I stand with my back to the entryway door to my apartment building, my eyes closed tight. I listen as he walks away, not moving until I hear the door to his car close, the engine turning over, and then pulling away from the curb. Swallowing the lump in my throat, I breathe in deeply, preparing myself for whatever Chad needs tonight. I’m spent, though. Exhausted.

“I’m such a bitch,” I whisper to myself, tears pricking my closed eyelids. “Everything he did… he was almost nice, and I was nothing but a bitch. He must hate me.”

I feel a tear roll down my cheek but don’t stop it. Shaking my head, I give myself the lecture I need to hear.

You are not a bitch.

It’s been a stressful night.

And he’s nothing to you anyway.

But no… it’s a lie. Since my husband left me, I haven’t felt anything even close to what Tobias awakened in me. The arousal, fury, and raw attraction he causes frustrates me because I can’t control it.

And as I walk up the rickety stairs that take me to my apartment, I can’t get him out of my mind. I can still feel the way my body heats at the sound of his voice, still feel the smack of his goddamned paddle on my ass.

And hell if that didn’t turn me on.

I shake my head, attempting to clear my mind, but as I hit the top step and take my keys out of my pocket, my phone buzzes.

It’s Tobias. Don’t forget to call me tomorrow.

I frown.

I told you I would and I’m a person of my word. I’ll call you by eight.

I humph as I slide my key in the lock. Another buzz.

Just reminding you.

For Christ’s sake. Thangks

Ugh. I type again.

Thanls

Shit! Growling out loud, I type with finality.

THANKS!!!

No need to thank me three times or to yell, but you’re welcome.

He sends a smiley face with its tongue sticking out, then Sleep well, Diana.

I can hear his deep voice bidding me goodnight.

Smiling in spite of myself, I push open the apartment door, and brace myself for whatever awaits me. Thankfully, everything is calm when I enter. Mandy’s fast asleep on the couch, her thick copy of Anatomy and Physiology half open beside her on the coffee table, her head lolling to the side as she softly snores. I can’t help smiling. Mandy is a good babysitter, but she is a full-time college student and babysits for several people in the building. She’s often asleep not much longer after Chad goes to bed.

The small apartment’s tidy, and I feel a peace settle inside me, the peace I always feel when coming home. I inhale the light scent of cinnamon from the candle on the coffee table—unlit, as Chad freaks around lit candles—and slide out of my heels, sighing with relief. I can’t wait to get into my pajamas and crawl into bed. Gently, I nudge Mandy, who sits straight up with a gasp.

“I didn’t mean to startle you,” I whisper, trying not to wake Chad. “I’m home and just wanted to let you know. Want to spend the night here?”

Mandy often crashes on the couch after babysitting, and leaves for school in the morning.

“Mmm,” Mandy mumbles. “Thank you.”

“No problem. Night, honey. Sleep well.” I lift a folded blanket from the back of the couch, and flick it open over Mandy, who falls back asleep almost immediately.

Sleep well.

A small gesture. A simple phrase. Still, my chest warms at the thought, and I allow myself a brief moment of fantasizing about him saying those words to me while I lay beside his strong, sturdy frame, as he tucks a blanket around me.

It isn’t about the sex. I just want to sleep next to him.

I imagine him yanking his shirt off and stripping down to his boxers, then joining me in bed. My body warms at the thought.

Ok, it’s definitely about the sex, too.

I pad down the carpeted hallway to check on Chad, my eyes now heavy with exhaustion. The door to his room is halfway open, as he likes it. He hates having his door closed and needs a nightlight to sleep. The little wand-shaped nightlight is plugged into the wall, illuminating a half-circle behind it, and his soft breathing calms me. Mandy was good to get him back to sleep when he woke. Many nights, he needs me to help him back to bed, or listen to him talk about his dreams, or sit by his side and hold his hand until he falls asleep. His father left us in the middle of the night—packed his bags, and when we woke in the morning, he was gone. Chad hates going to sleep.

