Chapter Eleven
Hannah
“I’m so sorry,” I said after Brett had backed the car over the curb. His jaw was clenched as were his fingers on the wheel, but what scared me the most was that he only nodded. I knew he was furious, and understood, but it still hurt that he didn’t speak.
“I don’t blame you for being mad,” I said softly.
“Hannah, I’m not mad. I passed mad the moment I saw that bastard’s hand on you.”
I couldn’t help but shudder; the feel of that hand, the smell of his breath, the look in his eyes as he snarled that he’d show me what happened to cockteasers, washed over me.
“I-I didn’t want him to touch me,” I said.
He finally looked over. “I know.” And though he didn’t say another word, I understood that if I hadn’t gone in the first place, I wouldn’t have been mauled by a guy high on some drug. I wouldn’t have put my husband in a position to possibly be hurt or arrested for beating or possibly killing a man. Guilt flooded through me, but I had no idea how to make it up to him. We made the rest of the drive in silence.
Once we entered the house, I waited for him to order me to stand ‘at ease’, but he simply continued to lead me through the house with his hand on the small of my back. He didn’t stop until we were in the bathroom. After turning on the shower, he took the hem of my dress and pulled it over my head, tossing it not on the floor, but in the trash. Peeling down my panties, he threw them away as well. Stripping himself, he pulled me into the shower.
“What about—”
“I can’t think, can’t talk until I know that his touch is washed off you,” Brett cut in to say.
We’d shared baths and showers and they’d all involved intimate touches, slow drags of fingers over skin, caresses that meant to arouse as well as cleanse. This was not one of those. Brett poured body wash onto a cloth, and I could feel tears welling at the sight of his hand actually trembling as he reached toward my breast. I didn’t say a word as he scrubbed far harder than necessary. Hell, it wasn’t hard enough as far as I was concerned. He didn’t linger, moving the cloth to wash the rest of me before adding more soap to wash himself. I reached for the shampoo and scrubbed my hair, which I knew had to reek of smoke. Closing my eyes against the tears that threatened to spill and the water that sluiced over my head, I rinsed for a long time. When I opened them, it was to see that Brett was already out of the shower, pulling on a pair of sweats over a body that he hadn’t taken the time to dry.
I shut off the water and stepped out, reaching for a towel. Wrapping it around me, I took another and began to rub it against my hair.
“What… what do you want me to do?” I finally asked.
Shaking his head, he said, “All that matters is that you are okay.”
Okay? I wasn’t okay, not by a long shot. But it had nothing to do with the bar or the man I’d never seen before. It had everything to do with the fact that the few words we’d shared really meant nothing. It had to do with the fact that though we stood only inches apart, it felt like we were on opposite sides of the Grand Canyon. Before I could speak, he handed me my comb.
“Dry your hair and go to bed.”
“What about… I mean aren’t you going to—”
His head shook again. “I can’t. Not now.”
I’d never before heard him sound like he did right now. It was as if every word had cost him, and when I nodded and lifted the comb, he turned and left the bathroom. I heard the bedroom door close and knew he’d left the room. Was he leaving the house as well? Leaving me? Tears slid down my cheeks and then I angrily brushed them away. I didn’t deserve the release of tears. I’d been a fool. I’d gotten mad like some child and had basically thrown a tantrum. No, I hadn’t done anything to encourage that man, but I’d purposely dressed as sexily as I could, had applied more makeup than I usually did, sprayed myself with perfume, and had left my house knowing my husband had never once thought he’d return home to find me gone.
No, I deserved every stab of guilt, and no amount of tears, no amount of scrubbing with a cloth would ever erase the look in my husband’s eyes as he’d left. I dried my hair and picked up his t-shirt that I discarded earlier and then folded it and put it back in his drawer. I didn’t deserve to feel as if he was surrounding me. Putting away the other clothes I’d left scattered, I pulled on a nightgown and was at the edge of the bed when I paused. Glancing at the clock, I saw that it was almost two in the morning. I still didn’t crawl into bed… I knew I couldn’t, not without Brett beside me.
