Chapter Nineteen Maddie #2
“I’m thinking about running for office. Um, there are a few different positions coming up for election,” I say.
It’s the first time I’ve admitted it out loud.
But besides being Bram’s good girl, it’s the only thing I can think about.
Now that I’ve imagined it, my brain can’t unknow the possibility.
And maybe things are different in the Midwest than they are in California.
Maybe people won’t be so concerned about the fact that I have heavy hips and round cheeks.
“Good,” Bram says, his hands resting on my waist. “You would be so well suited to that, Madelyn. You’re fierce, engaging, and incisively intelligent—plus your poker face is the best I’ve ever seen. But Veronica Balentine isn’t how you get there.”
“How do you—”
“Sloane mentioned that she thought you might have spoken to her.” One hand comes up to cup my cheek. “Do you know how hard it’s been to stay away from you for the last few days?”
“Yes, in fact, I do. But don’t distract me. Not yet. What do you think you know about Veronica Balentine?”
“I don’t think I know anything. I do know that whatever she’s promising you is not worth the price of admission.”
“Oh, so you think that I can’t handle myself around someone like Veronica? I’ve been playing chess with people worse than her for the last three years, Bram. At least Veronica is honest about what she is.”
“And what’s that?”
I can’t help but bristle, especially because I admire Veronica in a way.
And maybe I even recognize parts of myself in her—parts that haven’t had much screen time but are there all the same.
“Someone who’s willing to get their hands dirty so other people can keep their hands clean.
People like me. Besides, her only job is to get me into office. It would be up to me to stay there.”
“I’ve been around long enough to know that everyone who works with Veronica thinks that the end justifies the means, but if you win with her, you will never stop owing her and the people who hired her. You don’t want that.”
“Funny how you think I’m so sure of myself but can’t trust me to know what I want.”
For a brief second, he appears wounded, but then his brow flattens into . . . not quite serenity, but something just as level.
“This isn’t about me not trusting you, Madelyn. This is about me not trusting Veronica Balentine and the very deep pockets she works for.”
I feel defensive and prickly, but also, this is the first time in three years that someone has thought of me first. Not the platform or the party or the constituents or the polls, but me.
And yet, I want this. I want to see where things could go with Veronica, because for so long I thought my best shot at navigating change was to be the smiling, charitable woman on Gentry’s arm.
There could have been power in that, yes, but being the actual candidate and not just the spouse could someday put me at the table where real decisions are made.
And why shouldn’t the chubby girl from a run-down neighborhood who had to navigate Medicaid on her mom’s behalf get a crack at real power?
I’ve learned some things about Bram in the last few weeks.
I’ve learned that he grew up without his parents, but that his grandparents took him in right away.
That they owned a successful chain of plant nurseries, and the bills were always paid and there was always plenty left over.
The first time he knew struggle was when he and Sara got pregnant, and even then, they could have had a safety net if they really needed it. A safety net I never felt like I had.
For as kind and fair that I know Bram to be, I also know that he hasn’t had to confront the possibility of doing questionable things on the way to doing good things.
“I need you to trust me,” I tell him. “I’m not looking to Veronica Balentine or anyone like her to be my moral compass. And hell, I’m not even her horse in the race yet. I might not know my way around a lecture hall as well as you do, but this is one arena I’m painstakingly acquainted with, Bram.”
His throat bobs before he nods. “I can trust you. That is something I can do. But I won’t stop or apologize for watching out for you. I want this for you. I want what you want, but it’s important to do this the right way.”
And that’s where he and I disagree. Because when you’re a big, tall white guy like Bram, the kind of guy everyone likes, then you always have the privilege of the right way.
But I’m not up for that argument at the moment, especially when we are alone for the first time in almost a week.
“None of this matters, because I am the last person on earth that anyone would elect for public office. The polls have made that very clear.”
“No.” His voice is unyielding as he pulls my chin up so that I have nowhere else to look but into his amber-flecked green eyes. “Fuck the polls, Maddie.”
I start to laugh, but his grip on my chin tightens.
