Man of Her Dreams

Man of Her Dreams By Carolyn Faulkner

Man of Her Dreams Carolyn Faulkner Published by ABCD Webmasters Copyright 2006 by ABCD Webmasters & Carolyn Faulkner All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be translated or reproduced in any form without written permission from the copyright owner(s) For more books by Carolyn Faulkner & the best spanking fiction on the Net, visit: http://www.HerWoodshed.com & http://www.spanking-castle.com

Chapter One Lt. Holt Wyatt shrugged out of his shoulder holster, letting it land with a thud on his immaculate desktop, but only for the barest of seconds before he tucked it into his top drawer where it belonged and sank into his chair with a groan of protest that was echoed by the overworked chair itself. Squeezing all six four, two hundred and seventy-five pounds of himself into that puny chair had always been a fifty fifty proposition – not because he was fat, but because he was one solid wall of unyielding muscle. He knew the rest of the guys in the department had a pool going about when that chair was finally going to give up the ghost and dump him onto his butt on the floor, but of course no one was stupid enough to mention it to him. He gave the stack of paperwork that awaited him from his latest case a jaundiced look. Although Holt had never wanted to be anything but a cop all his life, the thought of how much time he’d have to spend filling out forms behind his desk had somehow never entered his mind. He loved what he did – with the distinct exception of all of the bureaucratic nonsense, which included any and all politicking or sucking up in any way shape or form, along with the G.D. paperwork. Holt was one damned fine cop. He couldn’t seem to do much else very well, but that was just fine with him. He’d made the mistake of getting married when he was much younger than his current forty two, and it had died a quick, ignominious death in the face of his devotion to his job, and his young wife’s histrionics about his chosen profession. Not that he’d been doing anything different when they’d met, dated, and married. Holt shuddered slightly at the thought of his marriage to Ginny, thankful that it had ended when it had. Steady sex was a nice benefit, granted – he was as randy as the next guy. More so, even now. But it wasn’t at all worth the buckets of guilt he’d had to wade through to get it. He shook his head, surprised that his ex wife had even entered his mind. He certainly hadn’t spent any time at all mooning over her. His job had pretty much always been everything he needed. Frowning at both his train of thought and the forms that went hand in hand with a job well done, he reached for the first piece off the top of the never ending stack and fed it into the old IBM Selectric he kept to one side, just for such

purposes, and began painfully hunting and pecking away. Alverton wasn’t the biggest city in Tennessee by far – it wasn’t even the biggest little city. Generally, it was small and quiet, and in the small police force – only six men deep including the Chief – had little to do beyond the enforcement of basic traffic laws and the – still rare, thankfully - drug bust. It was the latter that had generated all of the dead trees that were now gracing his desk, that he was expected to push up to the Chief to sign once he’d filled in all those blasted boxes. He knew he could do this on the computer – everyone in the department took great joy in informing him of that every time they heard his excruciating attempts at typing. Holt hated computers - didn’t own one personally and never intended to - and resented their intrusion into his nicely ordered routine, despite how everyone extolled their virtues to him at the slightest opportunity. His crashed every time he brought it up – it was some kind of bad karma thing: it knew he didn’t like it one bit, and it gave back exactly what it got - nothing but pure animosity. A.P.D. was still small enough that they didn’t have homicide or vice departments. As far as cases were concerned, it was catch as catch can - even for him, the only ranking lieutenant - and he just happened to have had the luck of drawing the biggest drug bust in the town’s history. His name had been in the paper, and he was going to get a citation for bravery from the Mayor some time next week. He even had a scar along his ribcage from where one of the scumbag gang bangers had shot at him that was impressive looking enough to show off, if he wanted to – although he didn’t know exactly to whom any more, since he’d already showed it to everyone at work. That thought had him frowning again. The guys at work were his family. His only family. His parents were long gone; his younger, geeky brother who had only just returned to town after living the high life in Silicon Valley, despite having eschewed any and all contact with Alverton the moment he’d graduated from high school. Greg called every once in a while; Holt called every once in a while, but the brothers weren’t all that close. Other than him and the four guys he worked with – who, granted, he

trusted with his life on a daily basis – there was no one else on the planet that he saw on a regular basis. Unless one counted Bobby Jo, the waitress at the Speakeasy Café on Main, where he ate every single one of his meals. At eating, he was a veritable champ. He couldn’t maintain his formidable physique without tons of calories – along with regular exercise, of course. But his cooking skills only extended to throwing a couple of pieces of toast into the toaster or a frozen pizza into the oven. Not only did he not have the time, he didn’t have the inclination, despite his ravenous appetite. Speaking of which, he thought, grabbing onto any thread of something that might relieve him of having to trudge through all of that paper, it really was time for his daily workout. The department was too small to have its own gym, but all officers – all municipal employees, for that matter – were given a free membership to the only gym in town – Heddy’s, right on the outskirts of town, and the chief didn’t mind – heck, he encouraged – his officers using it whenever they wanted, as long as they weren’t on active patrol and their work was done. Holt’s work was always done, and he was careful to never abuse the privilege of being able to work out whenever he wanted to. That wasn’t him, anyway. He was much too honorable a person in general to take advantage of his boss’s good will. Shrugging back into his holster and one of his three well worn sport coats – as the only qualified detective on the force, he was no longer required to wear a uniform – he gave a nod to Officer Sam Kellerman – the newest on the force at only seven years – on his way out, saying just one word. “Gym.” Nothing more was necessary. He had his cell with him at all times, and a police radio in his truck. Although the job requirements were much more lenient, Holt had always considered that he was on duty twenty four seven. Barely a call had gone by since he’d joined that he hadn’t responded to in some way. His dedication to duty had gotten him several medals and was one of the reasons the lieutenant position had been created. The gym at this time of day was relatively quiet, which was another reason to ignore the paperwork and pump some iron instead. He warmed up carefully with a series of stretches, then began seriously working on

the weights. Generally, while he was lifting weights, he cleared his mind. It was almost a meditation, and thinking about nothing had often somehow lead to revelations about some of the cases he’d worked on. But this time he was distracted. Highly distracted. She was there. Holt didn’t know who she was, and he’d consciously resisted finding out. It was rare, in this small town he’d been born and grown up in, that he didn’t know someone, or know someone who knew someone. But then, he hadn’t made any inquires about her at all, either. Rumors about strangers coming into town were usually thick on the ground when a new person joined such a small, tight knit community, but he hadn’t heard a thing. Apparently, though, she was independently wealthy; she obviously had no need of a job - she was usually here when he was, in the middle of the day, when everyone else was at work. He didn’t know why she attracted him so, but even when his eyes had first settled on her lithe form, over a month ago now, his body had reacted in an extremely unwelcome – and virulent – manner that was very hard to conceal, even when one was wearing rather loose, comfortable shorts. He couldn’t help it. He was well endowed, and he looked it even at rest. He didn’t particularly want to be attracted to her – she always looked unhappy and angry, and she attacked the machines as if they’d insulted her personally. He didn’t think he’d ever seen her even so much as crack a smile. Somewhat annoyed, and annoyed that he was annoyed and that she’d yet again managed to interrupt his exercise routine and intrude on what little peace of mine he could eek out for himself, he nevertheless put the heavy free weight he’d been using carefully down and reached for his sweats, jerking them angrily up his legs, then determinedly turning all of his attention to the weights.

For all of five seconds. As soon as he looked anywhere but at the muscles he was working out, there she was. She wasn’t even doing anything overtly sexy, for crying out loud. She was just standing there stretching, that long, impossible fall of velvety, deep brown hair reaching nearly to that pert bottom as she – Holt looked away, knowing he wasn’t helping his situation one bit. Still, he couldn’t quite keep his eyes completely off her for the rest of the time he was in the gym – and no amount of trying to exhaust himself with exercise seemed to help, either. All that happened was that he ended up limp, everywhere but the most needed spot. The cop in him had immediately catalogued what she was wearing – a light pink and white exercise suit that covered more than it revealed and was extremely demure in comparison to what some of the women around there wore – and stored it in that steel trap mind of his, estimating her height at about five foot five inches, and her weight at an almost but not quite chunky hundred and twenty five pounds. She wore it well, though – she was very nicely rounded in all of the appropriate places, making his hands literally itch to cup those tantalizing curves. He’d never subscribed to the current fad of preferring women who looked like refugees from a famine. Holt liked his women to have some substance to them. He was big enough that he towered over most of them, and it was second nature for him to be extremely careful of his partner, in bed or out, because he could so easily crush her if he wasn’t. He wanted a woman who could meet him half way – sexually and otherwise. One that wasn’t always on the verge of a faint because she’d refused to eat for the past three days. He hated taking a woman to dinner, only to find that there was nothing on the menu she’d deign to eat. Holt completed his entire routine before gathering his things to head for the shower. The town was extremely quiet – it was unusual for him not to get some sort of call while he was working out. He hoped he hadn’t missed anything. His mystery woman was using a machine that helped in developing good

pectoral muscles. She didn’t really look like she needed any assistance in that area, although her form was a bit off. It flitted briefly through his mind that he should go over there and offer to help her, maybe even be so bold as to put his hands on her arms and show her what she was doing wrong. His body was certainly voting for that. But Holt wasn’t at all sure that that was a good idea. He grimaced as he stepped under the hot, stinging spray. He could still catch her as he went out, but he knew he wouldn’t. He liked his life the way it was – despite the direction his gonads were pointing him in. He didn’t want to get involved with anyone right now. Maybe he was getting old and cranky – maybe he was just lazy. But he was too involved in his work to spare the time and attention his woman would need. Her face popped into his mind as he thought the words “his woman” and Holt frowned fiercely. He had to get out of there. He didn’t need the complications any woman represented in his life. He didn’t. And from the perpetually unhappy look on her face, she was going to cause some poor unfortunate man a ton of work. He wondered if the sex would be worth it . . . He absolutely refused to slink out of the gym like some perp. She was still there – he could see her in his peripheral vision. She was walking on one of the treadmills, completely oblivious to the storm of testosterone that strode past her on his way out the door. When he got back to his desk, the Chief was already calling for the fives on that bust, so he hunkered down and spent the rest of his day whacking away at the ancient Selectric and trying not to dwell on the fair skinned woman with the chocolate brown hair he itched to have flowing through his hands as he bent her to him for a deep, all out kiss.

The object of his . . . affections . . . was, as he’d surmised, completely oblivious to his interest. Oh, Frankie Ballard was certainly aware of the huge man who was so often in the gym when she was – he was too damn big not to notice! But then, she’d always been attracted to that size man, despite what had happened between herself and her evil ex. She did do her level best, though, not to base everything on appearances. Everyone had their own tastes and if she could create a man herself, to her own particular. interests, it would be someone depressingly like the man at the free weights who could pump iron with the best of them. Some of the weights he lifted were bigger than two or three of her – even though she’d definitely gained a few pounds since finding success in her chosen profession. Hence her venture into the hated, despised, and reviled gym. The only time Frankie wanted to run was if a Mac truck was chasing her, or if the Krispy Kreme sign said “hot, fresh doughnuts”. Of course, there wasn’t any such thing as a Krispy Kreme here in Podunk, Tennessee, but civilization wasn’t too far away down I-40 towards Knoxville, where she could get a fix if she wanted. And it was because the fact that she’d wanted to a bit too much lately, along with her suddenly very sedentary lifestyle, that she found herself here, facing assorted big, metal torture devices. Gyms seemed to her to be modern self-torture chambers. No matter how gently she tried to work out, she always ended up sore and surly the next day. Frankie resented every single minute she spent here – but at least it got her out of her house, and she knew she could stand to lose some weight. Although she tried not to be too obvious, it was the scenery in this place that was one of its few saving graces – and he was the biggest and best part of it, as far as she was concerned. She even forgave him the close cropped sandy hair, and that was mighty big of her. She preferred dark haired men, with short to medium length hair. He didn’t have much of anything to run her hands through as she kissed him. Frankie’s whole body contracted at the thought as she brought herself ruthlessly back to the thigh machine she was contemplating. With a deep sigh, and it being no easy feat, she maneuvered herself into the seat,

chiding herself immediately when she realized that, yet again, she’d forgotten to close to leg holder thingies, and if she didn’t get up, she’d have to assume the correct position for a gynecological exam in order to get the two plates she was supposed to squeeze together again. Well, at least there wasn’t really anyone else to see her ignominious position. Mr. Universe was well behind her, engrossed in his delts or his pecs or whatever. He probably couldn’t put two words together in a coherent sentence anyway, she thought nastily as the outsides of her thighs inevitably started to hurt. There was nothing for it. Working out – sweating in particular – made her bitchy, despite the presence of the eye candy in grey shorts that showed off every curve of muscle he owned. She didn’t try to, but her eyes – as well as her mind’s eye – kept drifting back to him. She nearly drooled all over herself when she saw that he’d put his sweats on, but had taken off his shirt. That man’s chest should be registered as a lethal weapon. And it was pristine, too – only a small sprinkling of hair over the impressive slabs of muscle. No unsightly tattoos, no pierced nipples. Maybe she was getting old, but Frankie just didn’t like the latest trends in body modification. She liked her men au natural – tanned and muscular and . . . Just like him. She had to forcibly wrestle both her eyes and her mind away from him, back to her own sweaty body, which wasn’t anywhere near as enticing as the man’s behind her. She didn’t want to want him – she didn’t need the complications of a man in her life, and she wasn’t about to jump from the frying pan and into the fire with another man. Thankfully, he left while she was walking on the treadmill and doing her best not to look around for him. She watched his butt covetously as he marched out the door, and whimpered slightly before she returned to her self torturous acts. Later, at home in the smallish farmhouse she’d snapped up for a song because it needed a few repairs and was well outside town, he reappeared in her mind as she took a long hot shower. It was a personal quirk of hers that she truly could not shower or bathe in a public place. It

was hard enough for her to do it in a strange place – like a hotel shower. But Frankie simply couldn’t even contemplate the idea of showering at the gym. So the first thing she always did when she got home from sweating herself to death for no particular reason, was light several lavender scented candles in the bathroom and jump into her compulsively cleaned, thoroughly comfortable shower with the very friendly massaging showerhead. Eventually, she intended to create a huge master bath with an obscenely large shower off the master, complete with multiple jets set at custom angles for those times when what she did for a living got to her, and, of course, the de rigueur sunken Jacuzzi tub. Her mind inevitably wandered back to the behemoth at the gym. He was just want she wanted. The man of her dreams. Almost too much so. Not that she’d ever have the cajones to walk over to him and introduce herself. Nope. That would be much too forward for a shy, retiring person like herself. Frankie knew that no one who knew her well would ever think that she was either of those things, but unless she was surrounded by a group of friends, she pretty much would never even think of approaching a man. He’d have to be on fire, or at least seem a lot more approachable than that one did, although she’d usually found that big men like that were generally very aware of their strength and much more careful of themselves physically around women than most men. However, there were the exceptions, she thought, when a picture of her big nasty ex floated unbidden through her mind. Luckily, Kyle was about six states away, languishing in the prison cell she’d helped him into after he’d taken his fists to her all of a sudden, on the turn of a dime. He’d always had a temper, but he’d never, ever aimed it at her in any way, shape or form. Until that last night. If there was one thing she wasn’t going to put up with – and she didn’t consider herself to be particularly hard to get along with – it was being hit. Especially by someone the size of Kyle. She’d seen him get really mad before, but he’d always punched the air, or, on the rare occasion, a wall or two. Never even another person.

