Nola Page 7

  She bit her lip, obviously not wanting to admit the truth to him.

  Brandon didn't push. He reached up and helped her settle her head against his shoulder, and nibbled down her neck, making her shiver even worse. "There's nothing to be afraid of, Nola. I'm just going to use my fingers to make you feel good." He kissed her then, slow and deep, with their tongues dancing excitedly together as his fingers had their way with her, using the slickness of her body as well as the soapy water to rub gently over the top and around the sides, then back over the top of her small bit, feeling her shudders growing exponentially worse as she moaned into his mouth.

  It was one of the most exiting things he'd ever done, and he wanted more.

  His free hand roamed up to her breast, cupping and squeezing it just slightly, gently, then expertly finding that peaked nipple and pinching it, just until her moans reached a fever pitch. He wished he'd had that dildo by their bath side, and made a mental note to get another and keep it in the cabinet close to the tub. But for now, he simply rubbed and plucked and tweaked and flicked her until he felt every muscle in her body tighten in what seemed like an almost painful manner, and then she exploded in his arms, his mouth still over hers, drinking in every one of her pleasured cries and not letting her go until every last ounce of ecstasy had been squeezed from her body.

  She collapsed back against him, panting in a very unladylike fashion. If they hadn't been surrounded by water, she was quite sure that she would have been sweating profusely, too. He did it to her every single time - he always knew exactly what to do to her, how to touch her, what to say to her, even when and how to spank her, dammit, to bring her to these unbelievable heights and then hurl her over the precipice and into a free fall of ultimate, unimaginable bliss.

  Yet this time, she didn't feel used or forced, as she usually did. He was acting very differently with her, even in this way. His arms were around her, holding her tight, even though she could feel that his as yet unfulfilled needs met or exceeded her own.

  That thick length of him pressed up against her bottom, almost cradling her itself, practically supporting her bottom. She certainly knew how strong and unyielding it was while it was inside her, and she knew that he deserved the same release he had given her.

  So, in an unusual move for her - the first time she'd really taken the initiative between them intimately at all, she turned over onto her stomach, still lying stretched out on top of him. Then, holding his clearly startled black eyes as she reached down and touched him voluntarily, guiding him inside her.

  She'd been on top of him before, always at his behest, and had been completely mortified by the position and the easy access it gave him to her breasts. It had seemed somehow wrong. But this time, she was feeling a bit of her own power, and she realized she liked the idea of surprising him, as well as pleasuring him.

  He slid up into her with the usual embarrassing ease, his way slickened considerably by her own recent delight, although he always stretched her, always dragged against all of those already sensitized nerves, and she couldn't hold back a guttural moan as he took matters into his own hands and forced her legs just the slightest bit apart, and her weight drove him deeply up inside her, all at once.

  "I love it when you moan like that," he confessed with a big unapologetic grin.

  She'd only ever considered how humiliated all of those noises her body insisted on making while he was molesting her. It had never come to her that he might enjoy hearing them, or that she might be able to gain some leverage over him if she could make him like other things she did.

  He was still grinning at her. "Your face is so red you look like you're going to explode."

  The openness on that very red face disappeared as quick as the wind. "I'm sorry. It's very... it's always been hard for me."

  Brandon's hand went to her chin and tipped it up automatically. "I know. We'll work on that. But this is what it's supposed to be like between a husband and wife." He wanted to add "who care about each other" but he wasn't at all sure that that would be appropriate quite yet. He knew he was beginning to feel something for her - and although he wasn't at all sure that was really a good thing - but it was undeniable. Only he had no idea if she felt anything for him beyond pure annoyance, and, quite possibly, a healthy hate.

  So he wasn't about to stick his neck out, not yet, anyway. Perhaps sometime in the future, if he sensed any sort of softening towards him on her part, but he knew that was likely to take quite a while. But that was alright. She wasn't going anywhere, and neither was he.

  "It is?" Nola had had a hard time reconciling her own marriage - which seemed volatile and much too sensually oriented - with her image of her parents' marriage. They most certainly couldn't be doing the same things together that she and her husband were. Why, they hadn't slept in the same bed ever, that Nola knew, and they almost never touched each other. At least, not in front of her.

  The visions that danced in her head when she thought about that topic made her want to wash her mind out with soap.

  "Yes, it is. Married couples should want to be together, and enjoy each other - in and out of the bedroom. That's a lot better than always being at each other's throats."

  "Or over each other's laps," Nola countered pointedly.

  His own mental image - of himself over her lap, which completely overwhelmed all of her, not just her lap - had him grinning again, even in the face of her angry glare. "I'm sorry, honey, but I'm always going to spank you when you get out of line, or when you disobey me." Brandon reached around and squeezed a firm buttock, reminding her of the most recent time he'd laid down his law on her rear.

  She continued to glare at him, but couldn't hold it when he used both hands to move her up and down on his swollen shaft. Sometimes, Nola thought she couldn't bear the pleasure he brought to her. Quickly, though, she began to move on her own - her body gave her no choice at all.

