Chapter 6 #2
"It's not the same." He sits on the edge of the bed, not touching me. "Jordan, when that gun was pointed at you, when I thought—" His voice cracks. "I can't lose you. I won't survive it."
"You're not going to lose me." I reach for his hand. "I'm right here. Stubborn as ever."
"Too stubborn. Too brave. Too willing to throw yourself in front of bullets for people you barely know."
"That's who I am, Fitz. It's who I was when you met me. You can't be surprised that I—"
"I'm not surprised. I'm furious." He finally looks at me, and the raw emotion in his eyes steals my breath. "You gave me your word. You looked me in the eye and said you'd follow my lead. And you broke that promise twice."
"I did." I sit up, ignoring the protest from my bruised body. "And I'm sorry, but—"
"There is no 'but,' Jordan. We have rules. I enforce them because I love you, and I will not watch you die." His voice drops into that dominant register that makes my spine straighten automatically. "We had an agreement. You broke it. And now there are consequences."
"Fitz, we just survived a hostage situation. Can we maybe postpone the disciplinary discussion?"
"No. We can't. Because if we postpone it, you'll think I'm not serious. You'll think the rules don't matter when things get dangerous. And that's when they matter most."
My pulse quickens. "You're not seriously planning to spank me right now."
"I'm planning to spank you right now. Not hard—you're injured and exhausted. But enough to remind you that actions have consequences. Enough to remind you that you answer to me."
"The medical team said I needed rest," I try, but we both know it's a weak protest.
"And you'll rest better after we've dealt with this." He sits on the edge of the bed, his expression stern but not cruel. "Over my knee, Jordan. Now."
"We could talk about—"
"We did talk. You still threw yourself in the line of fire. Twice." His eyes hold mine. "I love that you want to save people. I love your courage. But I will not allow you to treat your life as expendable. So we're going to have a conversation you'll feel for days."
There's no getting out of this. And truthfully, I don't want to. The adrenaline is still coursing through me, making me shaky and unfocused. I need this. Need his control, need the reminder that I have someone who will hold me accountable.
I move to his lap, positioning myself over his hard thigh. He adjusts me carefully, avoiding my bandaged ribs, making sure I'm comfortable even as he prepares to make me very uncomfortable.
"Tell me why you're being disciplined," he says, his hand resting on my lower back.
"Because I disobeyed you. Because I put myself in danger."
"And?"
"Because I broke my word to you."
"That's right." His hand moves to my ass, rubbing slow circles through the borrowed sweatpants.
"I'm going to give you twenty. Ten for each time you deliberately put yourself in the line of fire.
You'll count them. You'll thank me for each one.
And you'll remember this next time you think about playing hero without a plan. "
He hooks his fingers into the waistband of the sweatpants and pulls them down to my thighs, baring my ass to the cool air. I shiver, and not entirely from the temperature.
The first swat lands, sharp and precise against bare skin. "One. Thank you, Master."
He establishes a rhythm. Hard enough to sting, controlled enough not to damage. My injuries are already making my body ache, and the spanking adds a layer of discomfort that has me squirming by the fifth swat.
"Stay still," he commands. "You take what I give you."
"Six. Thank you, Master." My voice is getting breathy. "Seven. Thank you, Master."
By ten, I'm crying. Not from the pain—he's being careful, almost gentle compared to some of the punishments he's given me.
But from the emotional release of everything that's happened.
The fear, the adrenaline, the relief that we're alive.
Each swat drives the terror a little deeper out of my system, replacing it with something simpler.
Pain I can process. Pain I understand. Pain that has an endpoint.
"Good girl," he murmurs, pausing to rub my reddened backside. His touch is soothing now, gentle circles that ease the sting. "Halfway there. You're doing so well."
The tenderness in his voice cracks something open inside me.
He's furious with me, terrified by what I did, but he's still here.
Still taking care of me. Still loving me through the consequences.
When this is over, we'll be okay. The slate will be clean, the debt paid, and we can move forward without this hanging between us.
The second half is harder. My ass is already tender, the skin heated and sensitive, and each swat builds on the last until I'm sobbing, my fingers clutching at his leg.
But underneath the pain is relief—deep, bone-level relief.
I broke our agreement. I scared him. I put myself in danger.
And now he's addressing it, processing it, ensuring we both understand how serious this was.
When it's done, we're done. No resentment festering.
No unspoken anger. Just us, reset, ready to move forward together.
"Eighteen. Thank you, Master."
"Nineteen. Thank you, Master."
"Twenty. Thank you, Master."
He stops, his hand resting on my heated flesh. "There now. All done. You took that beautifully, love."
He helps me up, settles me in his lap so I'm straddling him, my sore bottom pressed against his thighs. I bury my face in his neck, and he holds me while I cry it out.
"I was so scared," I finally admit. "When they separated us. When I thought they might kill you."
"I was terrified too." His hands stroke my back, soothing. "But we survived. We got everyone out. And now you're going to rest while I make sure we're actually safe."
"Not alone," I murmur. "Together."
"Never alone," he agrees, and carefully shifts us so we're lying down, him spooned behind me, his arm wrapped protectively around my waist.
His warmth surrounds me. The adrenaline finally drains away, and my body goes heavy. Safe. I'm safe. His heartbeat thuds against my back, steady and strong. The last thing I register before sleep takes me is his hand tightening around mine.