The Cherished One (6 page)

Max found himself staring at the tiny mauve scraps of what passed for panties nowadays, an almost smile playing about his lips.  Why did they even bother?  Those joined her jeans at her feet.  He glanced down and was surprised to see that her mons was as nude as a baby’s.

“Do you shave yourself, or did Dag do it for you?” he asked casually, not thinking that the question would warrant defiance.

But Fawna was completely indignant.  “That’s none of your business!”

He could, of course, simply read her mind for the answer, but there was no fun in that.  He wanted to hear answers from her lips.  It was a matter of control – intimidation, yes, but also titillation.  His, and hers, he suspected, to some extent.

Fawna found herself quickly bent over the back of the olive green circular couch, feet dangling uselessly, nowhere near the floor, her bottom smacked hard and quickly enough that she couldn’t draw a breath until he stopped swatting her, about ten strokes later.  His strokes were deliberate and unusual – they seemed to separate her cheeks as they landed, as if he swatted then dragged his hand just a bit, adding insult to injury.

Max didn’t say a word; refusing to repeat himself.  He merely waited, granted not very long.  When she didn’t say a thing, he smacked her again, ten times, very hard, admiring his handiwork along the way.  He’d forgotten how much he enjoyed disciplining a woman.  It had been a very long time.  He loved sound of the crack of his flesh against hers, the way her bottom wobbled for just a moment – or longer, depending on the girth of the woman receiving the swat – and, most especially, the scarlet imprint of his hand on her tender flesh, like the almost brand it was.

He had barely started and she was already near the end of her rope!  Fawna was almost unable able to process what he was doing to her, and was in a true panic at the thought that there was definitely more to come.  Dear God, she didn’t want to surrender to him so soon.  She didn’t want to surrender to him at all, but he was spanking her so hard, damn him!  He’d only administered about twelve swats total, and she was already past the point of being able to control her mouth.  “All right!  All right!  Dag did it!   He wouldn’t let me go anywhere else to have it done, and I don’t like to do it myself.  He did it himself.”

Fawna had expected that telling him what he wanted to hear would stay his disciplinary hand immediately, but she was – quite literally – very sorely mistaken.  He continued delivering solid, crisp, firm slaps to her cringing hiney until he thought she’d learned her lesson.  She was long past crying by then and well on to outright bawling, which had been one of his goals.  In Max’s considerable experience castigating females, some of them tended not to want to cry, seeing it - as a man would - as a sign of weakness.  Fawna was one of those women.  She did not want to cry in front of him.  She saw it as a weakness in front of her enemy, and she was right to do so.

But he wouldn’t allow her that hidey hole.  He would push her past it, every time he was given the opportunity.  And it looked like he was going to be given that opportunity quite a bit for the foreseeable future.

“How long are you to stay here?”

Although she could barely corral her thoughts to speak, Fawna answered as quickly as she could.  “We didn’t set a time limit.  I can stay as long as I want.”

“There are no phones?  No Internet?  There is no connection or contact with the outside world from here?”  Max laid his hand over her nicely warmed bottom, just to remind her to answer him truthfully.

“No,” she sighed, and the sigh ended in a sob.  “It’s not allowed.  There’s satellite television.  DVR.  Video games.  Entertainment stuff.  That’s it.”

He had little experience or knowledge of most of what she’d just mentioned.  But he knew enough about them to know that they were not communication devices.  “Not even anything for emergencies?”

“Not that I know of.”

Five more swats.  “You’re sure?”

It shamed her to the depths of her soul that she couldn’t suppress an out and out groan before she replied.  “AAAhhhhhhhhhhhh!  Yes.  It’s well hidden and well guarded – or it was.”  She was reminded of the bodies she’d seen while they walked there, and of just how alone she was with him, how hopeless and helpless her situation was.  The only thing she could hope for was that someone decided to come by, but the chances of that were pretty much nil.

He swept her mind, finding the truth there.  He would, of course, conduct his own search, but he was satisfied that she was telling him the truth.