  Brandon was just as happy to occupy himself with other things, most especially her breasts, which bobbed enticingly up and down in front of him. But he didn't get grabby. He wasn't rough or cruel. But he did remember exactly what she liked more than anything, and pinched and twirled those impudent little nipples until they more than matched the rosy red of her face, loving the way she arched and tried to grab his hands away from her, then, seeing how ineffectual her attempts were, her hands settled on his muscular forearms, using him as balance as she rode him in an ever more violent spiral.

  Near the end, he let her tender nipples go in favor of claiming her hips again, slamming her down onto him harder than she could herself, watching her avidly as she again climbed to the summit and then let herself go, enjoying the sight of her in such abandon almost as much as he was enjoying their joining.

  At the end, he shouted her name once, short and sharp, clutching her to him and emptying himself into her helplessly.

  When they returned from their lost weekend, they were both more refreshed and relaxed, and Geoffrey found that he was extremely happy at having interfered in the small way he had, insisting that they spend some time upstate together. They both looked much happier for it, and he figured that the happier they were, the more likely they were to get to producing his first grandchild.

  As she had feared, Brandon didn't try to prevent her from seeing Wilde. He just let her know that he preferred if they didn't get together like it was some sort of tete a tete. He encouraged her to invite Wilde over to Serenity, or for the three of them to get together for lunch or dinner, and Nola could not have been more pleasantly surprised. He wanted to get to know Wilde. She was amazed. Unfortunately, Wilde knew her a bit too well, and she wasn't at all sure that that was a good idea. Her bottom might well be the worse for it, especially if he got Wilde talking about some of the things she'd done in regards to her women's groups.

  The next few months made her change her mind completely about being married. At first she'd been quite sure she was going to be completely miserable for the rest of her life, and had become somewhat resigned to that idea. But Brandon had been very attentive and much less surly of late, and she was definitely liking this marriage idea - as long as he didn't revert to his former type.

  Her life was getting a little bit more back to normal. She was stepping up her involvement in various groups, and had even planned some trips to speak at rallies all around the Northeast, as she had before she'd married.

  The problem was, that she had neither consulted nor even told her husband that she'd made those plans. Nola had a justifiable fear that if she did, he'd become the ogre he'd bee when they'd first gotten married. So she simply... avoided telling him until almost the very last minute, when Wilde was to dinner one night, telling amusing anecdotes about his travels in Europe, and he happened to mention her trip to Albany.

  Dead silence fell over the table, except for Wilde's sharp yelp as Nola's pointy footed boot connected firmly with his shin.

  "Your tripe where?" her husband turned to her with a raised eyebrowed glare that she had come to know and hate.

  "Well..."

  Brandon's grandfather, Alexander, came to her rescue, sort of. "You must have your dates mixed, Wilde. Why, our dear Nola hasn't so much as hinted that she'd be leaving us to our own devices this weekend. I'm sure you're mistaken."

  But Brandon corrected him, gently, if angrily. "No, Father, I don't think he's wrong. Our dear Nola was most definitely going to leave us this weekend to go make sure that the matrons of the Northeast all have the ability to cast their votes, or leave their husbands, or whatever it is that she feels it necessary to leave her family for without a word."

  "I was going to tell you!" she whined, throwing her napkin on her plate. "I just hadn't found the right time."

  Brandon stood, taking a hold of Nola's wrist firmly and forcing her to rise. He addressed their guest first, however. "Wilde, thank you very much for your company this evening. I hope to see you again soon." He shook hands with the other man, who rose and looked more than a little befuddled, and turned, exiting the room abruptly, tugging his reluctant wife along behind him.

  Nola could hear Wilde asking his father and grandfather if they thought she'd be all right, and they were trying to reassure him, but she didn't think they were going to be very successful at it.

  Her husband pulled her ahead of him, and followed her up the stairs. Of course, she was no fool, and she was taking them just about as slowly as was humanly possible, at least until he began to apply the flat of his hand to her bottom with each step she took. That made her quicken her steps, but he kept up with her easily, so essentially she received a good warm up spanking before they'd even made it to their room.

  When they did finally get there, he turned and closed the door behind them, then just stood there, glaring at her as she bustled about the room getting undressed. "Just when did you intend to tell me about this trip, Nola? As you were waving good bye on the train? Or were you just going to up and disappear for a weekend, and figure that that was perfectly acceptable?"

  She didn't want to look at him. She didn't want to look at him. Nola kept repeating that phrase in her mind. Maybe if she didn't look at him, he wouldn't be angry with her, and she wouldn't have inadvertently ruined the fragile truce between him. It seemed to her that she was damned if she did and damned if she didn't, and now she was being called on the carpet because she didn't.

  "I was going to tell you. I was just looking for the right time."

  He jumped on that immediately. "I don't know that there is a right time to say something like that to your husband. Most couples plan trips together."

  She almost looked at him. He almost tripped her up there, but she busied herself rolling down her stockings instead. "It never came to mind that you might want to attend a women's suffrage meeting." Frankly, she thought the idea was patently ridiculous, but if he wanted to come, he certainly could.