Ripping off my gown and sliding off my panties, I pulled my hair into a ponytail and took a deep breath. Opening the door, I went to wait.
The sound of fists hitting a bag told me where he was as I passed the bedroom we’d turned into a workout room. My husband hadn’t left me… not really. He’d managed not to beat the man more than required to take him down, but from the sounds and his grunts, I knew he was beating the shit out of the heavy bag hanging from the ceiling in the other room.
Moving to the same spot I’d fought against standing in a week before, I put my arms behind my back, spread my feet apart, and lifted my eyes. I desperately needed to see the smile on Brett’s face in our wedding photo. I had no idea what would happen when Brett opened that door, but I was praying that when he saw me, he’d not turn away. I had been so grateful when my husband had saved me, but now… now I needed my daddy to forgive me.
I don’t know how long I stood there, but eventually I heard the door open, and still I didn’t move. A few minutes later, I heard his footsteps coming up the hall.
“Hannah? What are you doing?”
“Waiting for you.”
“It’s late. Come to bed.”
I shook my head.
Finally, he walked around to stand in front of me. “Hannah, it’s almost three o’clock. It’s Saturday.”
“I don’t care,” I said, not releasing position. “It’s still Friday somewhere, and I’m not moving until I can crawl over your lap.” When he didn’t speak, I continued. “I know you’re furious; I know I caused all this, but I’m hoping that you meant what you said.”
“What I said?”
“Yes. You said that you were committed to us. You said you were dedicated to our new start and that included maintenance nights. Well, sir, I need to know if you still are or if I’ve gone too far for you to forgive me.”
“Honey, I’m not mad at you… not really. I’m not going to lie and say I wasn’t, but I’m not anymore. You scared the shit out of me when I didn’t know where you were. When I saw that bastard put a knife to your neck, my heart stopped. If he’d hurt you, I’d have killed him. God, I love you and could have lost you. Don’t you realize that I wouldn’t want to live without you?”
I felt tears welling again but blinked them away. Lifting my head in order to look up at him, I said, “But you didn’t lose me, so I need you to prove it.”
“Prove it?”
“Yes, prove that you love me. Prove that you forgive me. Prove it to me, Daddy.”
The moment the address was said, his expression changed. Hesitancy slipped from his eyes to be replaced by a look so loving that I began to tremble. He stepped forward and enveloped me in his arms, pulling me into him so tight that I could barely breathe but I didn’t care. When he released me, I knew that we would be okay.
Taking my hand, he led me to the couch and I instantly stepped between his legs when he spread them.
“Tell me why instead of the gentle spanking you’d have received tonight, I’m going to turn your ass crimson.”
His words didn’t scare me. I knew that no matter how crimson or how much my ass burned when it was done, that he’d never truly harm me. “I left home without asking or telling you where I was going.”
“Why?”
This was the hard part, admitting that I’d thrown a tantrum. “I was disappointed you weren’t coming home, and then the pizza guy said he’d delivered a bunch of pizzas to you. I-I heard someone say they had the cards and the guys were waiting to kick your ass.”
“So, you assumed that meant that you weren’t important, that instead of taking my beautiful wife on a date, I ditched you for a poker game?”
I was surprised that he was using the same words I’d used earlier but when I thought about who I’d said those words to, I knew there was no way he’d know that’s what I’d said unless… “You talked to Stephanie.”
“I did. And while I’d normally be adding swats to your spanking for forgetting your phone, I’m going to forego those extras because that is the only way I found you. Have you ever met Gary?”
I shook my head.
“Well, you did tonight. He’s the guy who came with me to find you.”
“Thank you—”
He chuckled and shook his head even as he interrupted me. “Don’t thank me, babygirl. Daddy is still going to blister your ass. When was the last time I ever played poker?”
“Um… I-I don’t know.”
“That’s right, because I don’t. I’ve seen too many men lose their paychecks in a game.”