But she’d been doing really well at her job – well enough that she intended to take some time off and do what she loved for a while, even if it didn’t pay much at first – and had been spending more and more time there. The longer her hours, the more jealous and outraged he seemed to get. Somehow, he’d gotten the mistaken idea that she and her boss – who was nothing but a gentleman and very happily married, to boot – had something going besides the mounds of work they plowed through at work after hours. Kyle obviously thought Bob was doing some other type of plowing, which he most definitely was not. She’d come home around midnight one evening, and he’d been drunk – a condition that was becoming a little too common lately. She’d been later than usual, because the quarterly reports were due. And he was waiting for her. He hadn’t even waited for her to give him any sort of explanation – not that she owed him one. It wasn’t as if he didn’t know exactly where she was, and hadn’t called her umpty ump times already, checking up on her – so much so that he’d probably delayed her by a good hour or so, just because he was taking up her time with useless phone calls. She hadn’t even seen him draw his arm back - hadn’t a clue that he was quite that angry, until his fist exploded in her face, and she felt herself hit the floor, all at once, it seemed. And then there was nothing.

Chapter Two Frankie blocked those images determinedly out of her mind. She didn’t want to remember what had happened with Kyle, but found she couldn’t stop the flood of memories. When she’d awakened, she was thankfully alone. Frankie had gotten up – carefully, realizing that her nose was probably broken – and, while she held one of her best towels to her face, she checked out the apartment. He was gone. His truck was gone. It didn’t take her more than three seconds to call an emergency locksmith, the police, and her sister, in that order. The locks were changed within the hour, she’d spoken to the police who had asked her to come down to the station so that they could take her statement, but said that she could do it the next day, if she had to. Frankie didn’t intend to leave the house if she could manage not to – not tonight. She just wanted to curl up in bed and forget this had ever happened. Her sister, Kayla, however, had other ideas. Frankie hated to be fussed over for any reason, and Kayla – her older sister – was the queen of mother hens. Once the locksmith had left, she ushered Frankie out the door and into her sturdy, reliable Camry. Kayla was the most practical of the sisters. She had a husband, the requisite two point five kids, a house, several cars, a big savings account and an even bigger retirement account. She never overdrew her checking account or paid a bill late, and would never consider the bold move that her little sister was seriously contemplating. Kayla was staid and stodgy, and damned proud of it. Frankie soon found herself at the E.R., where she knew they couldn’t do much for her beyond put some bandages and tape over her rapidly blackening nose. The doctor was very nice, though, and gave her the name of a plastic surgeon if she decided that she didn’t like the look of the inevitably crooked and bumpy nose she’d been gifted with that evening. Although she protested all the way, Kayla was anxious to do the right

thing, and brought her to the police station when she would have preferred to have gone home. “If you sleep on it, you’ll forget details. You’re not going to let him get away with this, are you?” Kayla asked in a tone that said that it was completely inconceivable that she would. “No, I’m not. I’m going to roast his chestnuts over an open fire personally. Slowly,” Frankie had responded, her voice different because of her injuries. She’d given the police every bit of information she remembered – which wasn’t much – and they told her she could press charges if she wanted to. She most certainly did. By the time Kyle appeared on their – her – doorstep two days later, all of his stuff – down to the last bottle of St. Paulie Girl in the fridge – was in the foyer, just waiting for a trip to the dump. She knew he’d come back, especially since the police would have visited him to arrest him. He’d had a big bouquet of flowers in his hand, and was genuinely bemused when the door was locked and his key no longer fit it. Kayla hadn’t left her alone since it had happened – she’d even taken time off her precious job to stay with her, despite the fact that Frankie kept reassuring her that she was fine. Kayla got to the door before she did, a baseball bat prominently displayed on her shoulder, growling, “Get the hell outta here.” “Is Frankie even here?” Kyle asked, his bouquet of flowers drooping. Kayla was going lie and say no, but Frankie had stepped in front of her. “I’m here. But it doesn’t make any difference. We’re over. If you want to pick up your stuff, it’ll be at the dump by nine tomorrow morning.” She had to give him credit – but not that much. He managed to look very remorseful, and he didn’t beg. All he’d said as he turned back to his car was a soft, regretful, “I’m sorry.”

Frankie had had to choke back tears of both anger and sadness as she replied, “Me, too.” And here she was, spending her shower thinking about another big galoot, who was bigger – and meaner and nastier looking - than Kyle by a long shot. What was she, crazy? Wanting to jump from the frying pan into the fire? The man at the gym looked a damn sight surlier than Kyle ever had. She stepped out of the shower and into a wonderful cloud of lavender. Pretty much everything she could was infused with that soft, welcoming scent, down to a lavender scented fabric softener. Frankie patted herself dry, noting that her repeated trips to that disgusting gym were, indeed, having the desired effect. Darn it. That meant she would have to keep going. She slipped into a set of clean, warm, comfortable sweats and sank down onto her bed, automatically reaching for her laptop and turning the television on to Food TV for background. Lately, she’d been spending a certain amount of time – usually in the evenings - chatting online in various rooms that catered to several of her more lurid interests. Frankie liked to think of it as research – research with benefits, but research none the less – for her stories, which had been slow selling at first, and were only just now beginning to pick up, and she tended to attribute that, as well as her bursts of creativity, to some small, select bits of conversations she’d had while chatting. An Internet Relay Channel program had been trained to open anytime she booted her system, and before she knew it she was talking in a chat room in which she’d become somewhat of a regular – Spankingsextalk. She knew several of the people there – well, had chatted with most of them before, at least. Frankie never really considered that she could “know” anyone online, and that was probably why it was so popular with her and millions of others – there were no real life repercussions. You could chat someone up – as innocently or dirtily as you both preferred, and still remain completely anonymous. In her experience, innocence didn’t cut it with many of the men on line. They didn’t want to talk about feelings or about who a person was. It was

a very interesting cultural study, actually, if she had that bent, which she didn’t. The incessant quest for sex talk didn’t bother her – how could it. She’d known what she was getting into when she signed in with the nick she’d chosen: spankedgirl. It wasn’t true – yet – but she intended that it would be. It certainly did get what she was interested in right out there in the open, and once she got into a room she was usually private messaged by five or six of the male occupants, and some times some of the female ones, too. At first, she had considered this a ridiculous pursuit at best, especially considering that the bad spelling and mono syllabic responses drove her crazy. Apparently no one out there had any interest in coming across to the person on the other end of the computer as anything other than an illiterate rube. Actually, she revised, the only interest they had – and that included a depressing percentage of the women –was in coming in the most venal use of the word. But there were one or two people she saw occasionally in this room who could actually put several poly syllabic words together intelligently, and one of them had way overstepped his bounds, and she was beginning to get concerned. The first intriguing person she’d met was around much less frequently than the other, which she lamented, because he was the one she preferred to chat with. His name, mysteriously, was Mr. X. He’d impressed her by actually asking permission to PM her within the room, which, although it was one of the supposed “rules” of the room, it had never happened before. Ever. Whenever new meat appeared in the member list, especially if the nick displayed said that the person was female, she got descended on. Frankie had even done her own little scientific study, signing in with a more masculine nick randomly. She’d never gotten so much as one private message, no matter how provocative she made “his” name. But this guy was good. Smooth, as they’d say in the olden days. He asked permission to private message her each and every time, despite the fact, she’d assumed that first time, that he was a dominant. Most online doms – and dommes – were big on posturing and punctuation when it referred to themselves or their subs. There was less of that in a spanking room, but it was still there.

When they’d first chatted, he hadn’t said or done anything overtly sexual at all, which Frankie had found extremely refreshing. He’d asked about her, and been equally forthcoming about himself. He was a cop in a small town. He didn’t say where, and didn’t ask her where she was, which was a nice change from the usual tendency of chatters who could barely get past the opening “a/s/l” question that opened every single conversation. He didn’t even seem to build himself up, looks wise. Didn’t compare himself to Brad Pitt or Antonio Banderas. He described himself in almost humble terms, except for the fact that his measurements – six four, and over two hundred and fifty pounds – had her drooling on the keyboard of her very expensive laptop. He didn’t need to know that. His responses were almost annoyingly slow. Frankie couldn’t decide if it was because he was a horrible typist, or because he was typing one handed. But then, they hadn’t even touched on anything particularly sexual, so there was no need for that. And every single sentence he’d typed had been full and complete, spelled and punctuated correctly. Frankie was truly amazed. That same night, she’d stumbled onto someone who also seemed relatively literate, but who definitely got down to the nitty gritty much more quickly. It seemed to anger him a little that she refused to submit to him – she wasn’t submissive, even just online – to anyone she didn’t know really well. And that was when the nasty emails started. When she was online, if someone asked her for an email address, she gave one that she checked occasionally, but not one she used regularly or her personal account. Frankie was also very careful not to give out much in the way of personal information beyond the most general, especially at first. She believed she had the program settings set to conceal as much about her as possible, knowing that chatting online was not necessarily the safest thing for a single woman to do.

Frankie had had submissive leanings for as long as she could remember, but it was only recently that she’d decided to explore them more fully. She’d always written stories for her own amusement but had never been able to finish one. She’d begun sharing what she had of them – beginnings, middles, and ends that went nowhere in particular - online for free, until she got so many responses about them telling her that she should have been charging for them that she decided to do just that. So, after she’d explored her options further, and sent off a her first three chapters and a synopsis of the entire story to Harlequin, she decided to use some of the money she’d been socking away from her high pressure but good paying job and move out to the country, where she could write undisturbed. The clincher had been when, months later, she’d gotten a glowing reply from the publisher, asking her to send them the completed manuscript and asking to negotiate terms with her agent, if she had one. Much to Kayla’s disgust, she decided to move out of the city proper to a small town well outside of it, where she bought this house and set up shop as an author. Well, a potential author, anyway. Luckily, the writing seemed to come rather easily, although she did need to wrestle with herself a bit about not including spankings, which just seemed to fit so well into the plots of her stories. Her heroes were the epitome of the type of man she’d been looking for – albeit casually – all of her life: someone large and in charge who obviously loved the heroine, but – if she gave free reign to her imagination, which she couldn’t think that Harlequin would be interested in – who loved the lucky woman enough to keep her in line, to keep her from hurting herself or others, and made sure that she conformed to the rules he set for her. But although it wasn’t easy, she’d managed to keep her more prurient interests from working their way into the story, and she was getting close to the end – of both the story and the deadline they’d set for wanting to see the entire thing. Nasty, virulent emails flooded the fake address she’d given out to Dom4U, the more aggressive of the two “men” – and she used that term loosely from prior experience – she’d been speaking with online. What was worse was that he had somehow managed to find her personal

email address, as well, and began sending just as many of his vicious diatribes there. But it wasn’t until the phone rang for the first time, and she heard a gravelly voice use her name, as if he knew her. Then he ordered that she do things she would barely consider doing for a long time lover, and she hung up. Frankie was a mildly paranoid person – she felt she had to be, considering she was a single woman. She didn’t let her fears take over her life, but she was cautious. The locks she’d changed because of Kyle had become a deadbolt along with the lock on the doorknob. She never gave her phone number out at the checkout stand, and it was unlisted and unpublished, supposedly. And she thought she’d had all of her computer settings locked down just about as tightly as they could possible get without actually foregoing an Internet connection all together. And – especially since she was home alone almost every day – she wasn’t about to relinquish that outlet to the world. But the phone calls kept coming, and, indeed, became just that much more violent and virulent – threatening her with physical harm if she didn’t do as he commanded. Of course, she’d broken off all contact with him the moment the emails started, and she was seriously considering changing her phone number, which was really no bother to her except how the phone company was going to charge her of seventy five dollars in order to do something that probably took the merest flipping of a switch. He was, of course, on her ignore list for IRC, and although she’d pretty much been expecting him to, he never appeared to her under any other guise. She guessed he figured he was doing enough of it elsewhere. It finally got to the point where she felt really threatened; especially when he mentioned the name of the town she lived in. While she chatted online, she checked her mail, and there was another,

even more threatening email from an incarnation of him sitting in her inbox. She was a savvy enough Internet user that she had put him on her ignore list as soon as he became a problem, and had his mail filtered into a specific folder within her email program. She didn’t think she had the heart to open it, but that became a moot point. Just as she was going to double click on it, the phone rang and she jumped five miles before answering it. “Have you called yet?” “Called who about what?” she answered, being deliberately obtuse. Her sister’s obviously impatient reply was her reward. “The police, about the guy who’s been harassing you online.” “Yeah, yeah, yeah.” As a younger sister, it wouldn’t do to let her older sister know how close she was to taking her advice. It would make Kayla much too cocky to bear. “Do it, and hurry up about it. Then call me back and let me know what they said.” Frankie took a big swallow of the cinnamon iced tea she’d made that morning, enjoying the fact that the cinnamon flavor was strong enough to drown out the flavor of the tea. It was like drinking a glass of Dentyne, and she had been totally addicted from the first glass she’d had in college. “Oh yeah. Call you back. I’ll get right on it,” she replied absently, paying more attention to the messages that were popping up on her screen than her sister in her ear. Kayla sighed dramatically. “You must be on the computer again. You’re distracted.” “I’d be distracted anyway, since I don’t want to talk about the topic you’re persevarating about.” Frankie knew that Kayla had raised her eyebrow at her sister’s pointed return, but she also knew that Kayla didn’t give up that easily.