“Well, Miss Fawna, then it’s time for us to commence with your spanking.”

She almost reared back up, but his hand on the small of her back set her right back down.  “Commence with it?  I thought we were done with it?!”  In her desperation, she was practically shouting at him.  He had to be kidding!

This chuckle wasn’t warm chocolate through her veins.  It was ice water.  “That was for not answering me about this,” he reached between her legs, not rudely or roughly, in direct contrast to his tone of voice, but almost gently, like a man who knows he owns something and can take his time with it, who doesn’t have to hurry but can savor the flavor of his possession. 

His hand was warm where it covered her most intimate parts, and Fawna had a moment of deep regret that she’d allowed Dag to convince her to be shaved.  At least it would have been some small iota of protection against this horrible intrusion.  His fingers weren’t touching hair, they were touching her.  The most intimate and sacred part of her.  It made her want to scream and cry, but she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.  At least  he didn’t poke or prod her, his fingers didn’t wander.  He simply cupped her, as if he had every right.

Max, of course, could feel all of those raging emotions as they filled her.  “I do.  What your lover did to mine gives me the right.”  He squeezed her, very gently. Fawna flinched, but at the same time, to her utter mortification, her entire body clenched. 

“My, my, my, you are a responsive one, aren’t you?  Lucky Dag.”  He released her then, and Fawna collapsed against the couch.  She’d been unaware that she’d been holding herself quite so tense.

Oh, why couldn’t the floor open up and swallow her, right now, please?

He chuckled softly from beside her.  “You will have no such release, Cherie.  But perhaps, afterwards, another type of release might be arranged...”

She screamed the word “NO!” at him, at the same time as her body responded to that idea, and he knew it, damn him.  He knew it, and it made him laugh.

Yet he didn’t allow it to deter him in the least from his goal.  And he didn’t lecture.  He simply spanked.

And spanked.

And spanked.

Fawna had already been crying from the first round, and she started crying again immediately as soon as his hand connected with her butt again.  She immediately began to try to pop up, out of position, after he’d only given her about another three smacks.  Now, with Dag, getting out of position would have gotten her a whole separate session, that might not even be a spanking, as he also favored certain other types of punishments for her.

But Max dealt with things differently.  He simply reached down with those long arms of his and put the palm of one big hand on the back of her neck, and, immediately, just like that, she was going nowhere.  Now all she could do in protest was kick her legs - which did her absolutely no good and simply managed to exhaust her - and to flail at him with the free hand that was on the same side as he was.  Fawna quickly discovered that it was like slapping a concrete wall, and somehow she knew that her attempts at causing him harm were merely managing to amuse him, so she stopped.

She couldn’t believe how God awful this spanking was.  It had to be one of the worst she’d ever endured.

“Thank you for the compliment,” Max interjected into her misery without missing a beat of the rhythm of his swats.

At least he didn’t simply spank in one spot, but his hand was large enough that he couldn’t avoid catching the same areas over and over again, even though he did seem to carefully alternate cheeks, as if this was something he was quite familiar with doing.  What he was doing that was almost worse than the pain he was inflicting was that when his hand when it made contact with her rounded cheeks, his fingers curved just slightly, so that they almost always brushed not quite an intimate area of her, but definitely a more intimate area than she wanted him to be touching.

It was as if he wanted to remind her, frequently, that he had the right to touch her there, too.

Which, of course, he didn’t.

“Oh, but I do, Cherie.”

“You – ah – oh – do – yeow! – ow!  not!”  He was ratcheting up the caliber of his strokes as she defied him verbally.

He ended the spanking with a flurry of sharp, searing swats that left her breathlessly unable to control the way she was wiggling and trying to escape his hold.  How she hated to be helpless – even with Dag, whom she trusted with her life, but especially with this man, who she knew would really prefer to see her dead.

Max let her up at that thought, running it through his own mind and recognizing that there was a certain amount of veracity to it – that there had been, at least, for several centuries.  But now, having met and gotten to know her even just slightly, he wasn’t at all sure that that was still true.  His estimation of Dag’s selection of mate was rising by the second.  Perhaps he would have to rethink his original plan.