“I… I just thought. I mean, someone did say ‘cards’ and well, my father used to play all the time.”
“I’m not your father, Hannah. The cards you heard referred to weren’t those of a regular deck. They have the faces and information about the terrorists who were responsible for the attack on our soldiers over in Libya. The men were ready to kick some ass because we lost two men today. They were both from Carter’s team.”
“Oh… oh, God,” I said, my heart instantly aching for the wives… the families of the men.
“Yeah, it was bad. Something went wrong and we had to scramble to keep it from getting worse.”
I felt awful. I’d jumped to the wrong conclusion, hadn’t trusted this man who I now knew had needed me at home. He’d needed me to wrap my arms around him, to hold him, to grieve with him. And what had I done instead? I’d dressed up and went to ‘party’. And worse, I’d drawn Stephanie and her husband into this when I now knew that he was also grieving.
“I-I’m so sorry. God, I-I don’t know how to tell you…”
As if knowing I had no words, he reached out and took my arm, guiding me to his side. He sat back on the couch, his legs drawing together before he pulled me down. Unlike last week, my head wasn’t hanging down, my toes weren’t scrabbling to touch the floor. My entire body was supported.
“This isn’t going to be easy, baby. I’m hoping that by the time I’m done, you’ll know that there is never a time when you can’t trust me. Never a day when you need to wonder if you are important to me. Never have to ask me to prove how committed I am to you, to us. You are the most important thing in my life. And though I’m going to spank you soundly, I want you to know that I will never stop loving you.”
I could only nod, my arms wrapped around a throw pillow, my face already buried in it as tears of remorse fell even before he laid the first smack on my ass.
He hadn’t been lying and, oh God, did he prove that he was committed. I was bawling before twenty swats had landed. My hands flew back only to be captured by one of his and pinned to the small of my back.
“I’m sorry, Daddy!”
“That makes two of us,” he said, though his hand never stopped adding fuel to the fire he’d started. Despite my determination to accept my punishment, I was arching, bucking, and learned that kicking up had that horridly hard hand move to the back of my thighs.
“No! Please, Daddy! Not there!”
“If you don’t want your thighs spanked, put your legs down.”
It was only when I dug my toes into the gap between the cushion and the side of the couch that his palm returned to continue blistering my ass. I was sure I was about to self-combust by the time his hand splayed across my buttocks. How he could stand the burn that was surely singeing his palm, I had no idea. When he finally released my hands, I expected him to turn me over and pull me into his lap. Instead, he lifted me to stand on wobbly legs in front of him.
“Can…can’t I si… sit on your la…lap?” I choked out.
“We’re not done. Go into our bedroom. Get my belt and go bend over the bed. You’ve got six stripes coming for cussing.”
“I did… didn’t cuss.”
His eyebrow arched. “You didn’t say ‘fucking’ poker party?”
“I-I didn’t say… say it to you, Daddy.”
“I don’t care who you said it to. Cussing is disrespecting yourself. And you’ve got two more coming for comparing yourself to a ‘damn dog’. No one is allowed to demean my wife… and that includes you, babygirl. Now go. I want you bent over the foot of the bed, holding the belt behind you by the time I join you. Understand?”
“Ye-yes, Daddy.”
I was halfway across the room when he spoke again.
“Hannah?”
Turning my head, I looked back over my shoulder. “Yes, Daddy?”
“Is eight with my belt not enough?”
I knew my eyes had to look like saucers as I said, “No! I mean, eight… eight is enough, Daddy.”
“Then I suggest you stop rubbing.”
Immediately dropping my hands, I said, “Yes, Daddy,” and moved to obey his command.