“Well, if you want to get me off your back, then you need to make that call, don’t you?” Her voice was sickly sweet. Frankie rolled her eyes. “Stop rolling your eyes at me and do as you’re sweet, wonderful, thoughtful, caring, marvelous, terrific older sister tells you.” Frankie’s coughing fit didn’t stop Kayla’s self-absorbed description in the least, but Frankie still felt compelled to surrender. “All right, all right. I’ll call.” “Then call me right back with whatever they say.” “Yes, dear.” Kayla ignored the sarcasm in her sister’s tone, saying, “Hurry up!” then hanging up. Frankie had no sooner pressed the “off” button to disconnect with her sister then the phone ran again. Figuring it was Kayla calling back to needle her some more, she didn’t even hesitate to click the talk button, putting the phone to her ear and saying, “Forget something?” The voice that wormed its way into her ear, though, was definitely not her sister’s. It sounded like it had been recorded then slowed down, and was definitely male and gravelly, almost mechanical. “I could never forget you, spankedgirl. Or should I say Francesca. I bet you can guess who this is.” Frankie’s heart stopped dead, right in the middle of her chest. She’d never been so scared in her life. Luckily, she had the presence of mind to click the off button, but then she dropped the phone onto the pretty pastel blue and sherbet orange comforter, where it lay innocently enough. Until it began to ring again. Frankie cursed her own tendency not to buy the latest gadgets. Her

phones were cordless, but they were big, clunky old Unidens that didn’t have caller ID. Her digital phone did, but she’d been cutting corners since buying the house, trying to make the money she’d saved stretch as far as she could until her book got bought. That would be her next purchase, she vowed. She did, however, have an answering machine, which picked up when she didn’t answer. It was not far away in the living room, and she could hear her own voice asking the person to leave a message, and then more of that awful, artificial, alien sounding voice. It sent a chill right down her spine; although she tried not to listen, it was impossible not to hear it. She could make out every disgusting, violent word of it. It was then that she decided that a phone call to the police just wasn’t quite going to cut it. She let him leave his disgusting message – which Frankie really didn’t have any interest in having the entire police department hearing because it was pretty blatant and said a lot about what she liked sexually. But she couldn’t see that she had any choice. She had to do something, and sitting here, waiting for the next string of obscenities to hit her answering machine was not an option. She rescued the tape from the machine just as another call came in, and put her spare tape in. She didn’t want to miss any instance to prove this guy was harassing her. The police station was downtown, next to City Hall. It was a big, ivy covered red brick building that looked more like a school than a building full of cops. There were several police cruisers out in front, though, including the Chief’s big SUV. She ascended the stairs nervously, already blushing brightly, she could tell from the way her cheeks felt like they were flaming beacons of embarrassment. And they were. It got even worse when she approached the counter and realized that there wasn’t a female cop amongst them.

Lovely. It took a moment for someone to realize she was there, and she had spent those long, humiliating minutes looking anywhere but at the men in front of her. She noted how badly the ridiculously high ceiling needed to be painted, and wondered who had chosen the God awful shade of puke green they’d decided to slather all over the interior of the building, deciding nastily that it must’ve been a man. “May I help you, Ma’am?” Having been born and raised in New England until she came to college in Tennessee and fell in love with the state – which reminded her mightily of the one she’d left – Frankie had yet to get used to being called Ma’am when she was only thirty five. If this had been Vermont, where she grew up, she would have been insulted. But down here, the myth of the Southern Gentleman still reigned supreme, and she merely smiled wanly and looked up at the owner of the melting chocolate voice. And straight into the eyes of the anonymous weightlifter she’d been ogling at the gym. Frankie’s jaw dropped with a loud clunk onto the cement floor, and she stood there for a moment, despite the drool that was forming a largish puddle at her feet. The behemoth’s thick sandy eyebrow – which she noted to herself was a shade or two darker than what there was of his hair – rose questioningly. And a bit sardonically, she imagined. Finally coming to her senses, she realized in that moment that he was the one she was going to have to make this humiliating confession to. Swallowing hard, she began, “Well, I - ” but it only came out as a hoarse whisper. Frankie cleared her throat and tried again, studiously avoiding his eyes, although he was fairly glaring down at her. All she could see was the way his oxford shirt clung lovingly to each and every bulge of his muscular chest. She was starting to feel faint, and it was no longer because of fear. “I’ve been getting some pretty nasty emails from someone I met online, and it’s just now graduated to obscene phone

calls, even though I did not give him my phone number.” She brandished the tape. “I need to know what, if anything, I can do.” She looked to Holt like she was about to faint. Her face was all at once bright read and pasty white. He skirted around the counter and took a hold of her upper arm as gently as he could, guiding her through the maze of desks to the back conference room that doubled as an interview room. “My name is Detective Holt Wyatt. And you are?” he asked pointedly. “Francesca Ballard.” They shook hands politely. “Can I get you something, Ma’am?” he asked solicitously. “Soda? Coffee? A cold cup of water?” “Nothing, thank you,” she barely squeaked out. He was too darned close for her comfort. She was starting to sweat, and it wasn’t from nervousness, it was from pure, unadulterated sexual attraction. She knew she was still blushing, but its impetus had definitely changed. Frankie squirmed on the hard wooden chair, inadvertently pressing intimate parts of herself against the seam of her sweats and catching her breath, hoping he wouldn’t notice. Luckily, he was busy rifling through a drawer to produce a cassette player, and the nervousness returned with a vengeance as he placed the tape into the machine and pressed play with a big, thick finger.

Chapter Three “You know, you really should be more careful about what information you leave lying around about yourself online, spankedgirl. You could end up getting much more than a spanking for your efforts . . .” Francesca squirmed as the message went on into excruciating detail about exactly what it was that he intended to do to her, starting out with references to spanking and how hot he was going to get her and how many rules he was going to make for her to follow, but then getting disgustingly graphic and bloody about it, breathing heavily and obviously deriving no small amount of pleasure from what he was saying. Frankie could not have been more mortified if she had tried. She had never admitted to anyone – and barely even admitted to herself – her interest in spanking, yet here she was, sitting there in front of a disgustingly gorgeous guy. She would be lucky if the only thing he did was laugh in her face about it, cop or no cop. He managed to surprise her, however. The man sitting across from her looked startled, and occasionally at first as if he was going to at least crack a smile. But when the message became more earnestly threatening, all traces of amusement left his face and he became all business. Frankie was amazed – and distinctly intrigued - at the change in persona. He asked her several questions, starting with “when did this man first begin harassing her” and ending with “when had she received this call, as well as whether she’d received any others, taped or not taped”. Then he leaned back in his chair and gave her a considering look. His body knew and responded to her the instant their eyes met for that brief second before hers skittered away to look at anything but him when she’d first come in. He could feel himself swelling against his zipper of his pants, as usual in her presence. Holt recognized her from the gym, and she was even prettier up close – despite the fact that he acknowledged in the back of his mind that he would like to see her in something other than a sweat suit sometime.

Perhaps that could be arranged, he though, getting ahead of himself. This type of situation activated every protective instinct he owned. He had joined the force to protect and serve. He wasn’t on a power trip; he truly wanted to help. The rest of the guys thought he was a big Boy Scout, and to a certain extent that was a pretty accurate description of him. He could not tolerate women in jeopardy or in pain. Either one of those situations just did him in. And this little woman – and he felt he could get away with that characterization in most situations since they generally were little in comparison to him – was pressing every protective button he owned. If it was up to him, he’d come to her house personally and deal with every phone call she got. Heck, he’d be willing to track the guy down and put the fear of Holt into him, free of charge. Heck, he’d even do it free of charge for Ginny, and there wasn’t any love loss between the two of them. He never could understand men who got off on terrorizing women. It went against every grain in him. Holt took the advice his father had given him when he was about twelve or so, and was just beginning to show signs of becoming the big man he one day would be, to heart. His father was at least his size, maybe bigger, and Holt had never seen him raise so much as his voice to his mother in all their days together. He just wouldn’t. He didn’t have to. Julia Wyatt knew just from the look on her loving husband’s face whether or not there’d be trouble later that evening when he took her into their bedroom. They never went to bed angry, although sometimes things were a little tense between the two of them – he could see it especially on his mother’s face as his father guided her down the hall. But the next morning, there were always big smiles on both of their faces. His father had told him that, in consideration of the fact that he was probably going to end up being a good sized man, he needed to make sure that he always kept that in mind in regards to other people – most particularly women. But mostly, Holt had learned by example – and his father had been the best one possible, despite the fact that he had become a bit of an anachronism in this day and age – he was the only one who paid when he took a woman out. No questions asked. He opened all doors, and saw

her into her place at the end of the evening. Being a cop worked well for him because a certain amount of protectiveness was built into the job, as far as he was concerned, and he could easily draw from the well of it that his father had encouraged within him. What he wanted to do more than anything else right now, though, was turn her over his knee for being so careless online. He had no interest in them himself, but that didn’t mean that he ignored their potential for criminal activity. He tried to keep up with whatever the latest things were, whether it was drugs or cyber scams, and he’d read enough articles in various police journals about crimes in cyberspace, including stalking, that he had a pretty good idea of what she was going to need to do in order to help them with this case, and help herself feel safer in general. Here was a smart, successful woman, though, who was obviously dabbling in things that put her personal safety at risk. For what? Curiosity? Sexual thrills? It surprised him – although not a lot - that he did find himself seriously considering pushing his chair back and giving her what she’d so obviously been craving – if he didn’t know that these interview rooms were taped, he might well have given in and done exactly that. Instead, he tucked that impulse into the back of his mind and got down to business, making her spill the beans of how she had come into contact with this person in the first place. He’d been amazed at just how red she could get as she told him, haltingly, where she’d been chatting – but he kept his thoughts about it to himself. Holt was nothing if not a professional. “Have you called the telephone company?” “No.” Holt began making her a list. “That’s chore number one when you get home. I’m assuming you don’t have caller ID or, you’d’ve already told me what it said when he called?” Frankie was beginning to hate the way that eyebrow quirked up at her. “No, I don’t.” “Do that on your way home – get a cheap corded one if you have to, just

get something. Save everything you can in regards to whatever contact he makes with you. The most important thing – besides having a geek check out your computer security settings to make sure they’re as tight as you think – is that you don’t engage this guy at all. Harassers – stalkers -” His use of that word made Frankie feel as cold and clammy as that first phone call had - “are looking for attention. Any kind of attention at all. Don’t respond no matter what he says.” She swallowed so hard it hurt. “What – about - ” she was trying, unsuccessfully, she knew to keep the panic from her voice and the tears from filling her eyes. “He has my unpublished, unlisted phone number. He mentioned the town I live in. What if he arrives on my doorstep?” Holt’s jaw clenched angrily at that very real possibility. “Did you trade pictures?” He sighed at Frankie’s small shake of her head. “Well, the third thing you’re going to do is lodge a formal complaint with his ISP. At the very least, he’s violated his terms of service in a big way, and they should give him the boot.” His answer wasn’t much of one, as far as Frankie was concerned. But she’d watched enough Law and Order to know that there wasn’t much anyone could do about in person stalking much less cyber stalking, and that the police weren’t able to do much of anything for her unless he did something overt. In other words, unless he attacked her or broke into her house or something equally as frightening, they were going to sit around on their thumbs. Frankie started to push her chair away from the table. “Thank you, Officer - ” She was, admittedly, horrible with names. Even his. You’d think, considering her reaction to him, that his name would have been branded into her subconscious. But no. That would be too convenient. He wasn’t getting up, but he did correct her. “Detective Wyatt. Ma’am, you can’t leave yet. I have some paperwork for you to sign, and it’ll take me just a minute to get that ready for you.” It took a bit longer than a minute, and when he returned he was not alone. An older gentleman she recognized as the Chief of Police accompanied him. He introduced himself and took the chair next to

Frankie. “Ms. Ballard, I just want you to know that Holt Wyatt here is one of our best men, and he’s going to do everything he can to help you get through this situation. I don’t really understand all of this online stuff, and we’re too small a department to have a unit to work specifically on that kind of crime, but Holt won’t let you down, I assure you. He’s got come good connections in regards to computers, and, if you’re willing, we’re going to pursue this to the fullest extent of the law.” Frankie was nodding. “I’ll do anything I can. I don’t want him to be able to get away with this in my case, or if he’s doing it to anyone else.” The detective was presenting her with some paperwork, patiently explaining exactly what it all was as the Chief picked up the tape. “We’ll keep this as evidence, and you feel free to collect as many tapes as you can of him and his nonsense.” Frankie nodded vehemently. She had no problem with that. “If there’s one thing neither Holt here nor I can tolerate, it’s the thought of a woman in jeopardy, fearing for her safety. We’ll get this guy.” He shook her hand again and ambled out. “Am I done here?” she asked, already halfway out of her chair. Holt didn’t want to let her go. Now that he knew so much more about her, especially the fact that she was in danger, he wanted to keep her close to him so he could watch over her and personally mangle anyone who tried to hurt her. Even with Ginny, his protective instincts had never been quite this aroused. He had some of her basic information – which her stalker also probably had – but he didn’t know her. There was no denying how he felt, though. He did not want to just send her out on her errands alone. He began to follow her as she left, grabbing his sports coat as he called to the Chief, “I’m going to take some time and make sure she’s okay. I have my radio.” He caught up to her quickly; she was only a few steps ahead of him, and

he touched her arm. “I want to escort you home and check the place out for you. He might have left some more messages . . .” It sounded lame even to his own ears, but she seemed to buy it. “I have to get a phone on the way home,” she said, almost smiling at the fact that he’d succeeded in giving her an order that she was actually following whereas most people – including her parents – had never been able to do that successfully. “Yes, you do,” he rumbled in agreement. “I’ll wait.” It didn’t sound like he was going to be put off that easily, and, in several ways, that sounded great to her. Having Man Mountain Dean watching over her – who also happened to be a cop – at a time when some psycho was apparently coming after her. To say nothing of the considerable eye candy. Not that she ever thought he might be interested in her. Frankie didn’t think like that, and she’d never acted on her own attraction to anyone. She was too shy. He was as good as his word, following her to a local discount department store, where she picked up a cordless phone with caller ID for under twenty dollars, as well as some replacement tapes for her machine. He came into the store with her, but hung back, watching her and everyone around her like some sort of bodyguard. He followed her home, parking beside her then coming around to stop her from getting out of her car. “Give me your keys. I’ll go in and check it out.” She did as he asked, but not without feeling a little funny about turning her keys over to a man she knew nothing about, even though he was a cop. But he certainly was acting like one, which set her mind more at ease. He didn’t march up the stairs. Instead, he checked all around the perimeter of the yard first, disappearing behind the house for quite some time. She’d been surprised to see the gun appear in his hand, but she knew she shouldn’t have been. Everything about this man screamed that he knew exactly what he was about. He positively oozed authority and

