Chapter 6
CHAPTER 6
LANIE
L anie stared at the message on her phone for the fifth time that morning.
Private session upstairs. Second door on the right. Midnight. Your choice, little one. Archer
She chewed her bottom lip, heat curling in her stomach. Her choice. No pressure, no demands. Just an open door to something unknown. Something terrifying. Something she wanted more than she should. She’d worked at the club long enough to know at least a smattering about the dynamics between Doms and their subs. A part of her had sworn she’d never submit to anyone again, but Archer wasn’t just anyone. He was the kind of man she’d never allowed herself to even dream about.
Her fingers hovered over the screen. She could say no. Archer would accept that without question. But that wasn’t the problem. The problem was that she wanted to say yes. She let out a slow breath and typed her response.
Okay.
Her heart raced as soon as she hit send. There was no taking it back now.
Midnight arrived too fast.
Lanie stood outside the private playroom, still not sure if she could go through with it. The hallway was quiet, the heavy door in front of her an imposing barrier between her past and whatever came next. She wasn’t sure if she was ready. Her body hummed with nervous energy, torn between anticipation and doubt.
A memory flashed—Vinnie’s voice, slick with control. You trust me, don’t you, baby?
Her stomach twisted. This wasn’t the same. Archer wasn’t Vinnie. Lanie reached for the doorknob before she could talk herself out of it. She found the door unlocked and stepped inside.
The room was dimly lit, a warm glow casting long shadows over the dark leather furniture. The air smelled of fresh rain and something unmistakably Archer.
He stood in the center of the room, arms crossed, waiting.
"Right on time," he said, voice smooth as silk.
Lanie exhaled shakily. "I almost didn’t come."
"But you did."
She nodded.
His gaze softened just a fraction. "Good girl."
The praise settled deep, warming something inside her that had been cold for too long.
"Take off your shoes," Archer ordered.
Lanie hesitated, then toed them off, her socked feet sinking into the plush rug beneath her.
"Come here."
She moved without thinking, stopping just in front of him.
"Hands behind your back."
She laced her fingers together, breath coming faster.
Archer lifted her chin with two fingers, forcing her to meet his gaze. "Are you here because you want this, Lanie? Or because you feel like you have to be?"
His tone was steady, patient.
Lanie swallowed hard. "I… I don’t know."
"Honest. That’s good; then let’s figure it out together."
He let go of her chin and stepped back, his presence still an undeniable force.
"We’re going to start with something simple," Archer said. "Discipline. Not because you’ve done something wrong, but because I need you to understand the difference between punishment and control."
Her pulse pounded.
“Has anyone ever spanked you before?” he asked.
Heat flooded her face.
"Not like this," she admitted.
"Then let’s change that."
Archer moved to the leather chair against the wall and sat down, his long legs stretching out as he patted his thigh.
Lanie’s stomach flipped.
"You’re going to lie over my lap, little one," Archer said, his voice firm but gentle. "I want you to feel the discipline, but I also want you to understand that you’re safe. You say ‘yellow’ if you need me to slow down. ‘Red’ if you need to stop."
Her fingers curled into fists.
"You trust me?" he asked.
She inhaled shakily. "Yes."
"Then come here."
Lanie stepped forward, her knees nearly brushing his.
Archer reached for her wrist, gently but firmly guiding her until she lay draped across his lap.
Her breathing was uneven, her heartbeat a wild drum against her ribs. She felt the heat of him through her dress, the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath her. She settled herself, finding that holding onto his ankle made her feel more secure.
"Relax," he murmured. He flipped the hem of her dress up over her back. “Since this is your first time, I’m going to let you leave your panties on. In the future, spankings will be done on the bare.”
She exhaled slowly, hoping he remained unaware of how frantically the butterflies in her stomach were fluttering, as if someone had dosed them with crack.
The first slap landed softly, more of a tease than anything.
Lanie tensed, waiting.
"Shh," Archer soothed. "You can take more than that."