Perhaps.  If he continued to find her as enchanting has he had.

Fawna had immediately upon becoming upright, of course, reached down for her pants and panties, but Max caught her hand and brought it up to his shoulder, holding her against him, pressing her to him by placing that big, punishing palm of his over her ravaged bottom, and lifting her feet once again well off the floor.

The thought crossed her mind, however fleetingly, that her next damned boyfriend was going to be short, dammit, not that she categorized Max as a boyfriend, but he certainly was taking liberties as if he put himself into that category.

She caught her breath.  He might as well have given her another smack; his touch forced her to crowd against him – exactly where she didn’t want to be.  It was the first time she ever really considered him; Fawna had spent most of her time trying to avoid him, but it was damned near impossible at this point.

He was at least as tall as Dag, if not taller.  Darker, definitely, in more ways than one.  Black hair, almost too much of it, some hunks that fell rakishly over his forehead.  Black eyes that enticed and invited then trapped one in their depths. And a black soul she’d already experienced mingled with her own lightness when those razor sharp incisors slipped into her vein.

Suddenly, a thought struck her.  “Is that how you can read my thoughts?”  She remembered that Dag had that gift, but not all vampires did, but it was a connection that was usually established through the blood.

“Yes.”

Tears filled her eyes again, but for a very different reason than a few minutes ago.  “Is that why Dag left?  Because you bit me?”  She wished, just this once, that she could read his mind, if only so that she could get the answers she sought.  She could – in time – accept the fact Dag was gone.  But not to know why would be like a knife in her heart to her dying day.  He had blindsided her to the extent that she would doubt herself, question every move she made with every man she became involved with from here on out.  How could she possibly trust any man ever again?

Max thought about answering her question, but there were, of course, complications, as there always were with everything about humans, and he decided to distract her instead.  “You look famished.  Why don’t you put your clothes on and fix yourself some dinner.  Is there anything to eat in here?  I noticed you didn’t have any bags with you.”

She knew exactly what he was doing, but the mention of food, as always, had her famished – and depressed even more so - so she allowed herself to be diverted, for the moment as she dressed with all expediency, before he changed his mind.  Mercurial things, vampires, given to changes in mood, she knew well, and she wasn’t going to get caught half naked trying to make dinner just because he had a whim.  “No, this place is kept pretty well stocked.  Dain is in and out of it, although less than he was before my—”

  Fawna clamped her mouth shut.  She was cooking and talking to him as he leaned up against the counter, arms folded over his chest, like she had done with Dag so often before.  She needed to keep her mouth shut, and somehow marshal her thoughts against him, too, although she knew that was a lost cause.

“Yes, it pretty much is.  Your mind is entirely undisciplined.”  He surprised her away from being very insulted by his comment by dunking his finger into the marinade she was making for a steak she was thawing.  “You eat?”

“No, but I like to taste things.”

“Oh.”  She supposed she should offer him something to drink. She figured he probably liked red wine, as Dag did, and her family had quite an extensive wine cellar on one of the lower levels, but then she decided she didn’t want to treat him that nicely, especially considering what he’d done to her.

That didn’t matter much to him.  While she occupied herself with cooking, he disappeared for long enough to find the cellar and a very good, expensive bottle of wine.  He didn’t have any concerns about leaving her alone.  Her inability to suppress her thinking would have broadcast any attempt at escape, and he would have been able to intercept her easily.  He almost found himself hoping she would make that attempt – it would give him another excuse to spank her.

After popping the cork, he offered her some, which she declined politely, then poured himself a glass and spent the rest of the time avidly watching her cook.  She prepared a small steak, seared to medium and served in a quick onion and garlic red wine sauce, thanks to him, freshly steamed petite baby carrots, and garlic mashed potatoes.

She brought her meal back into the den to take a seat on the sofa she’d so recently been bent ignominiously over, and flipped on the television, finally settling down to watch an episode of
Nurse Jackie
.