capability, and, Frankie hated to admit it, but the gun only added to his appeal – not that he needed any help in the masculine area in the least. When he reappeared at her door to open it for her in a gentlemanly manner, the gun was nowhere to be seen. “Everything seems to be all right, although the message light is blinking on your answering machine.” She nodded and stopped at the top of the stairs to thank him for everything he’d done for her, and he was directly behind her. When she turned around, she was in his arms as he held the screen door open for her. Suddenly much more nervous about being so close to him than she was about her stalker, she swallowed dryly and stuck out her hand – although it didn’t have very far to go before it bumped up against that rock solid chest of his and she drew it back quickly. Then she saw that lopsided, almost grin of his. “I’m coming in, Ma’am. I want to hear if any of the new messages are his.” He was coming in. To her house. Where there was a bed not twenty feet from any area of it. She turned and entered the house, not paying the least attention to him, not wanting him to know how hard her heart was pounding in her chest, or her clit throbbing in her sweats. She wanted him, and she intended to keep that thought entirely to herself on penalty of death. “Can I offer you something to drink?” she asked, diving into the role of a good hostess, as opposed to the one as good ho. “No, thank you, Ma’am.” Okay, that was enough of being “ma’am”ed to death. “Please, call me Frankie.” He looked up from his ever present notebook. “Francesca it is.” No one but her mother had ever called her Francesca and stuck with it,

but out of the mouths of freaking’ gorgeous babes, he could call her anything he wanted as long as he didn’t call her late to bed. He didn’t quite know how to interpret the cute way she was biting her lip. But he also couldn’t see telling the guys back at the station that he was dating someone named Frankie. They’d never let him hear the end of it, even once they knew she was a woman. And he intended to date her. He intended to a lot more than date her, but dating would suffice at first. But then again, maybe it wouldn’t, he revised as he listened to several strings of long, filthy messages the perp had left on her machine. She’d gotten whiter and whiter every minute it had played, until he finally stopped it, just as a female voice came on and scolded her for not calling her back. The relief on Frankie’s face was enormous. “That’s my sister. I’d told her that I was going to call you, and she wanted me to call her right back. She’s a worrywart.” “And with good reason.” He did not look happy, and he was staring directly at her. “Why do you go to places like that online, anyway? Don’t you have a boyfriend?” Frankie frowned back at him fiercely. “Not that it’s any of your business, but no, I don’t, at the moment.” He didn’t need to know how many years “at the moment”covered. There went that eyebrow again. “I’m a cop working your case. It is my business, in case the party in question is a former boyfriend.” She hadn’t thought of that. There hadn’t been any contact between herself and Kyle in such a long time, that it never occurred to her that he might be the person behind all of this. “You never answered my question.”

Frankie knew well and good what question he was referring to, but she wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction of answering it. She’d already had to parade her particular interests in front of him quite enough for one day. She wasn’t going to elaborate any further, and crossed her arms over her chest as she said, “I don’t think that’s question is pertinent to my case, Detective. Are we through here?” she asked dismissively. Holt wasn’t about to turn tail and run just because she’d decided their conversation was at an end. He was, however, about to do something that might just get him fired if he didn’t handle it right. Of course, he intended to handle it – and her – just perfectly. Holt inched towards her slowly so as not to frighten her. She didn’t even notice he was doing it, really, didn’t become alarmed by the fact that he was carefully backing her into the corner formed by her kitchen counters until she realized that he had one arm on either side and when she looked up he was all she could see. “I beg your pardon, Detective - ” she said, trying valiantly for indignation, but not quite making the mark. He was too damned close to her. Every intelligent thought flew out of her head, and all she could think about was that vast expanse of muscular chest that was less than a foot away from her. But he hadn’t made a move to touch her. Yet. She wanted him to – she didn’t want to want him to, but she did. Her breasts were swelling, her nipples were peaking painfully, and her breathing was as bad as it had been when she’d gotten that first awful call – only the stimulus was quite a bit better. She could smell the remnants of his aftershave, probably slapped on in a hurry this morning, but the ever present undertone of his scent was an all male combination of determination and sheer forceful masculinity, and it was the most intoxicating thing she’d ever smelled. Better than anything anyone could ever bottle, by a long shot. Frankie was getting dizzy. He was too close. There was too much of him – he was overwhelming her. Then all of a sudden he was gone, but he had taken a hold of her wrist,

and was tugging her into her own living room. Before she knew it, he’d put a foot up on her couch – shoe and all – and tipped her over his huge leg, forcing her to lean so far over that at first she thought she was going to fall all the way over, but then, when his arm came across her back to steady her, she realized that she’d just been put into the perfect position for a spanking. Her sweats had an elastic waist, of course, and they were whisked down and off in less than a second, and she lay there, exposed, in just the small pink bikini panties she’d donned this morning. And she was not happy. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” she screamed, wishing – not for the first time – that she’d gone with a condo in town rather than an isolated house miles away from anyone or anything. Now no one was going to hear her cries for help! No amount of twisting or writhing did her any good at all. She was well and truly trapped, and his hand was already claiming her unprotected bottom as if he had a right to it. “Well, it seems to me that a woman who is so obviously interested – and in need of being spanked – out to get spanked when she makes herself as vulnerable to creeps like this guy as you so obviously have. You’ve earned a spanking, and I’m going to give you exactly what you deserve,” he informed her firmly, rubbing her rump with his palm experimentally. “And you’ve just earned yourself an extra five swats for using that extremely unladylike word.” The first time his hand connected with her butt she screamed loudly – from a mixture of equal parts anger and pain. There was no way she was going to let him go through with this. This was not how she wanted to have her first adult spanking. Not at all. She had intended to find someone who she could ease into the idea, or, if she was lucky, someone who was as interested in it as she was, and her first spanking would happen because she’d overdrawn their checkbook, or let the gas run out in the car. He’d light candles and hug her a lot first, and explain in a loving and tender manner why he had to do what he had to do, and then he’d gently guide her over his lap and spank her. He’d say and do everything right; be her true heart’s desire, fulfill her every dream. Somehow, she never focused on the fact that a spanking hurt, even

though she always saw herself moaning with each swat, with tears in her eyes at the end, when he gathered her to him again to rock her gently. Then they made mad, passionate love until she was moaning for an entirely different reason. But this was something else. It was entirely too painful, and it was being conducted by a man she not only didn’t love, but she didn’t even know! It was wrong, every single dreadfully painful moment of it, and she wasn’t going to let him continue with it. The problem was that she couldn’t see a way to extract herself from this situation. Not a one. She couldn’t kick him – her feet dangled uselessly, except when she was bicycling them madly after another one of his god awful swats. Her hair hung down over her face, obscuring her view of her target. Finally, through the haze of the blaze he was igniting in her bottom, she realized that her hands were free, although they couldn’t really reach back to defend her rear – despite her numerous attempts. He had her draped too far over his leg for that to be possible without dislocating her shoulder. So she went for what she could reach, which was the leg that was propped up on her chintz covered couch. As she yeowled and cried while he whacked away at her bottom, she knew she would only have one chance at this, slipping her hand up beneath the hem of his pants and digging all five of her fingernails into the flesh of his calf for all she was worth. His roar was worth almost anything. Except the fact that he merely reached down with those long arms of his and caught her wrists together in one of his hands, clamping them all there at the small of her back, and quietly, calmly returning to roasting her bottom – even worse than he had before.

Chapter Four “That wasn’t the smartest thing to do, Francesca, considering your position,” he commented grimly as he watched the pattern of his hand and fingerprints reddening the ample skin that wasn’t covered by her tiny panties. “One would think you’d prefer to be here, over my knee, all afternoon with that kind of behavior.” “NO!” she screamed, knowing she most certainly didn’t want that. She was somewhat satisfied to see red on the tips of her fingers – she knew she’d drawn blood with her attempt to save herself, and she’d hurt him. But not nearly as much as he was hurting her, unfortunately. By the time he slowed down, she had given up, and was simply hanging over his leg, sobbing helplessly with each crack of his palm on her defenseless butt. Then, surprising her, he helped her onto her feet and ducked as she immediately swung at him. “I am going to report you to the Chief!” she screamed, brushing her hair out of her face angrily and waiving her finger in his face. “Go right ahead. I don’t think you’re really going to want to get into this with him. You were embarrassed enough to have to admit what you did at the station today,”’ he answered with a smugness that Francesca found intolerable. “Besides. You’re obviously into spanking, and I’m more than willing to fulfill that need for you. We should be dating, not fighting.” She tried to interrupt him, but he put his hand up. Holt watched Francesca’s eyes flair when he preempted her response, but he didn’t let it stop him from saying what needed to be said. “What I just gave you was only one of the three spankings you earned today.” Her eyes fairly popped at that pronouncement, but she was so bowled over she couldn’t even get her mouth to work right. Holt stood directly in front of her, close enough that she could just barely

feel him against her, although the heat that radiated off him felt like it was searing her already too taut skin, and tipped her chin up so that she had no choice but to look him in the eye. “Yes. You have two more coming. One just like the one you just got because you dug me like that. You are never to do that again, Francesca. If I decide to spank you, it’s because that’s what’s best for you. The other spanking will be a lighter one for language.” Her heart stopped. She’d always wanted a man who would stand up to her – who would keep her in line – but not quite this way. She didn’t want some stranger coming in and taking over her life. She just didn’t. It didn’t feel right to her to be spanked by someone she didn’t know. It was much too intimate a thing to pass between strangers, although she certainly knew a lot of people – especially online who didn’t have any such compunction. But it didn’t work that way for her. It had been . . . interesting . . . to be spanked by someone rather than just fantasizing about it. But although she was certainly attracted to him – no red blooded woman with a pulse wouldn’t be. He was big and manly and disgustingly self-confident – almost, but not quite – to the point of arrogance. And he had that hard bitten air of danger about him, too. As if he would never quite be tamed to any woman’s hand. And his protectiveness had melted her heart quite a bit, too. She’d never had a man take care of her so well – and they’d just met! But none of that was love. It was just too soon. “And,” he continued, “I should give you a spanking for threatening to turn me into the Chief, but I won’t.” Suddenly, she was engulfed in a hug that was so carefully gentle – yet firm – that it had her eyes filling with even more tears. “I’ve seen you at the gym, but I didn’t know who you were. If I’d known how much you needed to be spanked, I would have obliged a lot sooner.” His rakish grin made her smack one of the log-like arms that had wrapped themselves around her. “I want you to be sure to do what I told

you to do about this guy. And I’m going to keep a very close eye on you from this point forward. I usually scout the town before I go in to work and afterwards – I’ll start driving by as often as I can, just in case. I want you to stop chatting on line as of right now, at least until I can coerce my brother into taking a look at your computer and tightening whatever privacy settings you have. Do you understand?” “Why should I follow your orders? You’re a cop, not my boyfriend,” she sassed back with a bravery she most definitely didn’t feel. The look he gave her made her wish she could recall what she’d said. “Because I am a cop, and I said so, that’s why. And I’m going to remedy the boyfriend part by taking you out this Saturday night.” Frankie noticed that he wasn’t asking, he was most definitely telling. She snorted in his face. “So much for the Southern Gentleman façade, I guess. Now you’re going for Southern Caveman? Are you going to drag me by the hair out to dinner?” “No. But you’d better be ready at eight when I come for you, or you won’t like the consequences.” Holt knew he could have been playing it a bit too hard and fast for Francesca, but at least he’d talked himself out of what he’d wanted to do, which was escort her right into her bedroom so that he could leave her with a memory of hair raising pleasure rather than burning pain. But something about that look in her eye made him reign himself in. He would have loved nothing more than to make her scream with the ultimate ecstasy, despite the fact that they had only really met that morning. It just felt right with her, the way it never had with any other woman, including Ginny. He gave her another hug, softer and gentler than the first one, but no less firm, losing his hands in the enticing fall of her almost butt length hair. His body wanted him to grind against her, but he wasn’t about to do that. He knew that he’d be lucky if she didn’t slam the door in his face when he arrived on Saturday night, but he figured he had to make a stand. He certainly didn’t want anyone else snapping her out from under him, and when the guys at the station got a look at her, they were all

going to want her as badly as he did. Holt made his way to the door, still holding onto one of her wrists so that she had to follow him. When he’d opened it, he pulled her closer to him, saying, “Lock the door behind me. Don’t let anyone in that you don’t know. Even the UPS guy. Do you understand me?” “Yes,” she replied, rolling her eyes out of habit, because he was sounding like her sister, ordering her around. That was the wrong thing to do in front of him. “Don’t roll your eyes at me, woman,” he growled, “or I’ll add another spanking to the list, and you won’t sit comfortably for a month.” Somehow, despite how independent and self confident she was, he managed to make her blush and look down, acknowledging his dominance over her clearly, but in a non verbal manner. At his mention of a spanking, her hands had automatically returned to her still throbbing butt cheeks. “Remember,” he said as he took the first few steps off the small porch, “Saturday at eight.” “Why not Friday?” she asked, just curious. He stopped at his truck, turning to flash her a small smile, glad she was asking and not protesting. “Because I work Friday nights. Be on time, Francesca,” he warned. “I don’t wait for anyone.” The first thing she did after he left was run into the bathroom and drop her drawers to see if there were any marks on her bottom from his loving attentions. And of course there were. The skin of her butt was bright red, and she knew she detected some fingerprints. That was one of the things she liked to see online when she indulged in looking at pictures from the spanking binary newsgroups – it was the marks. She didn’t know why, but they stirred something in her – something beyond the merely venal, which was powerful enough. She could feel herself falling, and she didn’t want to. It was too quick.

Everything was happening too fast, and he was too damn dominant for her comfort – especially the comfort of her seat! Frankie grabbed the phone and dialed her sister, who was just about frantic, having not heard from her baby sister for several hours when it should have been only a few minutes or so. She filled Kayla in on what had transpired – the phone calls, and her trip to the police station. “It’s about damned time! I’m sorry it had to get to that point before you did that, though.” “Well,” Frankie said, drawing the word out teasingly. “I’m, for one, am distinctly not.” Kayla was immediately suspicious. “Why not?” “Because . . . remember that guy I told you about who seems to be working out with weights every time I go to Heddy’s?” “Yeah – the big guy you drool over? Yes, I’ve been there with you, remember?” Frankie could hear Kayla’s eyes rolling even from this distance. “Well, I went down to the police department and guess who the cop on the beat was?” There was a long beat before her sister answered. “You’re kidding me!” “No, I’m not. Not only that, but I had to tell him what rooms I was chatting in.” “Oh my God!” Kayla was turning red for her sister. “I’m assuming they were spanking rooms?” She and Francesca were pretty open with each other. Kayla couldn’t understand Francesca’s interest in spanking, but then, Francesca couldn’t understand Kayla’s obsessive interest in interior decorating. As long as she didn’t get hurt, Kayla didn’t see a problem with whatever Frankie was interested in sexually.

