The Effing List Page 4

  She’d been so appealingly soft.

  She had a fascinating face—pointed chin, laugh lines on each side of her mouth, and a slightly upturned nose. Her blue eyes were a shade lighter than true navy and gorgeous.

  He wouldn’t remind her of their meeting, though. BDSM courtesy meant the vanilla world remained outside the club—and what happened inside stayed inside. So, he simply asked, “Who’s next?”

  * * *

  Standing beside Queenie, Valerie still couldn’t get over the shock. It was the professor—the man she’d bumped into at the Vietnamese restaurant.

  And he was administering the spankings.

  She and Queenie had been moving around the room. They’d experienced hot wax on their forearms, a lightweight flogging, much like a tapping massage, a scratchy vampire glove, a stinging cane. They’d been headed for the cropping demo when Queenie spotted the professor.

  A chime rang through the room and a voice announced, “The club will close to visitors in twenty minutes.”

  “Oh no. I wanted to try being a puppy.” Queenie gazed yearningly toward the back.

  “We can always come back some other time on the guest pass.” The guard had handed them each a FREE NIGHT ticket for use in the future.

  “I don’t know if I’d ever come back, so I need to try this now.” Queenie patted Valerie’s arm. “Meet you at the front in twenty minutes.”

  “B-but…” Valerie’s mouth dropped open as Queenie hurried toward the smaller rooms. “Well, honestly.”

  With a sinking feeling, she turned toward the scene area.

  Yes, the professor was watching, a smile quirked on his firm lips. “Abandoned?”

  “So, it seems.” She took a step back.

  He studied her for a moment. “You were in the line. Did you not want to be spanked?”

  “I…uh…” She could feel telltale heat rise into her face.

  Because the professor was a hot guy, Queenie had decided they’d join this line.

  Valerie hadn’t protested too much, because the two times Barry had spanked her, she’d loved it. The thought of getting that pain again, of feeling those sensations was…

  But how could she get a spanking from someone who was basically a colleague? And now, Queenie had left.

  Gods help her, she really did want to try it again.

  The professor’s sharp gaze caught hers. A blind man would have been able to read her desire, and this man, no, this Dom, was far from blind.

  His lips curved. “Well then. Come here.”

  Her whole body yearned to do just that.

  Her head said, no, absolutely not.

  And her feet moved her forward.

  “Brave lass.” He took her hand, pulling her down and over his knees, and she didn’t try to resist.

  “Ah, you’re a comfortable size for me, aren’t you?” he murmured, the gruff rasp of his voice almost palpable against her skin.

  His muscular thighs were under her belly—and a second later, his hands closed around her waist, and he shifted her, so her butt tilted up.

  Fingers spread, she braced her hands on the floor with her feet on the other side of his legs.

  His hand caressed her denim-clad bottom, and she tensed. “Easy, lass. I simply need to ensure I won’t hit a cell phone or wallet and to see how much padding you have over those bones.”

  “More than enough,” she said under her breath. She’d seen the young things he’d had in his line earlier. What must he—

  “Just the right amount in my opinion. It’s no fun when a good smack might fracture a bone.”

  Oh…to think a big ass had advantages. The approval in his voice was obvious, and she relaxed.

  He liked her butt.

  He slapped her bottom lightly several times as he talked. “Since there’s no one waiting, I’m going to take my time. Do you have a name you like to be called?”

  “Valerie is fine.”

  “Valerie, it is. Now, tell me on a scale of 1-to-10, where ten is excruciating and one is barely there, how much does this hurt?” He slapped her harder.

  A bare sting. “Two.”

  “Mmm, you’re going to be delightful.” He delivered three more powerful spanks.

  Her blood started to hum.

  “Number?”

  “Five.”

  “Very good, we’ll stay with this for a while and see how you like the burn.” He started smacking her, strong, even blows, one cheek, then the other, then several in one spot.

  The sting of each radiated out, through her whole body. Rousing everything inside her and heating her blood.