The second slap came harder. A sharp sting that faded into warmth.
Her breath caught.
Again.
And again.
Each strike was deliberate, controlled, a rhythm that built heat low in her belly. It hurt—but not in the way she feared. It was grounding. Centering.
By the fifth slap, her body had melted against his, her fingers unclenching.
"That’s it," Archer murmured, his palm smoothing over the curve of her ass, easing the burn. "Good girl."
A shiver ran through her at those words.
Archer continued, alternating between firm slaps and slow, soothing strokes. Her breathing evened out, something inside her shifting, loosening.
She wasn’t waiting for the pain to become something cruel. She wasn’t bracing for it to go too far. Because it wouldn’t. Archer wouldn’t let it.
Tears pricked at her eyes. It was the first time in years she had felt this way.
Safe.
Archer stilled, his fingers tracing over the curve of her hip. "Talk to me, little one."
Lanie inhaled, her chest tight. "I...” She swallowed. "I didn’t know it could feel like this."
Archer’s grip tightened, just for a second. "Like what?"
"Like you care," she admitted.
Silence stretched between them. Then, carefully, Archer eased her upright, shifting her so she straddled his lap, her knees on either side of his thighs.
His hands came up to cradle her face, thumbs brushing away the stray tears that had slipped free.
"I will never take more than you want to give, Lanie," he murmured. "And I will never let anyone else take from you, either."
A sob caught in her throat, but she held his gaze, letting his words sink in, letting herself believe them.
Archer leaned in, his lips brushing her temple, his breath warm against her skin. "You’re not alone anymore."
Lanie exhaled, sinking against him, her fingers curling into his shirt. For the first time in a long time, she believed that might be true.
Lanie had no idea why she had agreed to this.
She sat curled on the leather couch in one of the private lounges at Club Southside, knees drawn up, hands twisted together in her lap. The low lighting softened the room’s edges, but it did nothing to calm the flutter of nerves in her stomach.
Because Archer was watching her.
He stood across the room, leaning against the bar, his presence as steady as ever. He didn’t rush her, didn’t press. He simply waited .
That was the thing about him. He was patient. Confident. Unshakable.
And she had no idea how to handle that.
"You’re thinking too hard," Archer finally said, voice a quiet command.
Lanie exhaled, shifting slightly. "Maybe."
"Not maybe." His eyes locked on hers, dark and unreadable. "You are."
She bit her lip. "I just—this is… different for me."
"I know." He pushed off the bar, his steps slow and deliberate as he moved toward her. He stopped just in front of the couch, looming over her, but not in a way that made her want to shrink.
In a way that made her want to stay .
"Come here, little one."
The words sent a shiver down her spine.
Lanie hesitated. "I don’t...”
"That wasn’t a request."
Her breath hitched.
Archer didn’t need to raise his voice. He didn’t need to force her. His presence alone, the sheer authority in the way he held himself, was enough.
Slowly, carefully, she unfolded herself from the couch.
Archer took her hand, guiding her between his knees as he sank onto the couch. His grip was firm but gentle, grounding her.
"You don’t have to be strong all the time," he murmured.
Lanie swallowed hard. "I don’t know how to be anything else."
His fingers traced the inside of her wrist, a slow, steady rhythm. "Then I’ll teach you."
Her pulse fluttered beneath his touch.
"Submission isn’t weakness, little one," Archer continued. "It’s knowing who to trust. Knowing when to let go."
She forced out a shaky breath. "I don’t know if I can."
"You can ," Archer corrected. "You just haven’t had the right reason to yet."
She looked up at him, caught in his unwavering gaze. He was so sure.
And damn it, part of her wanted to believe him.
But then her phone buzzed.
Lanie startled, the moment shattering around her. She fumbled in her pocket, pulling it out.
One new message from an unknown number. Her stomach clenched as she tapped it open. A photo appeared—Lanie entering the club. The timestamp was fresh. Beneath the image, a message.
See you soon, baby.
