweet, soft little thing like her? It’s going to be Katrina all over again.”

Lance had sobered at this. “It’s
not
going to be like Katrina.”

It couldn’t be like Katrina, he decided, because what he’d had with Katrina wasn’t something he could likely duplicate. Behind closed doors, she’d been his little girl and he’d been her daddy—details that Lance had kept from even his closest friends for fear that they’d not understand. Only John Baxter, a former military colleague who had mentored Lance in his age-play lifestyle with Katrina, knew the full details of what they had, and Lance wasn’t about to presume he could ever recreate that dynamic with another woman. Oh, he knew he could probably find another age-play partner on the Internet, but Lance wasn’t the kind of man who sought partners online. He preferred to have things come into his life organically. He had no idea if there was any potential for a relationship with Tiffany. All he knew was that there was something special about the curvy beauty he couldn’t stop thinking about, and he was eager to have a role in her life, even if it was just professional.

So when Lance saw her Toyota 4Runner pull into the parking lot the next morning, he took it as a positive sign. He watched from his office window as she stopped feet from her car, staring at the gym as if doubting her decision. But then she tilted her chin up almost defiantly and headed toward the door.

Good.

He unlocked the front just as she reached it.

“You made it,” he said.

“Yeah.” She was wearing a baggy t-shirt and loose sweatpants, as if trying to hide herself.
Negative body image.
Lance made a note to work on that.

“I’m glad you came,” he said.

“I thought about it a lot last night,” Tiffany replied. “Maybe having some one-on-one training will help me focus.”

“That’s the plan,” he said. “But the first thing we should do is talk about why you’re here.”

He led her to a sofa in front of the reception area and motioned for her to have a seat.

“It should be obvious why I’m here,” Tiffany replied. “I need to get in shape.”

He smiled. “Okay,” he said. “So why hasn’t that happened before now?”

“I, um… I wasn’t always this heavy. And like I said last night, things in my life have just gotten …” Her voice trailed off.

“Out of control?”

She nodded.

“Is that what you’re seeking? Control?”

She dropped her gaze. Lance noted how she swallowed nervously, how her cheeks flushed.

“It’s all right to admit that you need it, Tiffany,” he said. “There’s nothing wrong with needing someone to guide you. I happen to be the kind of person who gets a lot of satisfaction from offering guidance.” He paused. “And control.”

He wasn’t expected to see tears in her eyes when she looked up at him. He could tell she was starting to say something, but then—to his frustration—she clammed up. The encouraging ease in her eyes was replaced with fear and for the second time in twenty-four hours, she was heading out the door.

“It was a mistake for me to come here.”

This time Lance did call after her, seeking to swallow his frustration. But she ducked into her vehicle, ignoring him as he tried to get her attention. She pulled her 4Runner around quickly—too quickly for his taste—and all but burned out of the parking lot. His heart was in his throat at the sickening sound of screeching tires and car horns as she barely evaded an oncoming truck before heading north back toward her house.

Lance felt confusion turn to anger. Whatever he’d said to upset her—and he had a pretty good idea now of what it was—was no reason for Tiffany to behave so rashly. Rushing back to the door, he locked it and then headed for his own vehicle. His square jaw was set in a grim line as he jumped in his truck and headed out of the parking lot, taking a shortcut that put him in Tiffany’s driveway just as she was getting out of her Toyota.

“Hey!” he said, as he pulled in behind her and got out.

“I changed my mind, Mr. Sawyer. I don’t want to retain your services.” Her tone was ridiculously formal as she headed for the front door, fumbling for her house key as she went.

“You don’t get that option until you tell me why.”

She looked back at him, angry. “It’s not up to you.”

She opened the door and went inside. Without thinking, Lance came in behind her. He shut the door as she turned to face him.

“What is wrong with you?” she asked. “I just told you to leave.”

“And I will,” he said. “If you tell me one more time, I’ll turn around and walk out that door and never speak to you again. But I tried to make up for offending you that first day, and you agreed when I offered to be your personal trainer, and now you’ve run away a second time. Now I think I know why you ran, but I’d like to hear it from you.”

He watched as Tiffany put her gym bag on the hall table by the door. She was quiet for a moment before turning to him.

“Okay,” she said. “If you think you know why I ran, you tell me.”

