Holding Hannah (6 page)

“I can do it myself if you’d let me,” she grumbled.

“I haven’t spanked you yet,” he reminded. “Blow.”

She blew. It was loud, disgusting and it should have been humiliating. The fact that it wasn’t really only convinced her that she’d hit the wall on that front and simply couldn’t feel anymore.
Sniffling again, she started to step back but Sam pointed at the ground between his splayed feet, snapped his fingers once, and she crept in to stand exactly where he indicated.

“Tell me what happened.”
Folding his arms across his chest, he looked at her and waited.

Hannah blinked twice, sniffled once, and f
idgeted, her fingertips only just able to touch the scars on her forearm. “I cut myself,” she said, stupidly stating the obvious.

“Did you like the way it felt?”

“I—” she hesitated. “Not at first, I don’t think. It hurt…at first.”

“You don’t like pain?”

“I’m not that crazy,” she tried to joke, but it felt very hollow and neither of them so much as cracked a smile.

“
Is it the blood you like?” Stated so boldly, so acceptingly.

She looked at him, her breath hitching in the back of her too-tight throat. “
Yes,” she whispered and braced herself for the way he would surely have to look at her now. “I always have, even when I was a kid. There’s just something about the look, and the taste, and the texture of it on my…my tongue.” Her face flushed hot. If she could have reached her arm, she’d have clawed it. “The smell even. I-I can’t describe it. I just…I wanted to see…”

“Did it arouse you?”

She flushed even hotter. She couldn’t look at him at all then, except that he wouldn’t allow her any way to distance herself. She jumped when his fingers combed into the folds between her legs, slipping up into all that hot wetness, feeling that welcoming embrace closing tight around him as he invaded her. “Yes,” she whispered, hot and uncomfortable and yes, aroused, though she didn’t understand it. She wasn’t happy or relaxed. There were too many people here, all of them seeing how…not normal she was.

“Why
do you say you’re better now?” He stroked her, and though she wished she could, there was just no stopping the way her body reacted. The slick walls of her pussy contracting to hold him, shivering at his touch.

“Isn’t that what
you’re supposed to say about suicidal people?” She countered unhappily.

“Is that what they told you? That you’re suicidal? That you’re sick?”

He’d asked a question, he expected an answer; she couldn’t make herself give him one. She couldn’t even make herself look at him now. “Isn’t that what you think too?”

Pulling his hand away, Sam stood up. His arm slipped around her shoulders, drawing her in until her f
orehead came to rest on his shoulder. He was so warm, so strong, like a rock. Her rock.

“You’re not sick,” he murmured, caressing her hair, her clit, her pussy all at once.

“What am I then?” She begged.

“I’ll show you.”

CHAPTER SIX

What the hell was he doing?

Sam gathered her clothes, fished her car keys out of her jeans pocket and into his
, and then stuffed the rest of her things into his bag. He’d unclipped her cuffs long enough to put his shirt on her, then he’d clipped them again, in front of her now, rather than behind. She looked good in his shirt. She was small, practically swimming in it.

Yeah, she looked good.

And he was an idiot, because he was about to break the number one self-imposed Dom rule that he had, up until tonight, never broken for anyone. Ever.

“What are you doing?” Marshall
asked from the stall doorway.

He had no idea. He just hoped it wasn’t the biggest mistake of his life. “Think Don’s home yet?”

Marshall checked his watch. “Probably. Unless he’s gearing up to come here tonight. Nice deflection, but it’s not going to work. What are you doing?”

“She’ll be gone before you guys get home.”

“Uh huh,” Marshall grunted, unconvinced.

Fuck him.
Finished packing, Sam shouldered his bag and turned from his friend, his business partner—technically his boss, depending on who was asked (Marshall almost always claimed the boss role; he could be a real ass that way). Hannah was standing as silent as a shadow, her eyes huge and uncertain, but when he held out his hand, she came to him.

“Can’t I get dressed?” she asked.

“No.” He took her by the elbow and led her from the stall, past Marshall, who threw up his hands.

“Lay down a tarp,” was all he said. “I think there’s still an extra in the back of my truck.”

Hannah’s eyes got even bigger. She looked at him again, warily now. “Why do we need a tarp?”

“We don’t.”
Someone really needed to tell her not to look at Doms that way. A vanilla man might fall all over himself to reassure and comfort her; to Sam, those were bedroom fuck-me eyes if ever he’d seen one.

“Does he think I’m going to cut myself in your house?”
And just like that, she was back on the verge of tears all over again. He sincerely hoped he never got his hands on whatever thoughtless idiot had so badly shaken her sense of worth and security. He was a man well known for his self-control, but he doubted he could ever have enough to keep from leaving them bleeding on the floor.