  Unlike the flogging, this wasn’t impersonal; in fact, when he stopped and rubbed her bottom, it was the furthest thing from impersonal. She was lying across his legs; his bare hand was on her ass.

  And she was growing aroused.

  Could he tell? Face flaming, she tried to push up.

  “No, pet. There’s no shame here in the Shadowlands,” he said. “Actually, we’re much alike. Giving pain to a willing recipient makes me hard—and receiving pain excites you.”

  His hand in the center of her back held her down. “You’re in a place that celebrates this kind of kink, so you’re going to relax and enjoy it.”

  At the firm command, everything inside her melted into a total puddle of goo.

  “Very good.” His chuckle was low and deep. “Say ‘stop’ if you truly want to quit; otherwise, I’m going to hold you here and give us both what we want.”

  His left hand kept her still against his legs as he increased the impact of his right, although the blows stayed even. He paused long enough for each burst of pain to transform to simmering need.

  Pleasure took her over, roaring through her, filling all the pockets of need that had existed for so, so long.

  He halted. “Number, Valerie?”

  “Seven, a marvelous seven.”

  His laugh was deep and wonderful. “I’d have to agree. Hang on, then, pet.”

  As if she could go anywhere.

  The firm control he had over her body, the authority in his voice was like turning up the heat under a pot of water. Her blood was starting to boil…with need.

  “Brace for the next batch, lass.” He smacked her hard, did some softer ones, then stingingly hard again.

  Like an ancient chorus, the pattern repeated until her bottom was aflame. Such an amazing burn.

  “Oh my god, he’s hitting her too hard. He’s hurting her. Stop him.” Queenie’s voice was loud and clear.

  When Valerie stiffened, the professor eased off. His blows slowed and lightened, even as he grumbled under his breath, “Vanillas.”

  She choked on a laugh.

  “We’ve been busted, lass. I’m going to help you stand and will hold you until you’re steady.” He eased her to her feet, even as he rose and gripped her waist.

  Her ass stung, and if she weren’t an adult—or in public—she’d have rubbed her bottom like a child. Instead, she pulled in a breath and faced him.

  Taller by several inches, he smiled down at her, then tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Thank you for the most fun I’ve had in”—he frowned—“in an exceptionally long time.”

  She swallowed, unable to look away from the hard face, the attentive gaze. Unable to not respond to his honesty. “Me, too.”

  “Good.” He stepped back slightly and ran his hands up and down her arms as if to restore her circulation. “Next time, we’ll do this without the jeans.”

  Heat swept into her face, and his smile widened. How many times had he made her blush in the last few minutes?

  “Are you steady on your feet? Dizziness? Pain? Aside from your ass, of course.” A grin flashed white in the tanned face.

  She half-snorted, then moved another step away, far too conscious of Queenie. “I’m good to go. I…thank you.”

  The sharp green eyes softened, and he ran his knuckles over her cheek. His voice dropped to where only she could possibly hear. “The nice
part of when sadists and masochists interact is no thanks are needed. We both enjoyed me beating on your ass.”

  Her mouth dropped open, because…it was obvious he had liked spanking her. How different this had been from Barry’s begrudging two spankings.

  “Come back, and we’ll do it again,” he said softly, before turning to Queenie. “Here she is, all right and tight.”

  Chapter Three

  On campus, Ghost sat in the mid-sized lecture hall and barely kept from sighing.

  Yesterday, he’d thoroughly enjoyed his lecture because his class covering World War I held students who truly were interested in military history. The discussion about the Battle of Somme had really kept their interest. Of course, how could it not? The clash of forces had been a total bloodbath.

  He loved seeing young minds at work, spurring them into thinking. Some of those men and women could well be the leaders of tomorrow.

  Made a professor feel good.

  Unfortunately, on Tuesdays, he had this class that’d been dumped on him after the regular professor suffered a heart attack.

  All freshmen. At least it was Tuesday, so most of them weren’t suffering from hangovers.