But this was getting dangerous. “So? What happened?” Frankie snorted. “What else? I ended up in a puddle of humiliation that was a thousand times worse than anything you can imagine. And then he took me to Wal-mart to get a phone with caller ID, and came home with me to check the place – and me, I might add – out pretty thoroughly. Then, when he left, he promised to drive by the place every time he could, just to keep an eye on the place.” She judiciously cut out the part about her spanking, and the threatened future spankings. “And then he asked me out.” Well, Kayla didn’t need to know that he’d, in essence, ordered her to go out with him. “He did? That’s wonderful! It’s about time you started dating again – I was worried you were turning into a nun.” That wasn’t about to happen – Frankie was quite sure, if Holt had anything to say about it. She hung up with Kayla and went about her evening ablutions, then slid under the covers, only to become completely unable to fall asleep. All she could think about was his hands on her – even when he was spanking her. He was so strong and sure, so naturally dominant. He hadn’t so much as batted an eyelash when he’d realized what she wanted and needed, and he’d proceeded to give her just that – despite the fact that she probably could have had him up on charges. He was so big – comfortably big, as far as Frankie was concerned. She liked men of size, and this one in particular. He made her feel looked after, protected, with the way he was being so cautious about this man that was threatening her, yet he’d also given her the spanking of her life time, and promised more to come! Despite the fact that she’d been absolutely obsessed with spanking, and had read or looked at pretty much everything she could get her hands on – online or off – about it, Frankie hadn’t been at all sure whether she would ever really pursue a spanking relationship. But it seemed that one hand found her, regardless. And he spanked damned hard!

She certainly hadn’t enjoyed it while it was happening one bit, but replaying what had happened, concentrating on his attitude and his facial expressions, and the melty tone of his voice when he got all forceful with her when he was laying down the laws according to him . . . thinking about all of that gave her no choice but to reach for the tube of lubricant she kept in the top drawer of her nightstand. Usually, it was all of that Internet stuff that drove her to this. This time, it was real life, and the fact that, as she lay there, with her legs butterflied delicately beneath the sheets, her hands finding their way beneath the elastic of her pajamas and undies to that closely shaved V of flesh, opening the moist folds with the ease of long practice, and finding that she didn’t really need the glob of jelly she’d brought there. The reality of what he’d done to her – the way he’d taken her over his knee and spanked her bottom good – had her literally quivering, even before she found that golden, glistening spot. Frankie sighed as she imagined that he had taken her punishment that natural step further, picking her up and carrying her down the hall to lay her gently down on the bed she was in, joining her there and just holding her as she cried it all out on his broad shoulders, rubbing her back and stroking her face, telling her that he only did it because he loved her, then letting his hands claim more of her than he had during the spanking – much more. She could remember the way those hands felt when they weren’t ravaging her rear, when he was holding her to him, rubbing them up her back and into her hair. There was nothing that she didn’t remember about him and every second of the way he’d taken her in hand, and she used that to drive herself absolutely crazy, flicking her finger against that swollen bud and grinding her hips up against her hand until she literally screamed with it, and her whole body shook with the force of her orgasm. Less than three minutes later, she fell into the best sleep she’d had in years.

The phone rang early the next morning, and she rolled over to check the

ID. It was a local number, but not one she recognized, so she let it flip over to the machine – she’d be able to hear whoever’s voice on the speaker. “You damned well better be home at six in the morning,” came a growl she instantly recognized. Frankie grabbed up the phone and blasted him. “What the fuck are you doing, calling me at this hour of the morning?” The moment the expletive was out of her mouth, she wished she could recall it, and her heart began to pound – along with her backside – with the memory of the spanking she’d received yesterday. There was a long silence on the other end of the phone, then he drawled very slowly and deliberately, “You’re new to this, and new to your rules, so I’ll give you a chance to revise what you said up to a more ladylike level.” Despite her rampant nerves, Frankie had a hard time not snorting in his ear. If this guy wanted some dainty Southern flower, he had the wrong girl. She swallowed hard, forcing her heart back down her throat, and said, “Considering the hour of this telephone call, I’ll stick with my wording, thank you.” Holt was glad he couldn’t see her smile. This woman had guts. He liked that. It didn’t mean he wasn’t going to spank her, but it did reinforce the estimation of her he’d formed when she’d strode – not quite boldly – into a male only police department and confessed what she had to him. A lot of women wouldn’t have had the moxie it took to try to put a stop to this guy – even if he had already done something physically threatening to them. He was an early morning person, and had decided to call her after he’d done his rounds around town, including swinging out to her place and giving it a thorough once over. “Well, then you’ve just earned yourself spanking number three, haven’t you? Eventually you’ll learn that I don’t tolerate that kind of language from my woman.” This time, she did snort. “You’re woman? After knowing you all of,” she

paused to look at the clock and get depressed all over that she was even coherent at this house, “what, eighteen hours or so?” “Yes. I know it, and you know it, although you’re reluctant to admit it right now. There’s something between us. It’s almost palpable when we’re in a room together – say, even a big, wide open gym. Putting it simply, Francesca Ballard, you turn me on. And so does your predilection, in case you hadn’t noticed.” He was using a passle of “pay it forward” words, and Frankie was impressed. Apparently he wasn’t just some dumb jock cop on a power trip, like the rest of them. This man was smart. And that was pretty much the nail in her coffin. She was lost. It was pretty telling that a man who could use perfectly acceptable polysyllabic words correctly practically have her creaming in her pants, but what could she say? She was a writer – words were important to her. He didn’t have to jump through any other hoops. That was it for her. She loved him. Frankie had never fallen this quickly for anyone – even Kyle. She’d been attracted quickly, but never been so rock solid sure that this man was the one. It scared her even more than his threatened – promised – punishments. Well, almost. “I hadn’t,” she admitted, because it was the truth. She’d been entirely too wrapped up in her own experience during the spanking to pay that much attention to him. Besides, the only part of him that was near her during that was his damnably uncomfortable leg – and it’s wonderfully vulnerable calf. “For the record, it does. I’ve always been the dominant person I my relationships, mostly because I tend to be a bit overprotective towards women,” he admitted with quiet strength. “Ya’ think?” she quipped back at him, surprised she could find any levity at oh dark thirty. He literally growled into the phone. “Hey, why don’t you come open your

door, and I’ll bring you breakfast.” Her eyebrows rose into her hair as she got up with the phone. “What are you doing, sitting in my driveway?” She peeped out from behind her bedroom mini blinds, only to confirm exactly what she’d just asked. All six foot whatever of him was leaning indolently against the front of his truck, massive arms folded over his equally impressive chest. There were bags on the hood of the truck – but they weren’t from MacDonalds or Burger King, because Alverton was too tiny to have either of those yet – along with a tray full of drinks that looked like he’d bought breakfast for his whole department rather than just the two of them. In somewhat of a daze, Frankie did as she was told, strolling to the porch door and opening it just enough to know that it was open then turning off the phone. He shouldered his way into the house, immediately suffusing the place with his dominant masculine presence. But before he took another step, he murmured, “C’mere, Fresca. Give us a good morning kiss.” “Don’t call me a soda,” she complained on a yawn. She looked cute when she pursed her lips and frowned. He’d deliberately called her early, figuring she’d still be asleep, and he’d bet right. She was standing there, in all her sleepy, unusually vulnerable glory. Not the flippant, stubborn writing goddess, but rather a still half asleep woman. And that was just the way he wanted her. At least she was no longer in sweats – this time, she was in cutely baggy pastel pink and green flannel pajamas. It would be their first, and he was letting her control it. His hands were occupied with bags and trays, his arms open, and Frankie felt relatively safe in kissing him – she could step away from him any time she liked. So she walked up to him, holding his deep brown eyes with hers the entire way, until their bodies bumped gently. But even when she rose on her tip toes, bare feet and all, with her lips pooched out comically towards him, he still had to bend down towards her to complete the kiss, so her sense of control was an illusion after all.

But before their mouths met, he chided in a whisper, “Stop that,” and she smiled, just a bit, before he took her lips with his. It was a soft, undemanding kiss – the kind of kiss one expected at this hour, innocent and deeply sexy at the same time, easily expanded into something that might carry them into the bedroom if he allowed it, but he didn’t. Holt kept it light, slanting his lips unhurriedly across hers for just the barest of moments, leaving her wanting more – much more – then stepping back from her, saying teasingly, “Don’t want to let things get cold,” as he made his way to her small dining room table and began unpacking bags. “I didn’t know what you liked, so I got some of everything. You take what you want, and I’ll eat the rest.” What he was rapidly piling into the middle of her table was a truly prodigious amount of food and drinks, all from the Speakeasy Café. There were two cups of coffee, two orange juices and two grapefruit juices. There was a breakfast sandwich made out of a pancake, which included sausage and egg, as well as toast, bacon, what looked like homemade hash browns and more eggs and sausage. After resurrecting the real Vermont maple syrup, the butter, salt and pepper as well as accoutrement for coffee, Frankie sat down and handed him a paper plate. “Good Lord! There’s enough food here to feed the Third Infantry!” Holt gave her that almost smile he had some times, but sat back and watched what she took, cataloguing it in the back of his mind – a coffee, which she laced liberally with milk and two packets of artificial sweetener, a very small portion of eggs, two sausage links and a handful of hash browns – so that, the next time, he would know what she liked. He commandeered everything else without a second thought.

Chapter Five “You know, with you sitting out there in my driveway, I’m not sure exactly who it is that’s stalking me, Officer - ” That formidable chin of his nearly met his chest as he looked at her from under drawn, heavy eyebrows. “It’s not officer anything, Francesca. It’s Detective. But call me Holt.” “Holt? Where’d you get that first name?” she asked. She had a natural curiosity about names as a writer, and was always on the lookout for unusual ones. “It was my mother’s maiden name.” “She’s gone?” Although he didn’t look like he needed it, she reached over and patted his hand in sympathy. “I’m sorry.” Holt caught her fingers in his hand and refused to let them go. “Thank you, but it was a while ago, and she was only too happy to go be with my father.” Frankie nodded. “Yeah. My parents had that kind of relationship, too. It was wonderful – makes me wish I could find that myself, although I think it’s pretty rare, especially nowadays.” Holt was nodding, too, while staring very intently at her and saying in a low, confident tone, “I think that some relationships definitely have that potential – even today.” She took a sip of the hot, surprisingly mellow coffee to help her choke down a mouthful of hash browns. He seemed to be speaking about their relationship, such as it was. But it was much too early for that. Thankfully, he didn’t pursue it, thought. Instead he asked, “Have you gotten any more calls?” He had the timing of a waiter – always catching her with her mouthful. She put her napkin to her mouth, saying impolitely as she chewed, “Yes.

Almost a whole tape full.” His grimace did not instill confidence, despite his passively threatening presence. Suddenly, the reality of it all hit her all at once. She was in real danger. Even he – a hard nosed cop – thought she was in danger. Suddenly, all of this wonderful tasted like so much sawdust. Holt noticed that she was no longer eating, and had slumped back against her chair. Holt could see the fine tremor as it shook her body, and he knew he’d blown it by mentioning that damned man. He wished he had kept his big mouth shut. Without so much as a second thought, he reached across the table and drew her onto his lap, holding her tight against him, whispering against the top of her head. “We’ll get him, Frankie. I promise. We’ll get him.” She didn’t know why, but somehow, because he’d said it, it had to be true. And his strong arms around her didn’t help. Later in their relationship, she might have given in and cried on his shoulder, but despite the fact that he just kept making her fall further and further in love with him, she didn’t want to turn into some sort of a watering pot. She knew how men generally hated that. So Frankie settled for relaxing against him, letting him hold her and not fighting to get back to her own chair, which is probably what she should have been doing. It just felt so good to be held. Especially by him. He didn’t hold her for long, but long enough to make sure she wasn’t shaking any longer, then he set her gently back on her own chair and set her napkin in her lap. “Eat,” he urged as gently as he could, watching her like a hawk to see that she complied, which she did, but not much. Trying to change the subject, he asked, “What would you like to do Saturday night?” Frankie made a sudden decision in her mind, and deliberately met his eyes when she said, “I want you to teach me to shoot.” He couldn’t have been any more stunned if she’d asked him to teach her how to field dress a deer. She didn’t strike him as the gun toting sort – in

fact, just the opposite. Despite how stubborn and independent she tried to present herself, her home screamed of the softness beneath that façade. It was warm and open and decorated in very feminine, light pastels. He could no more see her with a gun in her hand than he could see himself in a dress. Holt looked at her consideringly for a very long time. It was his considered opinion that if more people were armed, there would be much less crime in the streets. He was a firm believer in the second amendment, and would be regardless of his occupation. He’d owned guns – rifles in particular – since he was a boy hunting his first deer when he was twelve and his father gifted him with a Winchester 22. But he knew his opinion was so far from the mainstream as to be considered ridiculous. And, if she’d decided she needed a gun for her own protection, he would much rather that she learn from him – as well as a gun safety course – than anyone else. He would make sure she was as safe as was humanly possible. “All right,” he agreed, and she knew from the sound of it that there would be a “but”. “But I want you to promise me that, if you decide you want to actually have a gun of your own, that you’ll come to me first.” He got directly into her face when he repeated, “I want your solemn promise about this, Francesca. I won’t have you sitting here in this house, scared to death of this man, whoever he is, with a gun in your lap that you have no idea how to operate safely.” “I wouldn’t do that!” “You’re not going to get the opportunity to do that if I have anything to say about it.” He didn’t need to say the addendum to that sentence. He did have something to say about it. He sat back a little. “If you want to learn how to shoot, then we’re going to have to chance when we get together. The range isn’t open on Saturday nights. How does four work for you? We can get a couple hours in before we go to dinner. And I want your promise, missy.” Frankie bit her lip, but nodded tightly. “I promise.”