“No.” Sam headed for the old barn door,
his hand on her elbow guiding her along beside him. “He thinks I am.”

“You cut yourself?”

He snorted. “No.” The humidity outside felt clammy, but somewhat cooler than the temperature inside the barn. He couldn’t wait until the Castle (with its fully piped air conditioning) was in operation.

“B-but—”
Hannah stopped both walking and talking when he did. “I don’t under—Oh!”

Dropping his bag in the doorway,
Sam turned on her and bent down. She yelped when he hooked the back of her legs, tipping her right down over his shoulder and heaving her right up off her bare feet. “Behave yourself,” he said, jostling her until she was securely in place and then picking up his bag again.

“What are you—”

“There’s sharp sticks and thistles in the grass.” He headed out into the night toward where she’d parked her car.

He did not stop by Marshall’s truck first. He did not get the tarp.

“First thing on Monday, you’re going to schedule an appointment with your doctor.” He searched through the grass parking lot for a vehicle he couldn’t automatically match to any other members. He found one, a dark little four door that looked to be at least fifteen years past its warranty. “This yours?” he asked, fishing her keys out of his pocket.

She rose up, trying to see first over his shoulder and then under his arm.
“Yes, but why?”

“You’re going to get a full physical and blood work-up done. I want the results in my hand as soon as you get them.”

“What—”

“Hold still.” He unlocked the passenger door, swept his foot back and forth across the ground a few times, and then bent to set her down. He kept hold of her elbow. “Watch your head.”

“Hey—”

Planting a hand on top of her head, he guided her down into the passenger seat and leaned in to fasten her seat belt. “Watch the door.”

He shut it before she could do more than open her mouth to protest. He walked around to the driver’s side.

“Can I please finish a sentence?” she snipped peevishly the instant he settled behind the wheel.

“Sure.” He stuck the key in the ignition and started the car. “Have you ever had anal sex?”

Her mouth dropped open, then promptly closed again. “No.”

“I’m partial to it, both for pleasure and for punishment. If you’re going to be with me, you may as well get used to the idea now. But since I plan to introduce you to a lot of new things tonight, unless you decide to be uncooperative, we’ll save that particular first time for another night.”

There she went
again, staring across the car at him with those sexy/wary bedroom eyes and her mouth gaping open. “Um…”

“Do you know what figging is?” Hooking his arm across the backs of her seat, he backed the car out of its space.

“Why do we need a tarp, why do you want my medical records, and there is no way you’ll ever convince me to combine sex with fruit. Ever.”

Switching gears, Sam
laughed and shook his head. “First, figging involves a ginger root, not an actual fig. And second, we’re going to pass right by a Walmart Supercenter on the way home. Take that tone with me again and I’ll not only stop for the biggest, thickest, ripest piece of ginger root I can find, but a banana too and we’ll just see where you, fruit and sex still stand by the time I’m done with you.”

She fidgeted, but managed not to say another word as they bumped and jostled their way out of the field.
She eyed him once or twice, but didn’t manage to find her tongue again until the car was once more on paved blacktop. “Why do we need a tarp, sir?”

Sam smiled. “Tenacious. I like that. The tarp was offered on the off chance that I’d
want to cut you tonight. But that’s not going to happen,” he said gently, leading her along with a teasing, “because…?”

She thought a moment.
“Because you want to make sure I’m healthy and don’t have AIDs?”

“Close enough.”

“It’s really hard to get comfortable with my hands bound like this.”

“It’s only a few miles more.”

She fidgeted again, now and then glancing at him when she thought he couldn’t see it. “I shouldn’t have gone home with you,” she finally said.

Sam didn’t take offense. “No, you shouldn’t have.
And if you ever do something this risky with anyone other than me, I’ll bust a paddle across your ass.”

“I don’t know a thing about you.”

“You know the important things.”

“I know you like to pull hair and have a fruit fetish.” There was that peevishness again.

Sam had to work at hiding his smile. He glanced in the rearview to make sure there were no cars behind him. The road was dark as far as he could see in either direction. He hit the blinker and pulled over onto the gravel side of the road.

“
Is this where you live?” Hannah asked, peering out the surrounding cattle pasture. “I don’t see any houses.”

“
That’s because there aren’t any.” He put the car in park and got out. Strolling around to her side, he opened up the back and dug her jeans out of his bag. Folding them twice, he dropped them on the gravel right outside her door.

“What are you doing?” she asked nervously when he opened her car door as wide as it would go and leaned in to unbuckle her.

“Watch your feet.” He took her arm and placed his hand on top of her head to protect her from accidentally bumping it as he helped her out. “Stand on your pants.”