  They did try his patience.

  He flipped on the projector switch to display the homework assignment since some still hadn’t figured out how to use a syllabus. “Homework is due the beginning of next class.”

  “Nooo,” one young man whined. “No homework. I have a hot date tonight.”

  Ghost raised an eyebrow. “Does that mean you’ll have to write with your other hand?”

  As the nearby students burst into laughter, the young man reddened.

  Ghost tossed his lecture notes into his briefcase. Bad colonel.

  His self-control had been frayed by the lack of sleep last night. He’d dreamed of his wife and the gut-wrenching weeks where she’d slowly wasted away.

  Damn, he missed her.

  She hadn’t been perfect—what person was? But she’d been a strong woman, sticking with him through moves and deployments and the ugliness of post-combat stress. They’d laughed and fought and made-up. He’d have given anything if she could have beat back the cancer and won her own victory.

  That war they had both lost.

  He shook his head. Kelly had been gone over four years now. Perhaps her loss felt closer today because, for the first time since she died, he’d truly seen another woman. Had wanted to be with her.

  And damned if he didn’t feel guilty about wanting someone. About not being able to keep Kelly alive.

  But her fight with cancer hadn’t been his to win or lose. He’d given her all his support and love. During her last month of life, she told him, over and over, that he’d better live his life to the fullest and find someone to love, or she’d come back and kick his ass.

  He hadn’t been ready to hear those words then. Now he saw the truth. If he’d been the one to go first, he wouldn’t have wanted her to mourn him all her days. Well—he smiled ruefully—for a while, yes, but then he would expect her to put her life back together.

  So, lose the guilt, Colonel.

  The students filed out, chattering about their next classes, exams, and, of course, hot dates.

  He stopped one young man with dreadlocks and piercings. “A moment, please.”

  “Professor?”

  “You had a good argument on whether prejudice was involved in the number of Irish who died. I look forward to hearing more from you in future discussions.”

  The student’s mouth dropped open. “Uh…”

  Suppressing a chuckle, Ghost tilted his head toward the door, releasing the student…who fled.

  During the discussion, the light of battle had filled the freshman’s face, yet the diffident student rarely spoke in class. So, Ghost had singled him out and goaded him to talk. The youngster had an excellent mind, and it was Ghost’s duty—and honor—to encourage him to use it.

  For the next hour, Ghost held office hours. He advised a student about study habits, another about what was expected in essay questions. And, oddly enough, another one about a possible military career. Apparently, his past in the service was common knowledge, and the lad wanted information a recruiter might not provide.

  After buying a coffee in the Marshall Center, he enjoyed a quiet break by the lake next to the Fine Arts building. A few of the green and brown mallards waddled up, and he tossed out a handful of cracked corn.

  Bread wasn’t good for them. Wasn’t particularly good for him either, but at least his morning PT kept his gut within bounds.

  Brushing off his hands, he checked the time, then headed inside and down a hall, checking lecture room numbers. Here. He entered the room silently and chose a place in the shadows in the back.

  At the front, Valerie Winborne was talking about Middle Eastern cultures. Her hair was pulled back in a tidy French braid. She wore tan pants and a white top with dark red embroidery. Professional…and, even when lecturing, she had the most beautiful voice he’d ever heard. Her vibrant contralto was somehow peaceful and sexy at the same time.

  Curiosity had spurred him into searching for more information. Conveniently, very few professors were named Valerie. She held an interesting mixture of degrees and minors—philosophy, economics, world religions—and had been hired as an adjunct to replace a tenured professor who’d retired early.

  Of course, the university had jumped at acquiring a teacher who’d written a bestselling book about the commonalities of various religions and philosophical practices. She’d tried to show how most people believed in something more, whether they called it god or gods or a great spirit or life force—and the beliefs, if followed, led people to create a better world.

  Oddly enough, he’d read the book last year and enjoyed it.

