Safe in His Arms Read online

  Pink Panties: I’ll think about it.

  Ghost: Becca, you are heading toward a punishment spanking.

  A small thrill returned at those words, but the fact was, he was nowhere near her.

  Pink Panties: Prove it.

  Ghost: You will regret that challenge.

  A slightly larger thrill.

  Ghost: I need to get off line. I don’t know when it will be safe for me to contact you again, but you’ll hear from me then.

  An enormous disappointment.

  Pink Panties: K.

  Ghost: Good night, Becca.

  Pink Panties: Night.

  It was 19 days before she heard from him again. She was lying in her bed, her laptop on her lap, reading the domestic discipline blogs—her favorite pastime—when a video chat screen opened and Zac’s light blue eyes looked at her. Excitement and bitterness shot through her, a burn akin to throwing back a shot of tequila.

  “It’s time for your punishment, Becca,” he said, flipping the contents of her belly like a pancake.

  “Wha-what do you mean?”

  “I’m going to discipline you now. If you cooperate, then I won’t have to use the paddle when I return.”

  Her body swarmed with hot and cold tingles and she could feel her lungs closing. “Hang on a sec,” she said and stood up to grab her inhaler from the dresser, taking a puff as she returned.

  Zac’s face was predictably blank, perfectly calm. “You don’t think stress has any relation to how you breathe?”

  She blew out her breath and rolled her eyes. “Well—” She didn’t really have an answer, but wasn’t about to admit he might be right.

  “Set the laptop on the night table and make sure you set it up so I can see you.”

  She did as instructed.

  “Now I want you to pull down your pants and panties and get on your knees to show me your ass.”

  A pulse of heat pumped in her pussy. Feeling extremely awkward as she watched herself reflected in the small video box, she peeled down her pants and panties.

  “Not off, Becca. Just leave them around your thighs. Yes, right about there.”

  She felt ridiculous, and the video-cam made it so much worse—as if she were on TV for the entire world to see.

  “Now give me the full view,” he said, and she climbed onto her hands and knees on the bed, her bare butt facing the laptop. “Yes, that’s nice.” He said nothing for a moment, and she craned her neck around to look at the screen. “All right, Becca, you can climb back down. Open the drawer in the bedside table.”

  She opened the drawer where he’d stored their implements and toys, titillated. “Take out the butt plug and the lubricant.”

  She hesitated, meeting his eyes. This wasn’t something she really thought she could do alone.

  “You heard me,” he said sharply, and she fished out the required items, her clit pulsing. “Now, I want you to put some lube on your anus.”

  She made a face, but did as instructed, her fingers trembling as she complied.

  “Now, insert the plug.”

  She looked at the thing doubtfully. It looked huge, and she really couldn’t believe he’d put that in her ass before.

  “It will fit,” he said, reading her mind.

  She reached back with both hands, one holding the plug, the other seeking her sphincter. She pushed the tip against her lubricated hole and found the rounded soft rubber tip actually felt comfortable, even pleasurable. Zac nodded at her and she felt her cheeks grow warm. She wasn’t sure which would be worse, having him watch her face as she inserted it, or turning around and having him watch her ass. She struggled to insert the plug deeper and felt resistance. Her breath caught, her mouth opened into an “O.”

  “That’s it, Becca,” he murmured encouragingly.

  She thrust harder, sliding it past the wide bulbous part with a grunt. There was an embarrassing pleasure at its movement inside her—as well as the sensation of being too full.

  “Good girl,” he said, two words that always made her wet. “Turn around so I can see.”

  Afraid it might slip out, she held it in as she turned around to show him, a touch of aroused pride mingling with humiliation.

  “Mmm,” he murmured approvingly. “Very good. Now, you’ll find in the drawer an arthritis cream called Capsaicin. I want you to take it out and squeeze a tiny bit—about the size of pea—onto your finger.”

  She looked at him questioningly as she obeyed, but he offered no explanation.