“I said, fuck the polls.” He stands and his hand glides from my throat to the back of my neck.
My posture straightens like his hand is pulling on a string attached to my spine and he’s freeing me of the ever-present decision of how to hold myself. With his hand still on my neck, he guides me around the teacher’s desk to the chalkboard.
“It’s time for your next lesson,” he says.
My nipples tighten into hard points, and I push aside the thought that we should get back to the festival and I also push aside the very real worry that someone could walk right into this building as easily as we did.
With the hand that was on my neck, he takes the five-pronged vintage chalk holder and drags it across the board. “You’re going to write me some lines, Madelyn.”
I shake my head. “And what if I think that’s a waste of time when I could be on my knees with your cock on my tongue?”
The weight of him at my back is gone, and before I can look to see where he’s gone, there’s a short swat against the curve of my ass, but it’s not from his hand.
Then Bram is there again, his chest pressing against me, and the feel of his growing hardness nestles into my lower back.
From the corner of my eye, I can see the old wooden pointer stick in his hand.
My lips part, a moan slipping, and I arch back into him. I want him to feel as desperate as I do.
His lips dance across my ear as he asks, “Is this okay? The spanking, I mean.”
“It’s very okay,” I assure him.
His hand is on my neck again and this time he’s guiding me back to the desk. “Bend over, Madelyn.”
Oh fuck, yes.
I’m quick to obey and he kneels behind me, sliding a hand up my thigh. The calluses on his hand press through the thin material of my tights as his touch comes to rest against my inner thigh just inches from where I am so, so starved for him.
He stands then and flips the back of my skirt up, tucking the bottom of it into the waistband before peeling my tights and panties down my hips. Bram moves torturously slow and every inch of revealed skin burns against the chilled air.
“You’re going to be my good girl,” Bram tells me as he yanks my wellies off one by one before pulling my tights the rest of the way down. “You’re going to write your lines on the board, but first I’m going to have to punish you.”
At that, my spine curves, pushing my ass in the air, presenting myself to Bram. I’ve never been spanked—at least not like this. Gentry gave me a swat or two in the heat of the moment, but never like this. Never as an event.
“You’re going to give me five swats, pretty girl, and I need you to count them. We’ll count this next one as your second.” His hands grip my hips, with no attempt to shy away from the curves and folds there. “I need to know that you understand. Now, you tell me, what is going to happen?”
“I’ve been a bad girl,” I say. The words feel filthy and my cheeks are ruddy with shame from how right it feels to be his bad girl—even more so than his good girl right now. “So you’re going to give me four more swats and I’m going to count them out for you.”
His mouth is on the cheek of my ass, teeth biting, leaving a mark, and a moan that borders on a scream dies just as it leaves my lips. “Bram,” I whine, slick arousal pooling between my legs already.
“I know, baby,” he whispers.
The rod comes down against my bare skin. Slightly harder this time, and I yelp as I rise to my toes. “Two,” I say on a gasp.
The wood snaps against my skin again, and I squeeze my legs together in search of relief from the ache building there.
“Three.”
Again, but incrementally harder.
“Four.”
“You love being punished just as much as you like being rewarded. Isn’t that right, Madelyn?”
My fingers dig into the edge of the desk as I nod.
“It makes the reward so much sweeter.”
“Please touch me,” I beg him.
“Soon,” he promises. “Soon I’m going to fuck you so hard you won’t be able to walk.”
The rod lashes down against my skin again, and this time he doesn’t hold back. The sting of it makes my eyes water, and I find myself thrusting against the desk, searching for friction of any kind. “Fuck,” I whimper.
He chuckles as the rod clatters against the floor. “I think what you meant to say was five.” His warm hand sweeps over my backside, gently rubbing along the tender lines left behind by my punishment.
“Now, darling, are you ready to write some lines on the board?”
“Are you fucking serious?” I ask. “What happened to fucking me so hard I can’t walk?”
He chuckles darkly. “The fucking will be your reward. The swats were your punishment. And the lines are your lesson. Chalkboard. Now.”