Ice crawled through her veins. She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. The phone slipped from her fingers, hitting the floor with a soft thud .
Archer was moving before she even registered it.
"Lanie." His voice snapped her back.
She looked up, barely aware that she was trembling.
His hands were on her shoulders now, steadying her. "Talk to me."
She couldn’t. The words stuck in her throat.
Archer’s jaw tightened. He picked up the phone, his grip turning white-knuckled the second he saw the screen. The change in him was instant—controlled fury, lethal.
He exhaled slowly, like a man barely holding something violent at bay.
"Where’s your bag?"
Lanie blinked, confused. "What?"
"Your bag, Lanie." His voice was firm. Unyielding.
She pointed to the chair where she’d left it.
Archer grabbed it, shoved the phone inside, then stood. "We’re leaving."
Her heart kicked against her ribs. "What? Why? I can’t just...”
"You can ," he corrected. " You will. "
Lanie forced a breath. "Archer, I...”
"Enough."
The word silenced whatever weak argument she had left.
Archer softened just slightly, his palm brushing the side of her face. "You don’t have to fight this alone, little one."
A sharp lump formed in her throat.
For so long, she had been alone. Even when she wasn’t, it had felt that way.
But not now. Not with him.
She inhaled, shaky but steadying. "Okay," she whispered.
Archer’s gaze darkened, something dangerous flickering beneath the surface.
Molina had made a mistake, and Archer was about to make damn sure he never got the chance to make another one.
Lanie pressed her forehead against the cool window of Archer’s SUV, her breath fogging the glass as the city lights blurred past. Her pulse had slowed from the initial spike of panic, but the lingering chill of fear clung to her skin. The weight of what had just happened—the message, the picture, the undeniable proof that Molina was watching her—pressed down on her chest like an invisible hand.
Archer hadn’t spoken much since they’d left the club. He didn’t need to. His presence filled the vehicle, steady and unwavering, a silent promise of protection. His hands gripped the wheel, knuckles flexing every so often like he was barely holding himself in check.
The ride felt too short and too long at the same time, and before she knew it, he was pulling up in front of her apartment building.
Archer killed the engine but didn’t move. “Inside. I’ll be right behind you.”
Lanie’s fingers curled around the door handle. She hesitated, looking at him. “You don’t have to…”
“Don’t finish that sentence.” His voice was pure steel.
She swallowed hard and nodded, pushing the door open. The cold night air bit at her skin as she stepped out, but she barely registered it. Every hair on her body stood on end, hyper-aware of the darkened alleyways, the flickering streetlamp overhead, the shadowed doorways. She’d walked this route a hundred times before. It had never felt this dangerous.
Archer was at her side in an instant, his presence a solid, commanding force. His hand landed at the small of her back, guiding her up the steps and toward the front entrance.
Lanie fumbled for her keys with trembling fingers. The moment she slid the key into the lock, Archer reached past her, pushing the door open first. He stepped inside before she could protest, scanning the dimly lit hallway like a predator scenting the air.
“Stay behind me,” he murmured as he pulled her into the hallway, locked the door behind them and stood her against it.
Lanie obeyed, hovering in the doorway as he moved through her apartment. He checked the locks on the windows, opened every closet, and even pulled the shower curtain back in the bathroom. When he reached her bedroom, he paused, his gaze flicking over her space—a small, neatly made bed, a few scattered books on the nightstand, and the oversized sweater she’d left draped across the chair.
His jaw flexed as he turned back to her. “It’s clear. But I’m not leaving you here alone.”
Her stomach flipped. “Archer…”
“You’re not safe here, Lanie.” His voice softened, but the command in it remained. “Pack what you need. You’re coming with me.”
She wanted to argue. To tell him she wasn’t some fragile thing that needed protecting. But the words wouldn’t come. Because deep down, she knew he was right.
Archer’s expression didn’t change, but something flickered in his gaze—approval, maybe. Or something darker. As she moved toward her closet, she could still feel his eyes on her, watching, waiting, protecting.