Page 27 of Whatever Lola Wants (Odyssey #2)

She slid off the stool and snagged two from the cupboard, handing them to him at the stove. He clicked off the flame under both skillets and divided the food between the plates. The bacon was crisp, the eggs were fluffy, and her mouth was watering.

He carried the plates to the counter, and she snagged forks before following, climbing up onto the stool next to him.

“Dig in,” he told her.

She closed her eyes in bliss as she bit into the bacon. “ You know, I was wishing for bacon when you walked in the door.”

“So, I’m , what, the bacon fairy?”

She snickered. “ I’m having that put on a t-shirt for you. With a cute little winged pig.”

He shot her a look—a very Dom -like look. “ I’ll wear it, but for every comment it gets, I get to slap your ass with a paddle.”

“Okay, bad idea.” Still , it made her squirm. She darted a glance at him and saw him watching her with amusement. Resisting the urge to stick her tongue out at him, she applied herself to her food.

“Are you always this hungry the morning after a hard scene?”

She winced and laid her fork down. “ Not usually,” she said and picked up her coffee.

His eyes narrowed as he took in the sudden change in her body language. “ What ?”

She took a deep breath. “ I haven’t actually eaten since lunch yesterday.”

His eyes went sharp, his mouth firming into a harsh line. “ You didn’t eat dinner last night?”

“I know, I know.” She held up a hand. “ Big mistake, and no doubt the reason I crashed so hard. I just…forgot.”

He laid his fork down carefully. “ You don’t fucking forget to eat before a scene, Lola . You fucking know better than that.”

He rarely cursed, so the fact he was dropping f-bombs was an indicator of how angry he was. And he had every right to be. “ I know. It was a rookie mistake.”

“It was a dangerous mistake,” he countered, the anger in his voice making her wince. “ And if you were my submissive, I’d paddle your ass for it.”

She set her coffee down with a sigh. “ Okay .”

“Okay, what?”

She turned on her stool so face him fully. “ Okay , you can punish me for it.”

He stared at her for a moment, then shook his head. “ This is the most ass backward relationship.”

This is a relationship ? she thought, then dismissed it to focus on the issue at hand. “ What do you mean?”

“You giving me permission to punish you.”

“I agree it’s a little unorthodox?—"

“Understatement,” he muttered.

“—and we don’t have a D /s relationship. But we do have, well, a play relationship, I guess you could say, and I screwed it up. So , in that context, and in the interest of putting it behind us, I think a punishment is appropriate.”

He was staring at her, his eyes still dark with anger, his face set. “ You’re right.”

Her sense of relief at his agreement was short-lived.

Simon shoved back from the breakfast bar and strode into the living area. He eyed her sofa with its deep, soft cushions, and the two similarly outfitted chairs before sitting down on the edge of the coffee table. “ Over here.”

Well, shit. She slid off the stool and approached, stopping when she stood in front of him.

His eyes were hard, his jaw tight. “ Take off the robe,” he said, and the tone of his voice left no doubt that it wasn’t a request.

Well, she’d asked for it. Her hands fumbled with the knot in the belt, trembling slightly. When it finally slipped free, she let the robe fall to the floor.

She stood before him, naked and more nervous than she thought she’d be.

She’d suggested the punishment to put their relationship back in balance, but she hadn’t anticipated how it would make her feel.

She was so used to seeing warmth and affection in his expression, the lack of it had dread settling into the pit of her stomach.

She fixed her gaze over his shoulder and concentrated on breathing slow and easy while she waited for whatever he was going to do.

She hoped he’d do it fast before she cracked.

“Look at me, Lola .”

She dropped her gaze to his, unable to ignore the note of command in his tone. His face was like stone—immovable, emotionless. Scary .

No, she didn’t like this at all.

His gaze swept over her face, no doubt making note of all the signs of her growing agitation. The tight muscles in her face and neck, the accelerated pulse that would be visible in the hollow of her throat, the hands that clenched into fists at her sides.

He frowned. “ Are you afraid of me? Afraid I’ll harm you?”

She blinked, startled. “ No . Of course not.”

“Then, what?”

Was he kidding? She stared at him. “ I don’t like punishment.”

That drew a slight smile. “ Neither do I .” He waited a moment, watching her. “ If you can’t handle this, we can find another way?—”

She shook her head so violently it almost left her dizzy. “ No .”

Now a curious light came into his eyes. “ Tell me why.”

She drew a deep breath. “ Because it’s unbalanced.

I screwed up, and I can apologize all day long, and we both know I mean it and we both know I’ll be more careful in the future, but this is how D /s relationships work.

Or top/bottom relationships, or whatever you want to call whatever we’re doing together?—”

His smile deepened, but she didn’t pause.