  * * *

  “Now, turn around and show me your ass, and I want you to rub it on both your cheeks, all over.”

  Becca gave him her beautiful backside again, holding the plug in with one hand while she spread the cream on her cheeks. He knew it would produce a burn that would come on slowly, over the next thirty minutes, lasting for several hours with a sting as painful as a real spanking. Once the sting set in, nothing but time would take it away—washing and rubbing only increased the burn.

  She turned back around, looking expectantly obedient, if not confused. Her nipples were tenting the thin t-shirt she slept in. “Good girl, Becca. Now go and wash your hands with a lot of soap and water and then come back to me.” He didn’t want her to accidentally rub an eye or touch her pussy with the cream.

  She glanced down at the pants around her thighs.

  “You can take them off.”

  She flushed, shooting him a turned-on and flustered glance as she peeled them off, disappearing from his view, walking awkwardly with the butt plug. He smiled at the sight of her, his cock straining at his pants. He heard the sound of running water and then she came back in sight, the butt plug still in place.

  “Bend over the bed so I can watch your naughty bottom turn red,” he said, enjoying the flicker of her lashes his words produced. She reached back to hold the butt plug in as she complied. “Yes,” he said. “Push that in a little deeper. In and out.”

  He heard the sound of a muffled groan as she moved the plug inside her.

  “That’s it. Keep pushing. In and out, now wiggle it a bit. Yes. If I were there, I would fuck you with that plug in your ass. I would hold you by the hair and plow into you, pushing that plug deeper as I drilled your pussy.”

  She moaned again. He freed his erection from his pants, stroking himself while he watched the skin of her round cheeks turning pink. Her hand wandered from the plug to one of her cheeks, as he imagined the sting was coming on.

  “Don’t rub, little girl. It only makes it worse. I’m giving you a long distance spanking tonight, and now that it’s begun, nothing will stop you from feeling the full effects.”

  She turned to peek over her shoulder at him, looking for more information. He debated whether he ought to prepare her. There was something sexy about telling her what she was going to experience, but there was something sexy about keeping her completely in the dark, as well.

  “Here’s what I want to know, Becca. Do you really think you can be submissive to me? Or is it just a game for the bedroom?” When she didn’t answer, he regretted not being able to see her face. “Turn around, sit down on that plug and your soon-to-be burning bottom and look at me.”

  She pushed herself to stand and turned around, gingerly perching on the end of the bed.

  “I asked you a question.”

  She rubbed her nose.

  “Be careful—did you really scrub your hands with soap?”

  She yanked her fingers away and looked at them. “I think so,” she said doubtfully.

  “Okay, I just want to be sure. I don’t want to trigger an asthma attack because your nose is on fire.”

  She gave him a wobbly smile.

  “Are you willing to concede anything to me, yet?”

  She gave a short laugh. “Maybe.”

  “Like what?”

  “I will try out a class, like you suggested.”

  He couldn’t help but smile. “Was that a suggestion? I rather thought it was an order—which you deliberately dis
obeyed. Which brings us to my previous question.”

  She chewed on her lip and shifted a little, the line between her brow increasing. He guessed the sting was beginning to set in. “I don’t know,” she said in a half-whisper. “I’ve never tried before. I thought it was what I wanted, but…”

  “It’s harder in real life than in fantasy.”

  She nodded.

  “What if, instead of getting hung up on who is right and who is wrong, you just kept it in the realm of what you like from your man? What if you just decided you would obey me because it makes you wet to submit, not because I know better than you or I never make mistakes.”

  She was looking at him intently, the line between her brows disappearing.

  “Could you do that?”

  She nodded. “Yes, sir.”

  He grinned at her use of the title.

  “Can you believe I have your best interest at heart?”

  She tilted her head to one side. “Yes, sir.”

  “I may not always be right,” he shrugged. “But I’m the one who gets to spank. Because ultimately that’s the way you like it.”

  She looked relieved, her face softening. “When are you coming back?” she asked, her voice catching, her eyes tear-bright.