Breakfast was officially over at that point. Talking about the need to learn about or potentially use guns on someone effectively killed the intimacy his impromptu meal had created. But he didn’t leave her like that, looking somewhat shell shocked at what she, herself, had asked for. As she cleaned up their small mess, she watched him remove the cassette from her answering machine and replace it with a new one. “Come see me to the door, and then you can work and slave your fingers to the bone over your laptop.” He extended his hand to her, and she was powerless to stop herself from grabbing it. Absolutely powerless. “I’m going to call you shortly and set up a time when my brother can come over and check out your computer.” “Yes, Sir.” Her easy acquiescence made him nervous, and he gave her the eye. “Now that’s the kind of response I like to hear.” “Don’t hold your breath, Officer Wyatt,” she teased, deliberately using the wrong title. In the blink of an eye, she found herself hauled up against him, and in the midst of a kiss that would have melted her underpants – if she’d been wearing any. His hand came up and cradled the back of her head, holding her right where he wanted her, submitting to his kiss in a way that made every inch of her flush all hot and cold at the same time, that achy, wonderful feeling settling right where it belonged, between her legs. When he withdrew, slowly, as if it was painful to relinquish her in any way, his lips settled gently on each of her eyelids. “Go back to sleep,” he whispered. “I’m sorry I woke you and upset you.” Frankie shook her head. “Don’t be for either. Breakfast was wonderful. Room service with benefits,” she smiled broadly. “What time do you usually get up?” he asked, not wanting to drag her out of bed when he did this again.

“I’m usually writing by eight thirty or nine or so, and I knock off at five.” “I’ll remember that. When do you lunch?” Chuckling lightly, she answered, “Whenever.” Holt stole another kiss, then stepped out the door. “Lunch tomorrow then. I’ll call you. You’ll get your second spanking then.” She’d been looking forward to the company – until his little add on comment. She wasn’t going to look forward to another of his spankings. Was she?

He called her several times that day – once with the brilliant idea that she start using her cell phone for personal calls, so that she didn’t have to worry about who was calling the house line, she could just check it every once in a while, but consider that it was dedicated for the time being to finding her harasser. She did exactly that, telling Kayla to call her on her cell rather than home phone. That and a few – very few – close friends was the extent of the people she felt she needed to inform of her change in phone number. It depressed her to no end that those were the only people she had to call. But then, the high point was that he kept calling her. Not annoyingly so at all – his calls were great breaks in her day. He called her that night around nine or so, just to check up, but he didn’t stop by again that day, although she knew he was around. He did call her the next day, though. D day. Or rather S day, she thought, correcting herself. At least he waited until a more reasonable time of day to do that – just as she’d sat down to write for the day. “I’ll be there around one.” “Good morning to you, too.”

Holt frowned. “Sorry. We’re a little busy here, and I wasn’t sure I was even going to be able to squeeze in this call. I’m bringing lunch. And my belt,” he added. “Gotta go.” The phone was dead in her ear, and her heart was lying on the outside of her chest. His belt! She wasn’t at all sure she could endue another of his hand spankings, much less a session with his belt! He was a big guy – he had to own some pretty prodigious belts – wide, long ones with a lot of leather. She was allergic to leather . . . or she could be if she needed to be. As long as he didn’t look at her shoes or her purse. Frankie had to admit, though, that his little two minute warning phone call – even though it annoyed her that she had barely gotten a word in edgewise – had certainly helped her writing that day. She wrote more sex scenes in the four hours between his call and what she recognized as his angry knock on the door than she ever had in her life. He noticed the fact that she hadn’t asked who it was. “That is a very unsafe way to answer the door, Francesca,” he scolded. “You should always ask who it is before you open the door – especially in your situation.” She out and out glared at him. “I’m not a ditz, you know. I could see your truck from the window.” Not completely mollified, he put the lunch bags on the counter and caught her around the waist, pulling her against him mid stride. “I’m going to give you a choice. Do you want to get your punishment over before lunch, or wait until after?” That was a horrid choice, and she let him know exactly that. “Nonetheless, it’s your choice. And don’t wait too long to make it, or I’ll take the choice away from you.” Damn, the man was good! Everything he said, everything he did, was dominant and sexy and drove her near to orgasming right in front of him, even though he’d never touched her intimately except to spank her. It

seemed her body considered that that was more than enough. She didn’t want to be spanked, but that apparently wasn’t an option. If she went with her first impulse, which was to get it over with, she was going to be sitting through lunch with a sore butt. If she waited, she wouldn’t taste a bite of her food because she’d be too nervous to enjoy it. Just thinking so much about it made her stomach hurt, and she finally blurted out, just as it looked like he might say something and take away her small modicum of control about this situation, “Before.” He didn’t say a thing, merely nodding and reaching around behind him to his back pocket, where he pulled out something folded and brown. It was a length of leather, about twelve or fourteen inches long, including a handle that had been wrapped in rawhide. Frankie paled at the sight. “You – you haven’t been carrying that around with you all day, have you?” She was mortified at the thought that someone else might have seen it sticking out of his pocket or something equally as embarrassing. He grinned, but it had an almost evil tinge to it. “No. I left it in the glove box in my trunk until I needed it.” He didn’t like the wary look in her eyes, or the way she was biting her lip, but he supposed it was an inevitability. He needed to be strong enough to give her what she needed. Holt took a seat on her depressingly feminine couch, patting the cushion next to him. Frankie walked towards him, albeit with obvious reluctance. The first thing he did, though, was just hold her, his voice low and comforting. “I know we really don’t know each other that well yet, but I intend to remedy that in the near future by dropping in on you with food and dating you incessantly.” Frankie smiled, feeling safer than she had in a very long time. “But believe it or not, I’ve already come to care about you, and I think that this is something you need, even if the pursuit of it online did get you into trouble. From now on, you won’t be doing any more of that.” It wasn’t a question, it was an order. “Because you’re going to be getting more than

enough of it in real life. I don’t hold with hitting women, but this isn’t hitting, this is spanking, and it fits right in with the way that I believe a relationship should be run – with the man firmly in the driver’s seat. “And if you need to be spanked in order to keep you from doing things you oughtn’t – like digging the person who’s giving you a spanking, or using bad language, then I’m just the man to do it.” As soon as he began arranging her over his lap, Frankie’s nerves returned. Especially when he tugged her jeans – as well as her undies – down to the backs of her knees. “Hey!” she protested, definitely not wanting to be bared like this before him, and trying already to reach around and cover her rear. “Am I going to have to hold your wrists from the beginning, Francesca?” he asked sharply. “N-no.” “Good. Because you won’t like the results if I catch you reaching back. Do you understand?” “Yes.” Holt laid the strap over the pale pillows of her bottom. “I have five little crescents in my calf now, you know.” “I’m sorry.” “You’re going to be.” And she was. Frankie howled from the first lick to the last of that terrible, terrible implement. His arms were clamped tightly about her waist, and there was nothing she could do but endure it until he decided she’d learned her lesson, but she didn’t do it quietly. She couldn’t do it quietly. There was nothing for it but to scream her lungs out. That length of leather burned

stripes across the top, middle and sensitive under curve of her butt, and also ventured boldly down the backs of her legs, until the entire area was a uniform shade of swollen cherry red. “If I’m going to punish you when you need it, and I am,” he lectured steadily, “then you’re not going to bite, dig, pinch, or otherwise try to stop me from doing so. I know it hurts – it’s supposed to hurt. But I will not tolerate any sort of shenanigans like that – especially the ones that cause me bodily harm. Am I making myself perfectly understood?” “Yes!” she fairly screamed as the strap descended again and again, covering the same territory three or four times in a row. Holt made it a very serious lesson indeed. He didn’t stop until he was sure she’d think twice the next time she thought of gouging him with her nails while he was trying to adjust her attitude. When he finally stopped and put the belt away, she was lying limp over his lap, whimpering softly, and it tugged at his heart so badly that he turned her – gently, being careful of her now roasted rump – and held her tight to him, rocking slightly. Nothing – but nothing – could stop him from gently pressing his mouth over hers. To his surprise, she arched up against him, sitting almost sideways as she was to keep her butt from scraping against his pants, cupping his cheek with her hand and whimpering a bit louder, and, he hoped, for a different reason. Her pants and cute flowered panties were no longer around her knees. She’d been kicking too much during her punishment for them to have remained quietly in place there. Instead, they were wrapped around her ankles, and although he knew he oughtn’t, he couldn’t keep himself from placing the same hand that had wielded the strap onto that flat belly of hers. Holt could feel the way she held her breath as his skin made contact with hers. Frankie was of two minds here – part of her wanted to tell him, indignantly, to take his hands off of her, like some offended Southern Belle that she most definitely was not. She wasn’t a virgin to be all coy and threatened. But she wasn’t loose in the least bit, either, especially

considering today’s definition of the word. She just wasn’t the type to be comfortable sleeping around at all. There had to be some sort of a relationship – and at least a month or two of relatively platonic dating – before she’d even consider sleeping with a guy. She’d almost lost Kyle because she’d made him wait so long. But apparently all bets were off with this man. All she could do was wait, and hope and want him, with everything she had, everything she owned. Holt pressed his lips to her forehead, and let his hand very slowly, so that she had all the time she needed to call him off if she wanted, descend to that inviting niche between her legs, his strong, thick middle finger slipping between those plush lips, settling right where he wanted it to, atop that swollen – and unbelievably moist – nub. He was very surprised to realize that she was wet, even after a spanking like the one he’d just given her. Holt considered it the ultimate affirmation that he was giving her exactly what she needed – and wanted, obviously. Franking had to move. She just had to. But arching forward rocked her against that unyielding digit of his, and rocking backward dragged parts of her ravaged derriere against his pants. The combination of pain and pleasure was incredibly intoxicating. Her head fell back against his arm, and his lips descended on that exposed neck as he began to move that finger slowly – excruciatingly slowly – back and forth. Her reaction was incredible and volatile – she literally contracted within his arms, jerking violently, until he had to ask, “Am I hurting you?” Her blush was beautiful, and he could see that it wasn’t just on her face. “N – no. I just – it feels - ” she couldn’t finished the sentence. She just couldn’t. Instead, she buried her face in his shoulder. Holt’s arm contracted around her, but that finger just kept worrying her little button, making her wiggle and squirm and nearly cry with the frustration of it. She was right there, and he’d only been touching her for

the merest of minutes. What was it with this man that he could make her feel like this, seconds after laying angry stripes across her butt cheeks? She knew well and good what it was – it was that he was laying stripes across her bottom. And it was his inherent, unapologetic masculinity. “That’s it, Francesca. This is right. Come for me, right here, right now. I want you to. Obey me. You want to, I know it. Obey me.” His voice and his breath melted over her like a sensual breeze, his words only serving to heighten her response, until she could deny it no longer, and Frankie let go with a yowl that was twice as long and twice as loud as any of the ones that awful strap had inspired. Holt held her close as her body jumped and writhed and bucked and jerked, but he didn’t let up the way his middle finger flicked just the barest tip of her, coaxing another climax from her almost immediately after the first, but not stopping there, either. He kept her captive, held her his sexual prisoner, until she’d exploded at his behest three long, protracted times, and only then did he let her collapse in a heap on his lap. And then he just held her, indulging himself to his heart’s content until she began to stir again. Frankie didn’t like to think of herself as clingy, but she actually didn’t know whether her legs would work after that. She was completely limp and grabbing a hold of his shirt just to right herself, blushing again – as usual. “I’m so sorry – I - ” But his look told her she’d better stop there. “What in the world are you apologizing for, woman? You just gave me three of the best gifts I could imagine in this life,” he fairly growled. “Be quiet and let me hold you until you’ve recovered.” Frankie complied without another word, quite content to let her hold him while her body throbbed slowly back to normal.

Chapter Six Suddenly, long, wonderful minutes of him stroking her back later, she remembered that he’d brought lunch and sat up suddenly, feeling more refreshed than she had in eons. “Oh – the food! It’ll be cold!” Holt steadied her while she got to her feet, saying, “It’s just burgers and mashed potatoes. I didn’t get fries because I didn’t know whether we’d be eating after your spanking, and I figured mashed were easier to microwave.” Her face flamed yet again that he’d been thinking like that while he’d gotten them lunch. She stumbled into the kitchen, her legs not quite responding the way they should have and the rest of her body still thrumming with excitement. Holt followed her into the kitchen, just to make sure that she wasn’t going to fall. She was busy unwrapping burgers and making up plates. “Mmmmmmmmmmmm! How’d you know I like bacon burgers?” He shrugged, liking the way she was looking at him now, as opposed to the way she had been before he’d spanked her. “I pretty much figure everyone does.” “Mm-mmm,” she put a plate together and nuked it, then took it out and handed it to him, creating another plate with half that amount for herself. “The only thing I’d like more than this was if there were some sautéed onions on it. But then, if I’m going to kiss you when you leave – or any time in between –then maybe that isn’t a good idea.” He smooched her loudly as if to prove a point. “Wouldn’t make a bit of difference to me, Fresca. But next time I’ll get onions on both, because I like ‘em, too.” He ignored her entirely when she told him again not to call her a soda.

Their lunch was relatively uneventful, although while neither of them was paying any attention, three new calls had arrived from the man who was pursuing her. Holt was the epitome of a gentleman, and retrieved a throw pillow for her to sit on rather than letting her just sit on a hard wooden chair, knowing that her bottom was going to smart for some time. When he left, he hissed her like he meant it, and reminded her of their date on Saturday – and the fact that she had two more spankings coming, although they would be much lighter than the one she’d gotten today. Frankie had frowned at that remark, but he’d kissed her frown and chucked her under the chin as he left. Holt called her another three times that day, to let her know that his brother would be coming over the next day – and, of course – that he’d be coming with him. She got something in the mail to sign from the perpetrator’s ISP that she resolved to show to Holt before she signed it with relish and sent it back return receipt requested. He arrived exactly on time, as usual, the next day with his brother in tow. The two of them could not possibly have been any more different. Whereas Holt was a big strapping guy – literally, she thought with a wry smile – Greg was short and wiry, almost thin. He was also the quintessential geek – right down to the pocket protector. But he certainly knew his way around a computer. He updated a lot of stuff – including her operating system version, installed a firewall suite that included spam and antivirus blockers, and removed a ton of stuff from her computer that left her vulnerable while she was online, and plugged a lot of security leaks within her setup. Frankie was both amazed and horrified at how vulnerable she’d been. According to Greg, she was lucky she hadn’t experienced

this problem before. “Lovely.” She practically didn’t recognize her own desktop when he booted her up for the last time, but finally he was done, and she fell all over herself to thank him, even offering to take them both to lunch for their time, but Holt couldn’t go – he had to get back to work. Greg, on the other hand, was always ready for a meal. He was a consultant, so he worked when he wanted. Holt scowled fiercely as the two of them skittered out the door and into her car. He didn’t like it one bit that his little brother was getting to go out to lunch with her before he did! He was tempted to chuck work and be late back from lunch to go with them, but then he decided that that was a stupid, childish thing to do. He’d just call her this afternoon to see how it went. As different as Greg was from his brother in size and occupation, he had the same high intelligence level and a very sharp wit. Frankie found herself thinking that - nerd or not – if she’d met Greg first, she’d probably be dating him instead of his big brother. He had asked at one point what was between them. “I mean, my brother does his job very well – don’t get me wrong. And he’s very protective of the ladies – even those he isn’t dating. But I’ve never seen him get quite this personally involved in a case.” “Well, we haven’t had a first date yet – that’s tomorrow. But he has been taking good care of me.” Somehow, considering their circumstances even though Greg didn’t know them, that sounded a bit obscene. “He’s been driving by the place, just in case, since this joker knows where I live, and calling me to make sure that I’m okay.” “Yep, that’s Holt. A gentleman to the end. I was surprised when he and Ginny split.”