Chad’s light brown, curly hair falls onto his forehead and pillow, his sweet face at peace in sleep. A well-worn copy of Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone lays on the table next to him. I watch as his shoulders rise and fall in slumber. I like how the little worry line between his brow softens when he sleeps. In the morning, he’ll be full of questions for me about what I did tonight. But for now, he sleeps, and I’m grateful.

Padding back down the hall, I walk to my bedroom, take out a fluffy pair of sky blue pajama bottoms and a tank top and toss them on the bed, then strip out of my clothes. Exhaustion makes my limbs ache, my eyes are scratchy from lack of sleep. I step out of my panties but before I slip into my night clothes, I walk to the full-length mirror that hangs on the back of my bedroom door. Biting my lip, with a sharp intake of breath, I spin around to get a good glimpse of my ass.

The skin’s a bright pink, and there’s even a rounded shape on one cheek. A mark from the paddle.

My heart thumps wildly in my chest, even as my mind goes crazy.

Get him out of your mind. He SPANKED you. Only crazy people do that.

Philippa hadn’t seemed crazy, and she was definitely a regular. Hell… Tobias didn’t seem crazy. He’s just… stern. Old-fashioned.

It doesn’t even make sense that pain makes you horny.

No! God, no, I’m not horny, I lie to myself, turning around to take in my naked breasts, full, with peaked nipples.

He hadn’t even kissed me. He’d only spanked me.

I keyed his car! Besides he isn’t boyfriend material. God.

I practically run to the bathroom to finish getting ready for bed.

I will not fantasize about Tobias. I will not pull out my trusty vibrator and replay the spanking he’d given me, or fantasize about being tied up, or anything like that.

Nope. No way.

But as I close my eyes, the memory of his strong, sturdy, sexy as hell body comes to mind and despite my mental protestations, I find myself fantasizing, my hand between my legs working myself to climax at the memory of the spanking bench, and his deep, commanding voice, before I drift off to a restful, dreamless sleep.

* * *

“Mama? Mama, you awake?”

I roll over, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes, and looking at my tousled-haired son staring down at me.

“Do I look awake?” I mutter in a sleepy growl.

“You do now.”

I laugh. “Fair enough. Morning, sweetie.”

Chad throws his arms around my neck and squeezes tight. “I missed you last night.”

Nodding, I push myself to sitting in bed and yawn widely. “I missed you, too, baby. Did you have fun with Mandy?”

He nods. “We played Uno. I won.”

“You always win at Uno.”

“Yup. It’s because I’m really good at it.”

Chad doesn’t pull any punches, but states the bald facts.

He tips his head to the side. “What’s for breakfast?”

I sigh and close my eyes. “Cereal. Lemme sleep. Ugh, I’m exhausted. What time is it, anyway?”

I don’t have anywhere to go on a Saturday morning, because I work Monday through Friday when Chad’s in school.

“It’s seven oh-nine.”

“It’s still dark out,” I mumble, before a bright light and the snapping sound of shades being lifted make me sit up straight in bed.

“Chad!”

He shrugs. “Just making it not dark in here anymore.”

“Hmph. Thanks.”

I glance at my phone. I told Tobias I’d call him by eight, but now that I’m waking, my stomach churns with nerves.

I don’t want to call him.

I won’t shirk my responsibility for what I did, but I don’t want to deal with the arrogant son of a bitch straight out of bed either.

Ok, so maybe he’s not exactly an arrogant son of a bitch. I think of how he walked me to the door and held my hand when I had an anxiety attack.

The memory of him spanking my ass flashes in my mind, too.

Yeah. He’s a jerk.

I follow Chad, noting that Mandy is gone, when the door buzzes. Chad goes into the living room and taps the intercom.

“Yeah.” Remembering to greet people is a social skill we’re still working on.

“Chad,” I chide. I’m in no position to entertain anyone. I don’t even have a bra on.