“Why?” She locked her legs, resisting when he turned her, but it wasn’t enough to stop him from tucking her up under his arm or pinning her bent across his hip.
“No, wait! Sir, please!”

His shirt offered nothing in the way of padding, but he tucked it up under her squirming hands, leaving her pale bottom completely exposed and softly illuminated in the yellow of the car’s courtesy light. He didn’t leave her waiting;
that glimpse of peevish temper had already melted away, leaving her both looking and sounding scared. Sam didn’t want her scared of him. He wanted her respectful, comfortable, maybe now and then even a little bit wary, particularly when—like now—he was in a playful mood. Playful, however, did not mean he was willing to put up with attitude. So, he gave her a little taste of what she—knowingly or not—had been asking for; he spanked her.

Ask any other s
ub at the Sanctuary, and they would cheerfully pronounce that what he gave Hannah right then and there was little more than love taps. He barely put a rosy hue on her pretty little bottom cheeks; to listen to Hannah, one would think he’d skinned her alive. He half expected her to come up off his hip fighting mad, either because she really was outraged or (in the case of some submissives) because she wanted him to finish the job and do it right. Hannah came up like a smacked puppy, bouncing a cute little dance meant to waggle out some of the sting and only folding herself into his arms and burrowing against his chest because he was bigger and stronger and that’s where he pulled her.

“You’re okay,” he
mused, holding her for as long as she seemed to need and letting go only when she sniffled and finally pulled away. He tucked her back into the car, buckled her in again and the rest of the ride was made in near total silence. It wasn’t until he was pulling into the driveway of the rental house he shared with five other Doms (each of whom had poured every penny he owned into the Castle project) that she sniffled and said, “He’s not going to give you the permits.”

Sam didn’t need to ask who she meant. “I know.”

He took the keys out of the ignition and was about to get out when, very softly, she said, “Master Sam, can I ask you something?”

One hand on the handle, he
turned back to look at her and waited.

“Was that a hard spanking? The one you gave me?”

As if there could any doubt as to what she’d meant.

He tried not to smile, wanting to take her question with all the seriousness she seemed to think it required. “Not even close.”

He started to get out, but she stopped him again. “Sir?”

Again, h
e paused.

She squirmed in her seat, grinding her bottom against the cushion, no doubt feeling the faint sting and heat he’d put there and trying to nerve herself up to ask the question he could already sense lurking between them.

“W-would you spank me very hard if…if I needed it?”

“Every
single time,” he said promptly. “Even if you didn’t think you needed it. And, like tonight, even when you need it and I disagree on the reason why. That was just a taste, Hannah. We’re going to go inside now and don’t worry, when it’s done, you won’t have to ask again if that was hard.”

He
nodded to show he meant it and, leaving her to think that over, got out of the car. He came around to her side, opened the door and reached in to unbuckle her.

“Sam?” She whispered it so softly, he almost didn’t hear her.
He pulled back far enough to meet her uncertain eyes. She bit her bottom lip. “Do you still want to have sex with me?”

Pulling the seatbelt out from between them, he braced himself against the back of her chair and caught her chin in his hand. He
smiled. “With or without the fruit.”

* * * * *

The next day, Hannah spent most of the morning looking for reason not to have to sit at her desk. She couldn’t. Her bottom was so sore. Even more unbelievably, Sam had only used his hand—only his very broad, very thick, very hard hand, and that only after he’d shown her his rather formidable collection of spanking paraphernalia. He seemed to like paddles. A lot. He had all kinds. Rubber, leather, wood. He had ones with studs in them. Others had holes, and still others had stenciled designs, including one with the words ‘Bad Girl’ cut in such a way as to leave said impression on whomever, he assured her, required such labeling. He’d offered to show her; she had very politely declined.

A short time later, with him seated on a straight-backed chair in the middle of the kitchen and her completely naked, with the cuffs on her ankles clipped to the cuffs on her wrists, one
strong-armed strike at a time, Sam showed her with exquisite and agonizing thoroughness that he didn’t need any of those things to take her through every imaginable level of absolute hell.

Hannah hadn’t
known she
had
a sit spot, but she knew it now. He’d introduced her to that aspect of her anatomy over the course of three separate lessons that spanned the longest forty minutes of her life. The first had been for her little mistakes and misbehaviors at the Sanctuary. Those had been the easiest to endure with the ten minutes of corner time that followed, frankly, being the worst part. Then had come her hard spanking request and real hell, and then comfort wrapped so tightly in the arms of the man who’d administered it, followed by an even longer stint in the corner with her hands on her head and her bottom throbbing and blazing so blisteringly hot that it felt as if she were standing backed up against a roaring fire.