Frankie’s attention was glued to Greg. “Ginny?” “Yeah. He was married, briefly when he first became a cop. She gave him a really hard time about it – about being a cop’s wife, and the time he spent away from him, and always worrying about him. They got divorced. I don’t think they even made it to a year – but then, he’d’ve had to have been a saint to accomplish that, and Holt doesn’t qualify.” She picked up some very interesting information about Holt from his brother, but nothing bad at all. In fact, it seemed that, even though they weren’t very close, Greg thought a lot of his brother, and Frankie found that comforting.

Their date was the most interesting excursion she’d ever been on. The shooting range was not too far from her house, and he arrived on time, of course, to take her there. He’d told her to dress comfortably above all else, but she didn’t want to wear sweats so she settled for a nice pair of good fitting jeans and a light lilac sweater set. He had a membership in the gun club which ran the range – the entire department did, and he got her in for free as his guest. They had both indoor and outdoor ranges, but he took her to the indoor one, snagging a set of earphones for her and choosing a place well away from everyone else where she could practice. He kept his Glock in a case, along with his headphones, which he put around his neck for the time being. Before he let her touch the thing, he taught her some basic gun safety rules – never point at anyone or anything that you don’t want to shoot, finger off the trigger unless you intend to fire, never keep it loaded, things like that. Stuff she was going to relearn when she went through the gun safety class he’d taken the liberty of signing her up for.

“Excuse me?” “You’re going to take a gun safety class next Saturday.” “Listen, buster, I never said I was going to buy a gun.” He took a step towards her, being big and intimidating on purpose, but she refused to step back. “Don’t use that tone of voice with me, Francesca Ballard. If you’re going to be around me, you’re going to be around guns, and I want you to be comfortable with them. The class will do that for you, among other things. If you have a problem with that, then I guess that we’re really not a good fit.” She glared up at him, hard. She didn’t like being told what to do – which she knew was in direct conflict with what she craved, and what he seemed to be entirely willing to provide for her – structure and consequences. Sighing aggrivatedly, she ground out an extremely reluctant, “Oh, all right.” “Saturday at two. It’s here. Don’t forget.” “I won’t,” she answered impatiently. “Do I ever get to shoot this thing, or what?” His eyebrows shot up into a look she was learning not to like. “When I say you’re ready, and not before then, missy.” Pouting like a child, she leaned back against the wall of the shooting booth, arms crossed over her chest. After another long while of lecturing, he finally put the gun into her hands, and taught her to load and unload safely. “Finger off the trigger, Francesca,” he correctly sharply. “Sorry.” Before he put her headphones on her, he gave her some pointers

about how to shoot – closing one eye, letting out half a breath and then stopping to increase the steadiness of her arms, and how to grip the gun correctly to shoot. “Don’t shoot until I tell you to.” Then he put the bright yellow earphones over her ears, and pointed her in the right direction, adjusting the target so that it wasn’t too far away from her. “All right. Remember what I said. Slowly and deliberately. This is not a race. Put your finger on the trigger and squeeze slowly and steadily. We’ll worry about aim later.” All she had to hit was center body mass, anyway, he thought to himself. Holt watched her as she did everything he’d told her to do. She wasn’t playful or joking around the gun – which no one should be, as far as he was concerned. She took a good stance, with her feet planted apart, raised the gun, wrapping her left hand around and supporting the butt of the gun and her right hand, then watched her take a breath, exhale partially, stop breathing and slowly squeeze off a round. And he couldn’t believe his eyes, but she’d hit a bullseye her first time. He brought the paper target up to them and examined it carefully. A dead ringer hole in one on her first shot. That was unbelievable. He didn’t quite know why, but he felt his chest swell with pride, as he patted her on the back and sent the target back a little further than it had been before. Her next shot went right through the first one. He took the gun away from her and looked around them, just to be sure, but the place wasn’t busy – it never was – and there was no one shooting anywhere near them There was nowhere else for the bullets to be going. He was absolutely floored. She was some kind of prodigy.

This time, he put a new target sheet up, and sent it as far back as it could go. Although there was somewhat of a kick that she hadn’t been prepared for – not something like there probably would be in a rifle, but a recoil none the less – she was enjoying this little lesson enormously. Most of it, anyway. Except the parts where he was being all high handed with her. But the shooting itself was enormously fun and satisfying! This was going to be harder, though, so she concentrated even more, and took her time. Another bullseye. Wanting to test her a bit further, he switched clips on her, giving her a full one, and switched target sheets on her, putting up one with an outline of a person and telling her to shoot two in the head, two in the chest – as close to the center, which was marked, as she could, while shooting as fast as she could. Again, he put it back as far as he could, and again, when he brought it back, she had hit the targets beautifully. “Are you sure you’ve never shot a gun before?” he asked. “Never,” she answered a little too loudly because of the headphones. But she was grinning broadly. “If you ever need another profession, we could use you on the force.” Her snort was almost louder than the gunshots. “Not likely. I don’t do confrontations.” Holt nodded and gave her a new target, saying, “Fire at will. Slowly

and carefully.” When they were done and had gone through pretty much all of his spare ammunition, he took the gun from her, unloaded it, and packed it away, along with his headphones. As they walked away towards the desk where they could return her earphones, he said, “Well, what did you think?” “I love it! Can we do it again some time?” Her smile was huge and completely genuine. He chuckled. “Any time you like, hon. Any time you like.” They ended up a small, family run Italian place – Cioffredi’s - in the next town over, reveling in the lavishly garlicked bread with tons of cheese on top, a big antipasto, and humongous servings of chicken parmesan served with spaghetti with meat sauce and even more fresh, homemade bread. The waiter came by to see if they wanted dessert, and Holt asked to see the list, but Frankie turned it down flat, saying, “Man, I’m going to have to waddle out of this place as it is.” “You did a good job on the range this afternoon. You listened to what I said and did exactly what you were told, and then you must have some sort of natural ability, because I’ve taught lots of people to shoot, but none of them have been as immediately accurate as you were.” Frankie smiled. “Thank you. I enjoyed it. It’s nice to know – even this late in life – that there are still things you can unearth about yourself that you naturally do well, you know? Without having to slog through eighteen years of learning how to do it.” “I agree.” His voice was husky, because Holt was realizing just how much he wanted to be with this woman. A thought popped into his head that he suppressed for the moment in favor of asking her a

more pointed question. “Does it bother you that I’m a cop?” Although Frankie was somewhat surprised at the question especially this early in their relationship – she knew what the wrong answer to that question was, thanks to his brother. But regardless, she wasn’t going to lie to him. “Well, if it did, why would I be dating you?” He looked surprisingly relieved. “I can’t say that I don’t worry about you, I do. But to me, that’s just normal. I mean, if you were an accountant in Knoxville, I’d still worry about you driving I-40 every day, what with drive by shootings and road rage. But I try not to let my fears overtake me about much of anything.” It was about as good a response as he could expect, he realized. His job was enough to give even the strongest woman sleepless nights. And he intended to give her one this evening, although not because of that. He got a huge slab of cheesecake for dessert, covered in homemade fudge sauce and real whipped cream, which he proceeded to try to share with her. She let him feed her one big spoonful of it, but no more. When he was done, and she was innocently sipping on her coffee, he caught her eye and her hand at the same time. “I want you.” It was barely a whisper, more than a promise and just a bit less than a prayer. And it went directly to the parts of her he’d already had too much knowledge of. His thumb rubbed back and forth over her fingers where they lay in his hand. “But it’s more than that. I want us to get married.” “Married?” She expected a proposition, and she wasn’t at all sure which way she was going to go on it. Frankie knew she was falling

seriously in love with this man, but she’d already allowed him more liberties than she should have. She didn’t want him thinking she was loose, however antiquated the term. But marriage? They barely knew each other. The more Holt thought about it, the more he liked the idea. “Yes, marriage. Right now. Here, if I could arrange it.” Her shocked look said it all. “I don’t think so.” Well, at least it wasn’t an out and out no. Holt leaned closer to her, still holding her hand. “Mark my words, woman. I like you a lot. I have since I was ogling you in Heddy’s.” She was nearly apoplectic. “You saw me in Heddy’s? Then you must’ve seen the puddle of drool at my feet because of you! It’s a wonder you didn’t haul me away for stalking you – I couldn’t take my eyes off of you!” “Well, it’s more than a sexual attraction – although that’s pretty strong, especially right now.” He adjusted in his chair, feeling uncomfortably restrained by his pants. “I like you, despite your tendency to get yourself into trouble,” he grinned raffishly, “or maybe because of it . . . And I don’t want anyone else snatching you up.” “You’re not jealous of your brother’s lunch with me, are you?” He snorted. “Not likely. I wasn’t all that happy about it, but I think that, unless you have a secret nerd fetish to go along with your spanking fetish, I’m relatively safe.” “HOLT!” she hissed, terrified that someone might have overheard him.

He just chuckled at her ire. He’d kept his voice low. But he did like seeing that outrage on her face. Needling was going to become a wonderful pastime, he could see. Suddenly, he took out his wallet and, before the check even appeared, left more than enough money on the table for the dinner and an extremely extravagant tip, stood, and extended his hand to her. “Let’s go home. I want to hold you.” And he did, all the way home, keeping her tight against his side the entire way. She thought they might end up at his place, but it was her driveway they pulled into a few minutes later. As usual, he made her stay in the truck, with the doors locked, until he could scout out the place, but he didn’t find anything. Eventually, they ended up curled up on his couch. Frankie was practically in his lap, and they began kissing as she melted into him even closer. He stretched out full length on the couch, placing her very carefully on top of him, letting her get used to him a bit, but still able to keep her in line. But she was squirming her way into a comfortable position, which was driving him absolutely crazy. Her legs were rubbing against a part of him that was already on the verge of bursting, and she wasn’t helping him maintain his composure any. He hadn’t been this randy since he was a teenager, and even then. He’d always controlled his body, not the other way around. Granted, he’d been a walking hormone at that age, but then so weren’t most adolescents. It had been a very long time since he’d wanted a woman as much as he wanted Francesca. He reached down and framed her face with his hands, leaning into another long, wet kiss. She inched her way up his body as if she was climbing a vine in the jungle, trying to be careful not to kick him where it would hurt the most, but pretty much unable to avoid the large bulge in his jeans, and feeling not a small swelling of pride of her own that he was so obviously interested in her.

It made her bold, and she let her hand wander to where it might not have, otherwise. Frankie was rewarded by the way he sucked his breath in, as if someone had just put an ice cube down his back. But instead, someone was very gently, almost teasingly – although he knew she didn’t mean it that way – cupping him, careful fingers almost that much the worse for their caution. He’d had women reach down there and grab him like that part of him was the last sausage at Octoberfest. But not his Fresca. She explored him minutely, and with the most serious of expressions on her face. Holt reached down and undid his pants for her, shucking them down just the slightest bit, and removing himself from his underwear. He couldn’t possibly make his desires any more obvious, and she didn’t balk or back away. Instead, those inquisitive fingers remained as tentatively curious as they had been. She only used the very tips of her fingers as she stroked him, consciously never letting him feel any nail, treating him as if he might break beneath her attentions when he was a good nine inches of pulsing, hardened steel. Thos fingertips didn’t forget that there were other near parts of him that craved her attentions, either, and cupped him there, too, squeezing gently, rhythmically, until he had to actually reach down and remove her hand from him before he lost control right there, long before he wanted to. “Francesca Ballard, I know it’s early in our relationship, but I want to make love with you. As long as you promise that you won’t think I’m cheap in the morning.” Frankie put her hand over her heart. “I promise.” Second later, her back met her frilly comforter as he lay her down on the bed and followed her down. The room was dark, but he’d spotted some candles on the nightstands around the bed, and before he got comfortable, he rolled over and lit several of the nearest ones. The scent of the candles didn’t do much for him, but

the soft light was perfect in which to make love, as far as he was concerned; its soft light creating shadows in crevasses he would gladly reveal with his hands . . . or his mouth. She seemed to appreciate it, too, and met him half way when he rolled back. Frankie had never been so turned on in her life. She kissed him wildly, taking his mouth as avidly as he took hers, but unhappy when it drew a chuckle from him. “I don’t think I need to spank you to get you interested, now, do I? Although it can certainly be arranged, and you still have a couple coming to you . . .” Frankie squirmed in protest. “No, thank you. I do not want to be spanked before we make love.” “Well,” Holt whispered, his lips at her jaw as he slipped her shirt off. “I’m afraid I can’t promise that’ll never happen in the next hundred years or so. I happen to think that making love to you while your bottom is still a rosy red from a well deserved spanking sounds like a wonderful idea.” It did to her, too, but she wasn’t at all sure that she wanted him to know that. He was dangerous enough without that kind of ammunition.