Chad looks at me and shrugs. “Hello. Who is this?”

For a brief moment, I panic. Is it him? Would he come back so soon?

“Beatrice here! Lemme up, kiddo.”

Chad pushes the button without responding. I go to the coffee maker, grab a pod from the basket on the counter, pop it in and push the button. I need coffee, pronto.

“You shouldn’t drink that,” Chad rebukes, standing in the other room with his arms crossed on his chest. “Caffeine is bad for you.”

“An uncaffeinated mama is bad for you,” I retort. “Trust me. Hazardous to your health,” I mutter, as the delicious liquid sputters then streams into my cup. A knock sounds at the door.

“Make sure you—”

But Chad opens the door, and Beatrice saunters in.

“Gotta check who’s at the door, kiddo,” Beatrice admonishes, side stepping into the room. “My God, Diana. You’re still in your jammies?”

She walks over to me wearing yoga pants and a top, a hooded sweatshirt, and sneakers.

“Shut up,” I mumble. “You’re back from yoga, right?” I take my mug and slosh French vanilla creamer into it, give it a quick stir, then slurp it down. “Ahhhhh.” I exhale, momentarily closing my eyes.

“Mama says it’s dangerous for me if she doesn’t have her coffee,” Chad says, going into the kitchen and opening a cupboard.

“Hell yeah,” Beatrice agrees, pulling out a chair at the table in the dining area. “Baby, it’s better for everyone that your mom has her coffee.”

“I wish I had a donut,” Chad says.

“Me, too,” I agree.

Beatrice wrinkles her nose. “I cannot unravel an hour of yoga by eating those things.”

I snort, before taking another sip of coffee. I swallow, giving her a look. “You’d rather unravel it with beer. I know, you have priorities.”

“Damn right,” Beatrice says. “Ok, so…” she looks to Chad. “Chad, baby, I have a new game on my phone and need some help. I can’t get past the licorice swamp level.”

Chad rolls his eyes and holds out his hand. “It’s all about strategy. Gotta break the cages on the bottom row first, before you even look at the pastilles in the top row.”

Beatrice shakes her head with mock disbelief. “You’re a wonder,” she says. “Do me a favor. Break this level, while your mom gets changed and we have a talk?”

He shrugs. “If you really want me to.”

Beatrice hands him her phone, and I walk toward the bathroom. “Honey, grab some cereal, okay?”

“Yeah.”

He sits on the couch and is already swiping his fingers across Beatrice’s phone.

I stalk into the bathroom and grab a plush pink towel, putting it on the counter. “Ok, I know you’re here to pry,” I begin. “So why don’t you just cut to the chase?”

“Diana!”

I snort, running the water in the shower, steam rising in the small bathroom.

“Ok, so. You were… taken into his club. His office. What happened? Girl, this is killing me over here. I hated leaving you there with a stranger.”

I grin, stepping into the tub and stripping out of my clothes. I toss them into the basket on the other side of the tub and start to soap up under the stream of hot water.

“He was beyond pissed. And he wanted me to pay for what I did. I, stupidly, thought it would be smart to contact the insurance company, but he reminded me that they will not cover an act of intentional vandalism.”

“Oh my God.” Beatrice sits on the toilet, her shadow just on the other side of the curtain.

“Ok, so then we go into his club, and I’m still thinking I’m just going to figure out a way for insurance to cover it when he tells me that we’ll either make an arrangement for me to pay, or he’ll notify his police officer friend, who you may have heard him refer to outside?”

“Yes!”

“And I promised him I’d pay. But then he got all…” I pause, running a razor over my soaped-up legs. “Bossy.”

“He got bossy? Babe, he was born bossy. The only shitty part about this was that you met by keying his damn car. It would’ve been so much nicer in any other circumstance. He could’ve been the one, Diana.”

“Oh for God’s sakes, don’t start that again. There is no one. No one’s going to rescue me. So stop it.”