“—and if I’d forgotten a dinner date or something, there’s no way I’d be suggesting this. I fucking hate this. But the screw-up affected our scene, and not addressing it will affect our dynamic which will affect any future scenes, so we have to deal with it.”

He nodded soberly. “ I think I followed that. And I agree.”

Her breath rushed out of her lungs, her eyes closing with relief.

“Eyes on me, Lola .”

She forced herself to look at him again. He watched her closely, carefully, and a curious warmth lurked in their golden depths. It soothed her, that warmth, and she clung to it.

“On a scale of one to ten, how anxious are you right now?”

Four hundred and thirty-three . “ Six , heading toward seven.”

“Then let’s get on with it before you jump out of your skin.” He patted his lap. “ Belly down, butt up.”

She wanted to call the whole thing off. I changed my mind. I’ll write you a check, scrub your toilets for a month, take out a full page add in the Chicago Tribune declaring Simon Hastings the best lover who ever lived!

Instead, she sucked in a breath and draped herself over his lap.

He put a heavy hand between her shoulder blades, nudging her forward so her hands reached the floor and her ass was high in the air.

She had no control over her body in this position; she was short enough that her legs stuck almost straight out behind her, and the only thing keeping her on his lap was his hand on her back and the arm he’d laid across her thighs.

The utter lack of control made her head spin.

“Breathe, sweetheart,” he ordered, and she realized she was holding her breath. His hand stroked over her back as she sucked in air, blew it out, then did it again, trying to quiet her mind.

Fat chance of that.

When her head had stopped revolving, she gave a short nod, and she felt his hand shift from her back to rest on her buttocks while his other arm held her in place. She struggled not to tense her muscles, knowing it would only make the coming pain worse, and concentrated on her breathing.

“I’m not going to make you count,” he told her. “ Nor am I going to set a limit on the number of swats. I will continue until I think you’ve had enough. Do you understand?”

She nodded, and his fingers tightened on her hip. “ I need a verbal answer, Lola .”

She swallowed audibly. “ Yes , Sir . I understand.”

Her voice was barely a whisper, but he heard her. “ Good girl,” he said, and the approval in his voice slid over her like a warm blanket.

Then his hand lifted, his other arm pressed down on her thighs, and his hand came down on her butt

The sharp crack filled the air even as the stinging pain stole her breath. She didn’t have time to gather it, to pull her scattered senses back in and prepare herself for the next one, because it came nearly on top of the first. And the next, and the next.

Steadily, without pause, his hand came down. Over and over, one cheek, then the other. Sometimes across the tops of her thighs, sometimes right on the split between her buttocks. He sometimes struck the same spot twice in a row, sometimes not. Her mind struggled to anticipate, but she couldn’t.

The heat was overwhelming, the pain swamping her mind until she could do nothing but feel. Her skin felt burned, bruised, and the impact of each spank jarred her whole body. She felt those blows in her belly, her chest. Her heart.

The blows never got lighter or harder. His hand came down with the same level of force, the same intensity every time. Steady and sure, with deliberateness. Not anger. Never anger.

Tears rolled down her cheeks, her breath coming in harsh sobs with each crack of his hand on her tender skin.

Her fingers dug into the rug, needing something to hold on to, but the fabric was too smooth, the pile too short to cling to.

She wrapped her hands around his ankle instead, feeling the worn leather of his boot and the warmth of his body beneath it.

She clung, unable to do anything but take what he was giving her.

Then suddenly it was over, and his big hands were pulling her up. Dizzy with the abrupt transition, she closed her eyes, tears leaking from beneath swollen lids as he pulled her to stand between his spread knees.

“Shh. I’ve got you,” he murmured, and she pressed her face to his shoulder. Hands that had been hard and punishing now soothed, lifting her to cradle her against his chest while he stroked her back, her hair.

She cried and cried and cried some more, and through it all he simply held her.

When she’d quieted, when her breathing had slowed and her body had almost stopped trembling, he shifted her so her butt rested on his denim clad thigh.

Her breath hissed out and she stiffened—her butt hurt —making him chuckle quietly.

He slipped his fingers under her chin to tilt her head up, and she opened her eyes.

He stroked her cheek gently. “ Tell me what you learned, Lola .”

She drew in a shuddering breath. “ That I can’t play if I haven’t eaten. And if I do, I’m in big trouble.”

His lips curved. “ And why are you in big trouble?”

“Because putting myself in danger is not acceptable.”

His smile deepened, his eyes warm with approval and affection. “ Good girl. You did very well. I’m proud of you.”

Her chest swelled with warmth at the praise, and she gave a husky laugh. “ Thank you, Sir .”

She shifted, intending to get off his lap, but he simply tightened his hold. “ Stay here for a minute, will you? I like this part.”

So she stayed cradled in his arms, his big hands stroking her hair, while their eggs grew cold and sunlight streamed through the windows.