Chapter 8 #2
I’m squirming under his gaze, and it surprises me how wobbly my voice is. I feel suddenly like I'm under a spotlight, as if there’s nothing in the world more mortifying than taking off my clothes and standing half-naked in front of Tate Cowen.
I'm a curvy girl, with pretty big tits, and an arse to boot. I cover things up with scarves and flowy clothes and leggings and whatnot, and I never go to the beach in anything less than a simple black one-piece suit and a little dress to cover things up.
I'm no virgin. I've slept around quite a bit, because… well, I like sex. But I like sex in a darkened room, and it helps if the guy I’m with has had a few drinks, because men are a lot less picky when they're horny and drunk. That sounds desperate, but it’s just pragmatic.
And honestly? None of the men I've ever been with have looked like Tate. I mean, these Cowen men must have genes that go back to the gods. It might be why I'm a little infatuated with Tate.
So stripping? It’s a little uncomfortable.
I'm brutally aware of the dimples in my thighs, the rolls at my tummy, and the way there's a little divot in my back because of…
you know, back fat. I'm a normal lass. Every once in a while, I'll get a wild hair and do a couple of crunches, but everyone knows that doesn't do much when it's once in a blue moon.
But right now, when I'm standing here in front of Tate, and he's sipping his drink like he's about to watch a peep show, I'm suddenly wishing that I did squats a little more than once a fortnight. I'm suddenly wishing that his beautiful house wasn't so fucking well-lit.
"Look at me while you strip," he orders. “Do not break eye contact with me.”
"So we crossed that line, have we?"
"Oh, yes."
I hold his gaze. He's the first one to break it, as he drags his gaze down my full body from my neck to my toes, then slowly, ever so slowly, back up again.
He puts his glass down. Stares at me. "Now, tell me the fucking truth."
Does he think that being clothes-less makes me want to fess up?
"Which truth is that?"
"All of it."
There's no use in pretending anymore. There's no use in holding back. I don't know why I ever did. It's time for me to give him nothing but the bold, honest truth, like I've sort of been wanting to do anyway.
So I'll get in trouble. So I'll be punished, whatever that entails. But I can't hold back anymore. I've taken this way too fucking far.
And I don’t want to lie anymore. I want to face the consequences… then deal with the aftermath, whatever that may be.
I draw in a deep breath. Let it out again.
Fine, then.
"It was me. I wrote the books. I didn't want to tell you the truth because it's embarrassing to admit. I never meant for them to sell as well as they did, but once they did, I couldn't stop, because they’re my bread and butter. I make crap for money at the bookstore, and because of… reasons… I need the money.” He doesn’t need to know all that.
It’s like now that I’ve started, I can’t stop. “So I kept writing the books, and I told myself that it was okay because they cast a really positive light on all of you. I also told myself that they were really cute, that you guys were all just sort of inspiration for these books."
He’s not surprised as he looks at me, and he doesn't say a word. His jaw is tight.
He's not going to say anything until I've told him the whole truth.
"I never imagined that any of you… or really anyone… would actually read them. If I did, I probably would've written them differently."
"Is that right?" His voice is angry, shaking. It's the first time I realize that he's barely holding onto his temper, and I am in so much fucking trouble.
Is he going to take me to his brothers like this? Naked, ready to punish me? Is he going to take a video, and record what I have to tell him? I will die if his brothers see me like this.
I have to admit, I'm already dying a little just standing in front of him alone.
I nod my head vehemently. "Yes. Definitely would’ve written them differently."
"How so?"
“I probably wouldn’t have made you all superheroes,” I blurt out.
He scowls. “Really? That’s all that you’d change?”
“Well, no. I probably would've changed the setting a little more.
It's just, I’ll admit… I love it here. It's gorgeous.
Every time I've come to visit my friends I feel as if I'm in a little retreat.
I mean, people would die to come to a place like this, and the books that I write are escapism.
I like that they can have a little bit of a holiday in every book. "
"What about the details about the Clans? Have you made that up? Or are those based in reality too?"
I swallow. "Both."
"Which other Clans have you been in touch with?"
"Well… in a roundabout way, the Aitkens Clan. The Welsh. The McCarthys. I know people, I’ve got spies everywhere. I may have sort of asked questions in a roundabout way and used the details of what people have told me to do my own research."
He groans and pinches the bridge of his nose. "Do you have any idea what you've done? Do you have any idea what they would do to you if they found out?"