Beatrice sighs. “Sorry. Okay so you went into the club and gave him your number?”

“Then his police officer friend called. It seems there was a sexual assault victim last night.”

“Thank you, NYC,” Beatrice moans. “When isn’t there?”

“Well, there’s a problem though. Someone from the club supposedly instigated this or something.”

“His club? What kind of club is it?”

I feel my cheeks flush, and it isn’t just the hot water. “A BDSM club,” I say in a rush.

I can hear Beatrice’s audible gasp even over the sound of the water.

“Oh my God!”

“It gets worse.”

“How can it get worse? Girl, you keyed the car of a… dom?”

I giggle in spite of myself. “Yup.”

“Did he… what did he do to you?”

“Well, nothing for the car incident.” I soap up my arms and chest, wondering if it is wise to tell Beatrice, but I have to. “But, um… we had to go into the club… And I got super curious. So while we waited during the investigation, I got another member there to give me a tour. Against his instructions. And he was… not pleased.”

“How not pleased?”

“He may have… spanked me.” The outrage returns. “He spanked me!”

“Well, if he asked you not to go, and you did anyway…”

“Beatrice!”

“What? Facts are facts.”

“I’m a grown woman.”

“A grown woman who acted like a child!”

“Whose side are you on, anyway?” I squeeze the loofah aggressively and soap my legs with vigor.

“Yours, babe.” I squeal when the curtain pulls back and Beatrice stands in the gaping hole, letting the cold air hit me. “Turn around. I don’t wanna see your tits, I need to see if you’re still marked.”

“Beatrice!”

Beatrice just glares and twirls her finger around to indicate she wants me to show her my ass.

“For Christ’s sake,” I mutter. “No privacy!”

“None. I wanna see.”

Shaking my head, I show her my ass, weirdly proud of the marks I bear.

“Oooh,” she says. “Your ass is sorta pink, like you’ve been spanked. There’s even like this half-moon shaped mark. You always did have a nice ass.” The shower curtain shuts, and Beatrice resumes her place on the toilet seat.

“I can’t believe you just did that.”

“Eh, we’ve seen each other naked hundreds of times. I can’t believe you keyed the car of a dominant, then disobeyed him in his club, and got spanked.”

I sigh and shut the water off.

“I am so jealous.”

“What?”

“I am! I want a spanking. I wanna be dominated,” her voice pitches off into a whine.

“It wasn’t like that. He just… humiliated me,” I say, grabbing the towel. I towel-dry my hair. “It wasn’t sexy.”

“Honey, if that man orders coffee, it’s sexy.”

The memory of how wet I’d gotten the night before from just remembering the way he put me over the spanking bench in the club makes me squirm.

I shake my head. “Anyway, yeah, a night for the books. And now I’m supposed to call him today and figure out how much I owe him.” My voice catches at the end.

Beatrice stands, comb in one hand, my bottle of Super Curl in the other. She spins the comb around, instructing me to let her at the curls. No one can tame my curls like Bea.

“Aw, babe.” her voice is soft and soothing. “Maybe it won’t be so bad.”

“Doesn’t damage to a car cost… like a shit ton of money?”

“Well… maybe he’ll get a deal?” Beatrice says helpfully.

I just sigh again, my head tugging back as Beatrice combs through my curls.

“Maybe,” I whisper.

“Listen, babe. You’ve paid your share of shit dues. You’ve been handed the worst luck of anyone I know. Between your string of asshole exes, your miserable excuse for a father drinking away your inheritance in a move destined to break records in liver destruction, losing your job at Markell, and…” her voice trails off, and neither of us needs to hear the last stroke of bad luck.

“Chad isn’t bad luck,” I whisper. “He just… needs a bit more.”

Beatrice hugs me from behind, her voice thick with emotion. “I didn’t say he was. I was gonna say the Yankees losing in the World Series last year.”

I laugh, even though my eyes cloud with tears. Sure, she was.