Chapter Seven When he had her nude beneath him, his hands wandered over her skin as eagerly as hers had over his. He still had his pants on, but they could be jerked off in a matter of seconds – much like himself at this moment. Holt let his hands claim her slowly as they wandered up and down her luscious body. She’d told him at dinner that she went to the gym because she’d gained some weight since she’d decided to become a writer, but he couldn’t find any anywhere. She was perfectly proportioned, as far as he was concerned. And her breasts were magnificent! She was a smallish woman, not that tall, but her ampleness there surprised and intrigued him. His thumb and forefinger mercilessly teased her taut, mauve nipples, plucking at them less than delicately, and pinching them firmly, tugging them out, away from her body as she arched and tried to alleviate the pressured ache he was creating, but he wouldn’t let her, finally allowing his fingers to slip off them, but not until he’d squeezed the very last from them, making them throb pleasantly but hurt just the slightest bit at the same time. And then he lowered his head to soothe the very ache he’d created, suckling eagerly while his hands deftly explored areas they’d known once before, until he also reclaimed that grove between her legs, although she at first tried to shyly deny him access by closing her legs. “Open, Francesca. I won’t have you denying me or I’ll flip you over and paddle your bottom.” He could hear her suppressed moan as he said the words, see the way she writhed as they sank into her brain. Her thighs inched slowly apart then stopped abruptly until he scolded, “Further. I want your legs wide apart for me, sweetheart. I intend to claim every inch of

you tonight, and I won’t have you interfering in any way.” Dear God, Francesca was thinking. How did he know all of the right things to say to her to drive and keep her at that fever pitch? Yet, somehow, he did. It must have been sheer instinct on his part. He was a natural dominant, and he was just letting it come to the forefront. “That’s it. Good,” he praised. “You may have saved yourself from getting a spanking.” He stopped deliberately for emphasis. “Maybe.” He loved how she squirmed and writhed at his threats. He knew his spankings hurt her, and yet her body, her mind, and her heart craved them. It was like finding the key to unlocking the innermost parts of her, and he literally held it in the palm of his hand. But then he flipped her onto her tummy with no warning and began to spank her bottom with hard, sharp, crisp swats, saying, “But then, you’re owed two, and I think I’ll just get one of them out of the way before I make love to you.” He rained down smacks onto that poor bum until it glowed a harsh red even in the candlelight, until she was well and truly crying, and he knew that she’d think twice before using a vulgarity again. And she’d lain there like a good girl, not reaching back, and not trying to squirm away except at the height of it all, when, just before he’d stopped, he’d swatted her as hard as he could, ten resounding strokes, and he forgave her for trying to avoid them, not that he’d let her at all. No. She’d felt each and every ounce of the discipline he’d chosen to dispense to her, and that was going to be the way of their world for a very, very long time. Holt helped her onto her back as she wept and moaned about her bottom against even the luxurious cotton comforter. He was sympathetic, to a point, then positioned himself between the legs he had immediately ordered her to spread again,

reached up to grab her wrists and clamp them down to the bed beside her hips while he pressed his face into the heat and heart of her, licking and suckling eagerly for several long moments before he raised his head and said, “I want you to come for me, Francesca. I expect you to, within the next three minutes.” He glanced at her bedside table. “If you haven’t climaxed by then, I’m going to flip you over again and give you another twenty of those last bad strokes.” He flicked her exposed, throbbing clit with his tongue. “Now, you don’t want that, do you?” “No, no, please!” She was near tears again with the thought that she might get another bad spanking so close to this last one. So much for a light spanking! She didn’t think he knew how to give one! “Well, then, I suggest you do as you’re told.” Holt returned to his wonderful, delicate task, releasing one of her wrists so that he could press one of his fingers, untested and untried, into her slowly, inexorably, all while his mouth worried her closer and closer to that end. “That’s it. Just let go, before you get another spanking on your already sore bottom ” That was it. That was all she could stand. She started contracting even before the depth of the pleasure exploded within her, and she was screaming his name even before that. Holt couldn’t even absorb or process how making this woman come so completely apart with pleasure made him feel, but he knew he wanted to be a part of it. He positioned himself between her legs, letting his broad headed length fall naturally at her entrance, and, in one swift motion as he leaned towards her; he took her, to the hilt. Francesca almost fought him at the end as he stretched her wider than she’d ever been stretched before, her body trying desperately to accommodate him as he began to rock them

both very slowly back and forth. Unbelievably, it was happening again for her. Francesca wasn’t at all sure she could live through it this time, but he wasn’t giving her any choice. Holt insinuated his arms beneath her back, then hooked them over her shoulders, not allowing her body to move at all to meet him, or to shrink from his powerful thrusts. He bent his head and nibbled a nipple, not too hard, but enough to let her know the feel of the edges of his teeth as he took her. Francesca exploded beneath him yet again, then three more times as he rode her hard and fast and unrelentingly, until he, too, cried out in a guttural groan that sounded much more like an animalistic growl than any sound a human male might make. When he collapsed, he was careful to do it to one side. He didn’t want to crush her, so he took her with him. They lay locked together for the longest time, until Francesca was already asleep on his shoulder, and he reached down to pull the end of the comforter up over both of them, lest she get cold in the night.

It was the squawk of his radio that awoke him, not many hours later when it was still very dark outside. Someone was trying to hail him, but he had to a) find his way out of her bedroom, and b) remember where he’d put the stupid radio. He finally located it on her kitchen counter, and responded back to Officer Mike Costello, who’d been on the force nearly as long as he had. “Holt, we’ve spotted him.” It was a measure of just how relaxed she’d gotten him that he said, “Him who?”

Mike’s exasperation was evident as he responded, “The man you’ve been on the lookout for – the one who’s after that girl. Curry Hemphill.” Holt was instantly completely alert. “You did? Where?” He’d gotten a name of who he thought was Francesca’s stalker from some inside sources he got through his brother, who liked Francesca a lot and was only too happy to help. A little too happy, Holt thought at the time, but he got over it because he knew it would help the case. They’d been tracking his movements very carefully, and he hadn’t wanted to scare Frankie, but it looked as if the psycho was making a bee line just for her. It’s a damned good thing he’d remembered to bring that radio in. Frankie appeared then, right on cue, looking well loved and sleepy. “What’s goin’ on?” She didn’t even think about it, but crawled right onto his lap where he sat on the couch they’d started making love on last night, as if she’d always made her home there. “Nothing for you to worry your head about. You’re going to be perfectly safe. But I want you to wake up for me, Fresca. It’s important.” Frankie opened her eyes very wide and shook her head. “All right. What is it?” But she couldn’t suppress the yawn that came over her. “We think we’ve found the man who’s been calling, and he’s pretty close.” Now she was completely and totally awake. “He’s what? He’s close?” “Yes. But I want you to relax. He’ll never hurt you; he’ll never get to you. I would never let him hurt you. Do you believe

that?” he asked seriously, holding her hands. She still didn’t feel very great knowing that the man who had threatened her so was nearby, but she did believe that Holt would do everything that he could to take care of her. “Yes, I do.” Unbelievably to her, he smiled. “Keep those two words in mind, honey. You’re going to be using them again sooner than you think.” He stood then, and helped her up. “Now. I want you to do exactly as I say, woman. Do you understand? There’s no margin for error here, or for you to get all huffy about me ordering you around, either. What I say goes, and that’s it.” She was too eager to have this all over with to argue with him, and just kept placating him with nods. Not that she wasn’t going to obey him, but still. She wished he’d get on with it. “I want you to go into the bathroom,” it was the only inside room on the main level, near two exits should she need them, “and stay there until I come for you. Lock the door, and don’t open it for anyone except me. Am I making myself perfectly clear here?” Frankie nodded nervously. “Yes.” “All right then.” The radio squawked again, and he needed to get back to Mike. “Go do that right now. Remember, don’t open it to anyone but me, you hear?” She was nodding even as she walked towards the bathroom, but as she closed the door, she stopped and looked back at him. “Be careful, please.” “I will, Fresca, I will. You do what you’re told, now.” It was a very long morning, and Francesca was almost asleep when she heard men yelling and loud pops that she now knew

were gunshots exploding in what she thought was probably the yard or something. She could hear someone racing up the steps to the house, then one more round of gunfire, and an eerie silence that she didn’t like the sounds of one bit that was lasting entirely too long. She had been hiding in the bathtub, figuring that it was about the safest place as any there, but the longer the silence, the more she worried for Holt. Cautiously, looking around for stray bullet holes and finding none, she climbed cautiously out of the bathtub and walked towards the door. Her hand was on the doorknob, getting ready to turn it, when she heard more footsteps racing up the stairs, and heard a familiar voice calling her name. “Francesca? Francesca! Are you all right?” It was Holt, she knew. “You can come out now.” She opened the door and flew into his arms, feeling them wrap her up in his warm, safe embrace. “Is it safe? Are you hurt? What happened?” she pelted him with questions, but he was busy checking her out, making sure she’d come to no harm, taking his hands to her and feeling her up one side and down the other just to make absolutely sure. Then he lifted her up and carried her back to the couch where this thing had all started last night, holding her tight against his chest as he spoke. “He’s in custody, Francesca. He’s going to go to jail for a very long time, with all the evidence you’ve compiled against him. You’ll have to testify against him in court, but I’ll be there beside you every step of the way, and I know the D.A. He doesn’t hold with anyone terrorizing women any more than I do. He’ll go as hard on this guy as the law will allow.” Although it was an unusual question, she felt compelled to ask it, considering all of the gunfire she’d heard. “Was he hurt? You didn’t shoot him, did you?”

“I winged him,” Holt admitted. “If I’d killed him there’d’ve been quite a ruckus about it, what with me dating you. I shot him in the shoulder, and that slowed him down enough so that we could apprehend him.” He hugged her tight. “He’s going to jail, and he won’t be seeing the light of day for quite some time.” Frankie heaved a sigh of relief, truly relaxing for the first time since this ordeal had begun. It had been awful, but a certain police detective had certainly made it quite a bit more bearable. She bit her lip, drawing back to look up at him shyly. “Marry me?” she asked, completely on impulse. He looked like she’d just hit him upside the head with a two by four. “What?” “Marry me,” she repeated, more strongly this time. “Are you sure? I thought it was too soon and we haven’t known each other long enough and all of that?” Frankie took a deep breath. “Well, I think you’re right. We fit well together. You – you’re just incredible. You say all the right things, and I can only see it getting better. And I want to be with you until we’re old and gray.” He chuckled. “And I’m chasing you around the nursing home in a wheelchair, with the strap.” Frankie smiled, but was serious at the same time. “We kinda got shoved together because of my circumstances, but it worked out well, and you kind of get to see a lot about someone’s mettle – their make up – in that kind of situation.” “My being a cop won’t bother you?” he asked again, as he had at dinner.

“It’s part of what makes me feel very safe with you, but more than that, it’s a part of you. I would no more tell you that you couldn’t be a cop that I’d expect you to tell me I couldn’t write.” “That works for me,” he said, stealing a long, slow kiss from her just as the rest of the department was coming in the house to make sure that everything was all right in here. They were instantly surrounded by an audience who began to rate his performance as he kissed her, until he started to crack up and settled just for hugging the stuffing out of her and announcing, with no small amount of pride, that she’d agreed to become his wife.

It took almost eighteen months to bring Curry Hemphill to trial, and by that time, Francesca Ballard had long since become Francesca Wyatt. The wedding was as small an affair as they could manage, conducted at Holt’s church, but the groom had indulged the bride as much as possible in regards to preparations. They had decided to have the reception at Cioffredi’s, and everyone barely fit, considering that the groom had felt it necessary to invite most of the population of the town. The only thing she’d gotten into trouble about was the cost of the wedding gown. He’d given her a budget – neither of them was made of money – yet, although it seemed that Frankie’s career as a writer was really going to take off. But the gown she’d come home with was almost a thousand dollars more than what he’d told her she could spend. The groom settled the argument by taking the thousand dollars out of the bride’s blushing hide, and making her decide – if that was the gown she wanted – where she wanted to cut a thousand dollars out of the rest of the budget of the wedding. He’d set an amount they were going to spend, and he wasn’t

going to let her spend over it. Case closed on her red, sore tushy. The wedding and reception were wonderful, even though there wasn’t a deejay. That had been Frankie’s choice, once she was able to sit comfortably again and talk to her wedding planner. She and her new husband had settled nicely into her house – he was a man of few possessions beyond the basic, and he seemed fine with using her furnishings and not changing much about the house at all, despite the fact that he occasionally grumped that it was too girly and frilly for a manly man, such as himself. To which his wife always rolled her eyes and ignored him, as was the correct way of things. But Holt held the reigns in the relationship, and there was absolutely no doubt about that, even among the people who just barely knew them. But instead of feeling stifled in any way, Francesca felt freer to do what she wanted to do. Her husband became her biggest fan – even bigger than her sister – and the inspiration for a lot of the naughty sex scenes she included in her stories. He was always complaining that some great move of his in bed ended up being public fodder when he read the drafts of her next story. But in a way it was a nice compliment, so he didn’t complain too loudly. Their sexual attraction never dimmed once in their relationship. Not even when they did decided to redo one of the spare bedrooms that had just been collecting junk she couldn’t store anywhere else, especially once they’d discovered that Frankie was pregnant with twins, a boy and a girl. She did get some time off from the disgustingly regular

spanking she earned from him, though, during the pregnancy. He absolutely refused to spank her, and declared that, especially since she was doing double duty being pregnant twice at once, she had nine months of complete amnesty. He knew that her language had already cleaned up nicely because of his due diligence in getting after her bottom whenever he heard anything that he oughtn’t come out of her mouth. But he also knew that she’d be trying twice as hard to curb that habit because of the babies. All in all, though, she didn’t get into too much trouble while she was carrying Meagan and Robert. He was much too overprotective to get mad at her about anything, and she didn’t have the easiest of pregnancies between one thing and another. All she had to do was sigh and he was asking her what he could get her. She’d actually lost weight for the first five months, which neither he nor the doctor was in the least happy with. He took to making her thick, homemade vanilla milkshakes in the evening while he rubbed her feet and, later in the pregnancy, her back, which had begun to hurt quite considerable with the weight she was carrying in front. Of course, Holt was in the delivery room with her, coaching away and encouraging and praising, until he got to cut the first umbilical cord, which was Robert’s. He was a full two minutes older than his sister. The bursting with pride poppa held his son in his arms until his daughter happened along and another pair of scissors was offered to him, and he handed Robert off to one of the nurses, just for a second. Their little family unit was complete, and didn’t grow any bigger, but that was fine with all of them. The kids grew like weeds in the glow of their parents’ love for them, and for each other. There were few arguments tolerated in the household at all, and none of them ever came from their Mother and Father, who never once went to bed angry, despite the fact that their

mother sometimes referred to their Father in that particular tone of hers as a benevolent dictator. The kids, especially when they were older, would turn their heads away and roll their eyes as Dad gave Mom a sloppy kiss.

Epilogue:Holt Wyatt’s birthday – his eighty second – was today, and it was being celebrated by the entire nursing home, but he wasn’t going to be there. Francesca, his beloved wife of forty five years who had passed on before him, had come to him in the middle of that last night, in the wee hours, her hand held out to him as she encouraged him to walk with her towards the light. “Are we dead?” he asked. “Yes, and it’s wonderful. There are no straps up here,” she grinned impishly. He had been as good as his word when she’d proposed to him, and had kept – and used – that nasty strap even after they’d moved into the assisted living facility together. Well, he’d threatened it at least. They had both been in relatively good shape at that point, just slower, and creakier, with a lot of medications to take, and they definitely chased each other around in wheelchairs, although he wasn’t brandishing the strap at the time. If he had been, they probably would have taken it away from him. She had succumbed to a heart attack several years before this night, when he had finally been allowed to come and join her, but now they were both a part of that perfect, warm light, and they would never be parted again.

THE END