I had to pull his belt from the loops of the jeans that he’d left on the bathroom floor. That alone reminded me how upset he’d been as he was not like me. He didn’t leave his clothes scattered around. I put his jeans and shirt in the hamper and then couldn’t help myself. I turned my back to the mirror and looked over my shoulder. My ass was not only hot; it was indeed crimson. Seeing the belt reflected where it hung from my hand, I remembered that my punishment was not yet done. Leaving the bathroom, I went to kneel over the foot of our bed, placing my torso on the mattress and folding my arms behind my back. The leather that would soon be welting my butt was heavy as it brushed across my flesh. Turning my head to the side, I didn’t feel rebellious. I wasn’t angry that he was going to take the leather from my hand and add stripes to my bottom. Call me crazy, but I was grateful. Thankful that I had a husband—a daddy—who knew that, though he’d already forgiven me, this was exactly what I needed to forgive myself.
When he gave a gentle tug, I released the belt but then felt it being laid across the small of my back. Lifting my head, I watched as Brett walked around my side.
“Give me your hand, baby.”
Stretching out my right arm, I saw the length of rope he’d brought with him. “These aren’t going to be light strokes like last week. I’m going to tie your hands because if you reached back and I struck them, it would hurt.”
As he wrapped the rope around my wrist, I wanted to say that the strokes hurt my ass, but didn’t think he’d appreciate my attempt at humor. Securing the other end of the rope to the post on the corner of the bed, he then repeated the sequence with my left wrist and then ran his finger between the rope and my wrists.
“You can pull on the rope if you need to.” Moving back behind me, he picked up the belt. “I’m not going to ask you to count these. I’m going to give you all eight hard and fast.”
“O-okay.”
“Why am I going to whip you, Hannah?”
“Because I cussed and demeaned myself,” I said instantly.
“That’s right. Are you ready?”
Taking a deep breath and then exhaling slowly, I said, “Yes, Daddy.”
I was yanking on the ropes as hard as I could before the second strike of his belt bit into my flesh. It was awful. The whoosh of the belt filled the air a second before the leather connected to brand my ass with another line of pure agony. I wasn’t quiet. I screamed and begged, but the belt kept falling, licking flames lower and lower as he moved from the center of my ass, delivering each stroke beneath the one above. The quilt was soaked beneath my cheek by the time the last welt was rising across the spot where my bottom met my thighs. I didn’t even realize he’d untied my wrists until he pulled me up and hugged me to him before he took a seat on the bed, propped against the headboard and settled me on his lap.
Burying my face in his neck, I sobbed and clung to him as he gently rocked me, holding me at an angle that kept most of my weight off my ravaged bottom. I couldn’t speak, but the silence wasn’t the same as it had been before. I knew he was here, knew I was forgiven, knew that I’d paid the price and all was good between us again. Finally, when I was sniffling and hiccupping, he set me back a bit. The hand that had been stroking down my back now cupped my face.
“I love you, babygirl.”
“I love you so much, Daddy.”
He kissed my forehead and then reached to the nightstand and pulled a tissue from the box. After I blew my nose, he lifted me off his lap. I couldn’t help but whimper a bit.
“Shh, I’ll be right back,” he said, climbing off the bed.
He returned with a damp washcloth and a bottle of water. After washing my face, he uncapped the bottle. “Drink, baby.”
I took a swallow then another and another until most of the bottle was gone before I paused to take a breath. Smiling, I said, “I guess I was thirsty.”
He chuckled. “I guess you were.”
I finished the bottle and he tossed it into the trash before lifting me again to pull back the quilt and sheet, sliding me beneath them. I immediately turned onto my side to watch him strip off his sweatpants and climb in on the other side. My ass burned and throbbed something awful, but the moment he reached for me, I went to him, my pussy pulsing with need. When he moved to lay over me, I winced and he instantly rolled to his back, reaching to pull me on top of his body. I shook my head.
“No. Please. I needed my daddy to punish me hard, but now, I want to feel that punishment as my husband loves me even harder.” With a smile, he rolled me back and moved to cover me again. I shivered as his weight pressed my punished ass against the sheets. “I need you to take me… all of me. Claim me and remind me that no matter how much I mess up, you’ll always be there to help me get back in line.”