“Yeah. I could use some good luck,” I say with a nod. “But some days, it’s all about working your ass off, and has shit all to do with luck.”

We both jump as Chad pounds on the door. “Mom! We are out of the cereal with red berries. And why are you two in the bathroom together? That’s super weird.”

I can’t help but snicker. “She’s just doing my hair, honey,” I yell. “I’ll be ready in five minutes.”

“I need cereal now. I hate that shredded wheat stuff. I’m starving!”

I feel my nerves rise. “Chad, wait.”

“My stomach hurts I’m so hungry.”

I turn away from Beatrice, needing this conversation to end. I push open the door to the bathroom. Not a lot can make my son happy, but one thing that always does is a frosted donut.

“We’ll go to Tulio’s and get a donut. Okay?”

My phone vibrates. I pick it up, and glance at the message.

Just checking. That eight o’clock phone call? That was eastern time, right?

I grin, flushing a bit, before I respond. Sorry, my son needed me. Will call soon!

I like toying with the Big, Bad Dom.

I quickly pull on jeans and a red sweater, a thin but warm one that dips a bit low in the front and hugs my curves, then fluff out my still-damp hair, and quickly dab a little makeup on. Just a touch of foundation and gloss, but for today I also run a mascara brush through my lashes.

I never wear mascara. And it has nothing to do with the fact that I’ll likely meet up with Tobias or something. Nothing.

Pulling on a pair of low-heeled boots, I imagine him frowning at his phone, and a part of me feels a twinge of guilt, but not enough to call him. The idea of speaking to him again… no, I can’t do it. Maybe I can resolve this whole thing by text.

I pick up my phone. Another text from him.

Define “soon.”

I can hear the deep, corrective tone in his text. My heart flutters a little, and I’m just about to respond when a loud pounding sounds at my door.

“I’m starving, mom.”

“Okay, okay, I’m coming,” I mutter, ignoring the demand on the phone in favor of the demand on the other side of the door.

When I open the door, Chad’s glaring at me. “Why did you take so long?”

“I was getting ready. Now stop being so selfish, Chad. You want donuts, I’m getting you donuts.”

“I’m starving!”

“You are not starving. Children in third world countries who have nothing to eat but rice are starving. And if you’re that hungry, we have plenty of food here you could’ve eaten.”

He quiets, and Beatrice gives me a sympathetic look. Sometimes I feel like I get it from all sides, people telling me I spoil him. And maybe I do, a little, but I feel responsible for his father leaving us. Beatrice knows better than to give me that lecture. I don’t really spoil him, per se. But I know he struggles with things not being the way he expects them, and I want my kid happy.

The three of us walk to Tulio’s together. Icy wind whips at my hair and cheeks, and I pull my coat tighter. God, it’s freezing out, and snow is on the way.

The scent of cinnamon and sugar and coffee fills my senses when we arrive, and I inhale deeply. I love this place. It’s been around since I was a kid. It’s the place my daddy frequented and yeah, my dad had been an alcoholic who couldn’t hold down a job, or pay his bills, which earned righteous scorn from Beatrice, but despite what people said, he’d loved me. And this place had been special. Just ours.

My eyes feel heavy from lack of sleep, and the thought of the phone call and expenses I face make my nerves churn. I need more coffee, stat, and a chocolate donut. As I take in the sight of frosted cakes and cookies, and the small line of customers ahead of us, Chad goes up to the window that houses the donuts, and I watch as his back goes rigid.

Crap. Rigidity is often the prelude to a meltdown. My breath catches in my throat

“Chad?”

The customers in front of me finish placing their orders, and I go up to the counter to order as Beatrice walks over to Chad. “What’s up, honey? Find your donut?”

“No,” he responds, far louder than necessary.

Aw, shit. I clear my throat. “I’m sure they have vanilla frosted somewhere, honey,” I say hopefully, flashing a big grin to the cashier. “Right?”