  He shook his head. “I’m not sure. It could be a week, it could be a month. I’m sorry. But I should have more access to my computer now, so we can chat. And you can tell me how obedient you’ve been.”

  She smiled and shifted her weight, her brows furrowing. “This really stings.”

  “I know. It’s a punishment. It’s going to sting for a few hours, just like I gave you a real spanking.”

  She blushed. “Ouch.”

  “Get your vibrator out of the drawer.”

  Her eyelids flickered and she complied.

  “Now bend back over the bed, with the vibrator between your legs, right on your clit.”

  She took the position, her bottom now a bright red. “Is it on?” He laughed. “Turn it on, Becca.”

  He heard her muffled giggle.

  “Make little circles right around your clit. Now reach back with your other hand and start pushing that plug in you again. That’s it. You’ve been a naughty girl, and now you’re getting spanked by me. Push the vibrator inside your pussy. All the way in, until it hits your cervix.”

  He heard her groan, her back arching and contracting, her bottom wiggling. He returned to stroking himself. “Use that angled tip to get around behind your cervix, find your g-spot.”

  He watched her fumbling with it, sensing her confusion as she sought the location he described. “Ohhhh.”

  “That’s it, baby. Push the butt plug hard.”

  She complied, her movements becoming sloppy as her tempo increased. “Harder, Becca!”

  She moaned.

  “That’s it. I want you to come for me. Come for me now, Becca!”

  A cry escaped her throat and her body froze, then she pushed with her toes on the floor, lifting her pelvis to bury the vibrator deeper inside her. She squeezed her butt around the plug, jerking as her orgasm crested and she made a keening cry. He rubbed his cock, meeting his own release at the sight of hers.

  * * *

  Oh, shit. The condom had slid off in the act. He froze and wondered if he ought to warn her. She might want to take the morning-after pill or something.

  He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He didn’t want to warn her, didn’t want her to protect against a pregnancy.

  Something had changed for him; something had woken up. She was so pure it made him ache. A woman who knew her life’s purpose was to inspire teenagers to love literature; a woman who laid not just her body but her soul bare to him. She was like a pre-arranged cue that woke him from a hypnotic trance.

  There was good in the world and Becca embodied it.

  If he was going to leave any part of himself on this earth, any legacy at all, he wanted it to be through her, and not through the political machinations of his government. So he was going to let fate roll this die for him.

  * * *

  It was another three weeks before Parker looked at her over dinner and announced, “My dad is coming home.”

  “Home?” she asked, trying to keep the leap of strained excitement out of her voice. “You mean home to San Diego?”

  “I mean home, here.”

  She should correct him—this was not his dad’s home. Except maybe he sensed it truly was, the same way he sensed Zac was back. That thought sent a warm tingle across her chest. But no, Zac would never actually live with them, because he couldn’t. And didn’t that thought just dampen all the warmth that had just flared?

  After cleaning up from dinner and helping Parker with his homework, she waited, itchy, for any sign of her…lover. Because that was all she could call him—he certainly wasn’t a partner, or a husband. What else could she call him? Her ghost?

  It was not until Parker was in bed and she had just finished picking up the living room that she heard a thump in her bedroom. She smiled, her nipples tightening and her breath speeding up. She opened the door to her bedroom with an expectant bounce, but froze when she saw two men dressed in black engaged in combat.

  If she’d had any breath, she would have screamed. She leaned against the door frame, gasping. They were moving quickly, in an intricate, silent dance. She could tell one was Zac, recognizing his lean frame, and the purposeful style from when he’d fought—killed—her nanny. The second man had a black knit cap pulled low over his forehead and was stockier, slower. What was he doing in her bedroom?

  Zac kicked the man in the gut and he doubled over, then lunged toward the floor, where a gun lay. Zac tackled him before he reached it, extending his own hand toward the weapon. When Becca realized neither could reach it, she leaped into action herself, snatching up the gun and pointing it at the intruder with shaking hands.