  "I don't, but that doesn't mean I'm going to let you go alone." He would have gone, if he could have gotten this weekend off. But the truth was that there were some very delicate negotiations going on about an acquisition that he really felt would be an asset to the family company, and he just couldn't spare the time away from work right now, or he would most definitely have accompanied her.

  Brandon knew that she was doing all of this. He didn't know if she thought he was completely oblivious to her role in various suffrage groups, or what. But he'd know before he'd married her that she felt very strongly about this cause, strongly enough that she'd darned near ended up in the clink several times, and had actually been beaten up once by members of an angry male mob.

  He wasn't about to let his wife face that kind of thing alone. He already had a tail on her whenever she left the house, someone to protect her just in case, but that man had specific orders not to jump in unless she was in imminent danger of being harmed or arrested. He would accompany her on her trips because he would need to for peace of mind, and would hire even more body guards just for that reason, not including the fact that he'd be beside her the entire time, eagle eyed and watchful of any potential harm that might befall her.

  Her tone was as icy as he'd ever heard it. "There isn't any 'let' involved, Mr. Sawyer. I'm a woman, not your chattel. I haven't used any of your money for this trip, you don't need to worry. If you like, I could even travel under my maiden name, so that Sawyer Industries aren't connected with my nefarious activities."

  So he was Mr. Sawyer again, was he? In the space of five minutes, all of that good will they'd built together had just evaporated apparently. Well, he had to put his foot down. "I'm sorry, Nola, but I don't want you to go on this trip."

  "I'm sorry, Brandon, but I'm going on this trip." Somehow, making a declaration like that while naked made it lack a certain conviction. But she slid under the covers and turned out her bedside light, so that he was just standing by the door in the darkness.

  She thought she might actually have gotten away with the last word.

  She should have known better.

  Chapter Seven

  He crossed easily to his side of the bed and lit his lamp. Parts of the old house were wired for electricity, and parts weren't, as if his father thought that it was some sort of a fad or something. So their bedside lamps were still kerosene.

  "You didn't really think that that was going to be the end of this... discussion, did you?" He asked rhetorically, his eyebrow up.

  Nola frowned darkly. "I had hoped."

  Brandon arranged himself on the bed, leaning back against a pile of pillows, saying, "Hand me your hairbrush, please, Nola."

  The ogre was back. The phrase flitted through her head as she did as she was told, knowing all too well the consequences of not obeying him when he was like this.

  He took the big brush from her and used his other hand to tug her over his lap, reaching across her waist to hold her far hip tightly, so that she couldn't go anywhere, or reach back and protect what would very soon be her poor, sore bottom. "Now," he began sternly. "We are going to have a talk, you and I, about making plans to leave your poor husband for a weekend without so much as consulting him." He gave her five hard swats before he continued.

  If she hadn't been in this position, she might have smiled at the very idea of him being a "poor" anything, but this was neither the time nor the place.

  "I don't have a problem with you supporting your causes. Granted, I wish they were a bit less controversial, but I'm not trying to stop you from doing whatever it is that you do." He gave her ten crisp smacks, landing them up and down her bottom and the tender backs of her thighs, deliberately landing several swats in exactly the same places for effect. "But I am going to insist on accompanying you wherever you go. So if you have any more of these planned, you need to let me know now, and I'll see which ones we can go to." He emphasized the "we" with both his voice, and the hairbrush.

  "I've been going alone since I was fourteen!" she wailed, partly in anger and partly in pain.

  That got him to stop spanking her. "You're kidding me?"

  "No."

  She'd never lied to him, so he had to believe her. He snorted incredulously. Their fourteen year old daughter most certainly wasn't going to be going to dangerous rallies, period. End of sentence. He was amazed that her parents had let her go.

  In a moment of clarity, he said, "You didn't tell them you were going, did you?"

  Her silence was answer enough for him, and he began spanking her in earnest, unable to deal with the idea that she could have been seriously hurt or injured, and her parents wouldn't have even known that she was gone.

  "I used to go to stay with a friend who would cover for me. My parents never knew the difference," she confessed.

  "You would never have gotten away with that if I'd been your father."

  A fact that she was wholly thankful for, Nola thought, but wisely kept to herself. It was hard enough being his wife, and she really hadn't done anything wrong, per se. But, since marrying him, she'd lived her life by his law, and he definitely thought that she'd done something she oughtn't. And although she might deny it in a court of law, she supposed she could see what he meant.

  Her bottom had already been hurting from his tender caresses while they were ascending the stairs - the hairbrush was burning holes in her flesh, she was quite sure. And he was continuing to spank her as if he hadn't already given her a good thirty or so swats, decorating her bottom until it felt as if her flesh was so swollen it was going to burst.

  Finally, he let her up, tucking her hairbrush into his nightstand this time, and holding her close to him, not letting her slip away, and not even making a move to make love to her, just holding her tight. After a long while, he lifted his head and said, "You're not going to make it to this rally, Nola. I can't do it this weekend, and you're never to schedule one I can't take you to in the future. Is that understood?"

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