They who? I’m already standing half-naked in front of my childhood crush. It could get worse?
I shake my head. I really don't bloody know. And maybe I should.
"Do you have anything else to tell me?"
“Um. Is there anything else I could tell you that would help me get out of the trouble that I’m in?”
“Probably not,” he says. “But at least you’ve told me the truth, and that’s something.”
I pause, standing in front of him wearing my knickers and a bra, and he watches me hungrily. Maybe it’s my romance writer brain. Maybe it’s something else. But I know that it’s more than my imagination when he clears his throat and swallows, his Adam's apple bobbing.
“Take it all off.” His voice has dropped to a lower register, and the deep vibration of the sound sends shivers over my skin. I hold his gaze as I drag my knickers over my arse, and my bra follows.
I’ve imagined being naked with him before, the overactive romance writer brain and all that. But it was nothing like this.
It was sexier. It was consensual. I wasn’t completely at his mercy.
“Get up on the bed. I want your good hand in front of you. Get on your knees. Give me that beautiful arse.”
Wait, what?
Did he say beautiful? My mind is stuck on that word, when I know he also gave me some fairly troubling suggestions as well.
Maybe hearing Tate Cowen call me beautiful was worth whatever trouble I’m in.
Maybe not.
But I do what he says. I want to know what’s going to happen. And I want to put this behind us.
I kneel as he told me to, my hands planted in front of me, my knees spread out on the bed.
I’m super vulnerable in this position, but a part of me likes that. I’m on the verge of losing control the way I’ve always wanted to.
I hear him pacing behind me, but when I look over my shoulder I can’t see much. He’s walking back and forth, taking everything in, his hands on his hips.
I can’t take the anticipation any longer.
He wouldn’t rape me.
Would he?
“What are you going to do to me?”
Without warning, he leans over and slaps his hand across my arse. I gasp at the sudden pain, my heart hammering. Pulse racing, I keep my eyes fixed on his now that he’s in closer proximity.
“Hey!” That earns me another smack, just like I suspected it would.
He shakes his head slowly from side to side. “This is how it’s going to go, Fran. I’m going to ask you questions, and you’re going to give me answers. A lie will get you spanked. Hesitation also. And then after I have the truth, I’ll finish your punishment.”
And after that? I don’t ask him, though I really, really want to know.
“I’ve never been punished like this before,” I say, as a sort of warning or heads up or something, or maybe I’m just trying to delay the inevitable. Just because something excites me doesn’t mean it doesn’t scare the life out of me at the same time.
“Good,” he says with a hungry growl as he comes closer to me.
He isn’t holding anything in his hands, nothing he’s going to strike me with.
But when my gaze falls on his large hands, easily twice the size of my own, I realize he doesn’t need to.
“Because if anyone else had ever punished you, I’d have to kill them. ”
What? Seems a little drastic, but before I can reply, he slams his palm against my arse.
I grab the duvet in my fists and gasp as the first slap sears my skin.
In my crazy mind, I imagined being punished by him would be sexy as hell, like some sort of twisted scene out of a BDSM novel, but this hurts.
I’m squirming under the onslaught of smacks, whimpering by the time he’s only given me three.
“Tell me,” he says, pacing behind me, just as he rests his heavy palm on my heated arse. It’s like a damn paddle, like his fingers are reinforced with steel.
“What?”
“Fucking everything.”
“Okay, alright,” I say, turning to speak to him when a searing smack of his palm makes me scramble back into position.
“I wrote the books. I told you that. I just didn’t know that they’d sell the way they have. I never meant for anyone to get in trouble.”
He clucks his tongue. “Especially you, aye?”
I hiss out a breath when his rough palm smoothes over my naked arse.
Why is this hot? I should feel ashamed, but instead I want more of the deliberate pain. More of his hand on my bruised skin.
“Aye. Well yes, of course.”
“And what do you have planned after this?”
“After what?”
“The next book. What else will you write?”
I don’t answer because I have no idea. He told me I’d have to take a sabbatical, but he was being facetious.
Wasn’t he?
“I’ll write about someone else,” I tell him. “I’ll… make something up this time.” I’ll say anything to get out of this.
“Like a proper fucking writer?”
Ohh, that stings far more than I anticipate.
Who does he think he is?
“I am a bloody proper writer!”
Smack.
My punisher, that’s who.