The teenaged girl shakes her head sadly. “Sorry. We sold out this morning and won’t have any more until tomorrow.” The smile freezes on her face when she sees Chad’s hands clenched into fists by his side.

“None?” I try. “You can’t… make some more?”

The girl’s face falls. “So sorry. We can’t, no.”

Okay, alright then. “I’ll have a Boston cream for me, and an extra-large coffee with an espresso shot.”

And Bailey’s, too, I think grimly.

“No Boston cream either.”

Well for fuck’s sake.

“Chocolate covered?” I turn to look at Beatrice, hoping we can come up with a solution, but there’s no such thing as a solution where Chad’s concerned. He digs his heels in, wants what he wants, rigidity one of his many challenges. He can’t handle seams in his socks, his chair moved out of order at school, a substitute teacher, or a strawberry frosted donut when he’s expecting vanilla. I inhale deeply, then exhale. Beatrice shakes her head and puts up her hands in a helpless gesture. “No idea,” she mouths.

The door to the bakery jangles, and before I even turn, I feel him. The now familiar scent of power and grace and masculinity envelopes me.

Can this morning get any worse?

I turn my head just to confirm that yes, indeed, Tobias stands behind me. He blinks in surprise. So this is as much as a surprise to him as it is to me. At least he’s not following me.

I smile. “Morning. We were just… ordering donuts.”

He gives me a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Morning. Clearly. Go on, don’t let me disturb you.” He gestures to the counter. The sarcasm makes my stomach clench. And God, why does he have to look so damn good? He wears black boots and a long-sleeved, olive-green t-shirt that stretches taut against the large expanse of his chest, the color accentuating his swarthy skin. The t-shirt’s tucked into his jeans at his narrow waist, his hands astride his hips.

I clear my throat.

“I want a vanilla-frosted donut,” Chad says. “Nothing but vanilla.”

The girl at the counter looks abashed and merely shakes her head. “We have lemon?”

Chad’s eyes cloud, his hands still clenched in fists. “I hate lemon.”

“We could go home,” Beatrice suggests, “and pick up some of that cereal you like on the way?”

“Mom said I could have a donut.” Chad’s voice is barely controlled, rising in pitch. My son is gonna have a meltdown, right here where Tobias can see. No.

I try again. “Honey, we’ve established that they don’t have the one we want.”

Chad growls. “I want vanilla!”

“Wouldn’t get that kid a donut,” mutters an elderly lady exiting the shop. “In my day, kids weren’t so damn spoiled.” My cheeks flush, my chest hot and tight.

“Whoa, now.” I hear Tobias’s deep voice behind me. Oh, no. He is not stepping into this.

He speaks with authority, his voice calm. “They don’t have vanilla, kiddo. But you know what I order? I like the glazed bow ties. It’s a very manly donut. Don’t you think? Bow ties and all?”

Chad blinks up at Tobias and his mouth parts open a little.

I watch in wonder.

“A bow tie?” Chad repeats.

“Mmhmm,” Tobias continues in his deep voice. “They’re bigger than the other donuts and perfectly glazed here. I highly recommend them. But like I said, they’re kinda… manly.” He frowns a bit. “You think you’re man enough to handle that, though?”

Chad looks to the counter, then back to Tobias, and back to the counter again. “Of course I can handle it,” he finally says.

I blink. Seriously?

“I’ll take two bow ties,” Tobias says over my head. “Add her order to mine.”

“You don’t need to—”

His sharp tone cuts me off. “Go find us a table, Diana.”

Swallowing hard, I remind myself that he has good reason to be pissed. We need a table. No, I won’t cow to the bossy man. It just makes good sense to do what he says.

“Fine,” I say, sputtering a reluctant, “Thank you.”

“I’ll be going now,” Beatrice says, her eyes doing a quick but chaste once-over of Tobias. She nods approvingly, winks at me, and leaves. The jerk.

Tobias pays for our order and without meeting my eyes, orders, “Table.”