  “Do not shoot that gun, Becca,” Zac ordered, the distraction costing him a blow to the face. She gasped as he staggered backward, recovering just in time to dodge a second punch and throw his weight at the intruder’s midsection again, knocking him to the floor again. He twisted out of Zac’s grasp on his way down, and seized Zac’s neck between his lower legs in a strangling hold.

  Finding her breath at last, she held the gun trained on the man and gasped, “Let him go! Stand up and put your hands in the air!”

  The man ignored her completely, but Zac had wrestled his way free and they both scrambled to their feet.

  “Do not shoot! I repeat, do not shoot,” Zac said without looking at her, concentrating instead on dodging the knuckles that were flying at his head.

  “Why is my dad fighting…your dad?” Parker’s clear boyish voice rang out across the scuffle and the intruder froze, looking at Parker, then at Zac.

  He never looked at her, but she knew with complete certainty, as if 17 years’ absence never happened, that he was her father. He ran for the window, jumping out in a surprising exit. Zac raced after him.

  “Wait! Demo!” Zac climbed out the window. “Wait—you can see we have a mutual interest! Hang on—I just want to talk.” He cursed. “Fine. Find me,” he called out.

  He shut and locked the window, turned and walked swiftly to her, completely calm, completely confident. He took the gun out of her hand and folded her into his arms, pulling Parker into the hug at the same time.

  “Nice work,” he said into her hair. “You were great.”

  She hadn’t expected praise. He’d been so stern about not shooting she’d doubted her actions. But that made sense, didn’t it? He hadn’t wanted her to shoot her own father. Her knees buckled and she sagged against him, a sob caught in her throat.

  “I’m sorry, baby,” he said. “I’m so sorry. I know it’s a shock.”

  She drew back, out of his arms. “You knew!” she accused, tears fighting their way out. “You knew he was alive and you didn’t tell me.”

  Zac looked genuinely pained. He leaned down and picked up Parker,
holding him like a shield between them, reminding her to get it together or she’d scare their child. He looked like he wanted to say something, but his lips remained closed.

  “Was that your dad?” Parker asked.

  Her eyes filled with tears. “Yeah, Park. It was.”

  “How about a glass of milk, buddy?”

  “Yeah, okay. What song were you fighting to this time?”

  “‘Stayin’ Alive.’ It has one hundred beats per minute, for when I need to fight fast.”

  Zac gave her a sympathetic look over his shoulder as he carried Parker out of the room, leaving her to muck through the betrayal and anger on her own.

  Twenty minutes later, Parker was presumably back in bed when Zac joined her in the shower, neither of them speaking as he picked up the soap and began to lather her body. He was matter-of-fact about it, as if it was not a seduction, but more like a service. She stood docilely as he turned her around, shampooed her hair, his long fingers massaging her scalp with a reverence that surprised her. He nudged her back into the stream of water to rinse and stepped out. When she turned off the water and opened the curtain, he was standing there with a towel outstretched, waiting to fold her into it.

  She let him wrap it around her and she took the edges, holding them to her chest as she walked to the bed and sat down, staring at the carpet. “I’d guessed when you said it was a family member. Who else could it be?”

  He sat next to her and put his warm hand on her back, infusing her with his strength.

  “What did he do? Why are you after him?”

  * * *

  He was surprised at the pang he felt at her words. The same pang he’d felt when she’d accused him of knowing and not telling. Was it guilt? It was a new sensation.

  “I’m not going after him, Becca. I’m personally involved and I don’t think I’m capable of keeping a clear head about any of this, anymore.”

  She looked at him, her eyelashes clumped together with water from the shower, her skin still dewy. “What did he do?” she whispered.

  He swallowed. “He sold state secrets. We’re not sure why. And as far as we can tell, he killed everyone he gave them to, so it may have just been for the money, with no intention of actually harming his country. But he disappeared after that, so now there’s an order on his head.”