  Now he could see she taught as brilliantly as she wrote. Her fresh way of viewing the world captivated her listeners. Even better, she sprinkled her lecture with illustrations from her own life.

  Apparently, she’d asked her class about home remedies their mothers had used. Students offered up the usual—chicken soup, mentholated ointment on the chest, 7-Up for nausea.

  She laughed. “Now, see, when I suffered from a sore throat, the housekeepers made me drink thyme tea rather than taking a pill. Like here, 7-Up is popular for stomach aches. But if I got an earache…or a backache, olive oil was the go-to. I never did figure out how olive oil could help a backache.”

  The class laughed.

  Interesting. Her examples were pulled to show the intriguing differences—and down deep, the similarities. The remedy might not be the same, but caring for children was universal.

  As Ghost headed back into the hall, he frowned. Wasn’t it a bit odd Valerie hadn’t mentioned either of her parents when she’d spoken of being ill?

  He had a feeling there was a lot to learn about her.

  On the USF campus, Valerie sat beside Queenie at the umbrella-shaded table.

  Rain earlier had left the air sparkling clean with a hint of brine. On the stones underfoot, gulls strutted back and forth, hoping for generous diners to toss a tidbit.

  Valerie opened the lunch she’d brought from home.

  “Brown-bagging it, girl?” Queenie asked, setting her bag from Subway on the table.

  “Mmmhmm. Tuesdays are ham ‘n’ cheese days.” What with deposits for rent and utilities, she’d spent a lot setting up on her own.

  “Didn’t you score anything in the divorce?”

  Valerie’s laugh was only slightly bitter. “What with raising children, then helping them out with college, we hadn’t saved much.” And Barry had spent what there was on his slaves.

  “The house, though?”

  “He owned it before we married. Really, I was happy simply to be gone.” At least, he hadn’t been able to touch her 401k.

  Her money was now all her own.

  Independence didn’t make up for an empty bed. She sighed. “Although we gradually grew distant, and the final year was ugly
, our early years were good. I miss those times—and having someone to cuddle up to in the evenings. Sharing laughter over silly things. Even someone to be grumpy with in the early morning before breakfast.”

  Somewhere along the line, the man she’d loved had disappeared. Or maybe he’d merely stopped putting any effort into the marriage. Or the sex.

  “I feel you. Indeed, I do.” Queenie nodded in sympathy. “I’ve also noticed a decided lack of orgasms, post-divorce.”

  There hadn’t been many before the divorce either. Valerie grinned. “Guess we have to do it ourselves, like all the magazines say. They’re all about sex toys and masturbating. Have you ever heard a less appealing word?”

  Tapping her chin, Queenie nodded, face serious. “True, true. Men get much more interesting terms. Handjobs and wanking.”

  Laughing, Valerie pointed at her. “Exactly. Beating the meat, stroking the salami.”

  “Oh, oh, my turn. Yanking the crank.”

  “Good one.” Valerie thought for a second. “Burping the worm.”

  Queenie sputtered her coke and had to mop the front of her shirt.

  Opening her thermos of coffee, Valerie frowned. “Really, the guys not only received better terminology, but their anatomy is a better design. After all, a man’s dick is right there, ready at hand, so to speak.”

  “Ah, yes.” Queenie waved her sandwich in agreement. “No fumbling around to find the good stuff.”

  “Exactly.” Barry had sure enjoyed sex more than she ever did. Her orgasms had been in short supply, and even then, nothing to write home about. Except for the two after being spanked.

  But spanking her hadn’t turned him on, so that was that.

  “Really, if life were fair,” she muttered, “I’d find a man skilled in the sack so I could indulge in tons of glorious sex.” And spankings.

  “I hate to tell you, my friend, but life isn’t fair.” Queenie opened her sack.

  “I know.” Valerie scowled. “Have you noticed every guy past his forties just wants a readymade cook and housekeeper?”

  “Well, he has to find someone to replace his wife who probably divorced him for that very reason,” Queenie said cynically.