He took a step closer until only inches separated them. When he spoke, his voice was soft, stern. “I think you left because you not only want control, you need it. I think there’s a little girl trapped inside of the beautiful woman standing before me. I think she craves control, but somewhere along the way someone made her feel ashamed of it, and maybe ashamed of herself for wanting it.”

For a moment, both were silent. When Tiffany broke his gaze, Lance reached out to gently rub away a tear that had settled at the corner of her eye before tilting her chin up so that she was forced to look at him again.

“Am I right?”

She was staring at him with puzzlement. “Who are you?”

“Someone who understands, Tiffany. And maybe that’s why I came after you. I know what it’s like to be different, too. Just as you’ve been taught to be ashamed of your need for guidance, I’ve always been hesitant to reveal my need to guide, to control. It’s not a popular stance for a man in this politically correct age, but that’s who I am. I like order; I like giving direction. I like being in control. It’s why I joined the military. It’s why I opened a gym. I like helping people who need control in their lives. And I’m thinking that’s what you need. But that need makes you feel guilty, and that’s why you ran. Am I right?”

“Look,” she said softly. “My problems are my own…” She dropped her eyes, even as he held her chin steady.

“Answer me, Tiffany,” he said. “Am I right?”

She looked back up at him and answered as her small hand moved his away from her chin. “Yes,” she said softly.

“Then let me help you,” he urged. “Trust me to know what’s best for you. Look, I realize that you don’t know me. But I can help you. And I want to. I get so many people coming through my gym every day. I’m not in the habit of following them to their houses.” He paused. “Twice.”

“Exactly what do you have in mind for me?” she asked.

Lance knew this was a make or break moment; what he would say next would be the biggest risk of all, but would verify if his instincts about her had been right.

“When I say I’m offering you my services as a trainer, I’m not just talking about fitness, Tiffany. You said your life is out of control. And I don’t give a damn that I don’t know you; something about you has touched a place in me that wants to help. I’m talking about guiding you on a daily basis—giving you boundaries, limits. You need more than an exercise regimen. You need permission to be happy with yourself, to be happy with who you are. You need someone who is not just going to tell you that’s okay, but demand it of you—someone who’s going to make you accountable. Now, tell me you don’t want that and I’ll walk out the door.”

“I don’t understand what you’re telling me,” she said, but he could tell from her expression—her look of mixed trepidation and need—that she did know. She just needed him to say it.

“You need a minder,” he said. “An authority figure.”

“Like a… father figure?”

He paused. “Exactly like that.”

“Exactly what will that entail?”

“Full accountability from you,” he said. “And we can get to the details later. But we need to start with the first step.”

“And what’s that?”

“A spanking.”

“A what?” She backed away, but not far, and when he took hold of her arm she did not pull away.

“You almost got pancaked pulling out of my parking lot. Do you have any idea where you’d be now if that other driver had been going any faster? You’d be in the hospital, or possibly the morgue.”

Lance didn’t wait for her reply. He was leading Tiffany down her hallway now, into the living room. He noted that she still wasn’t fighting as he guided her along.

In the living room he stopped at the sofa, keeping a hold on her hand as he moved aside a chenille throw and a stuffed Winnie-the-Pooh. As he sat down, he pulled her between his spread knees, took her hands in his, and looked up at her.

“Tiffany, why are you being spanked?”

“Are you serious?”

He ignored the question. “Damn right. You need someone to take control, to train you. I’m taking on that responsibility. Answer me. Why are you being spanked?”

This time he turned her over his knee as he asked the question, deciding that she was likely to take him more seriously in the facedown position. Her tone was halting as she answered, her high voice even more charming edged with apprehension.

“I pulled out in front of a car. But that doesn’t give you the right…
ow!
”

His hand came down on the seat of her sweatpants—hard—and she looked back in shock as her hand flew back reflexively. But rather than cover her bottom, Tiffany was moving to pull down the hem of the long shirt she wore. And Lance was having none of it.

“Oh, no, young lady,” he said. “The shirt stays up. In fact, these pants are coming down, too.”

It was as if those words broke whatever spell had been cast over her. Gone was the submissive woman who had allowed herself to be draped over his lap.

“No!” Tiffany kicked out at him while trying to pull away and—when that failed—attempting to bite the hand wrapped around her wrist like an iron band.