Stephanie Evanovich - The Sweet Spot

“You kiss your mother with that mouth?”

Before she could decide how best to answer him, Chase took a seat on the corner of the bed, hauling her with him. He unceremoniously tossed her facedown across his knees.

He flipped up her flowered sundress in one hand and pulled her panties down to her thighs with the other as she demanded an explanation. His arm clamped firmly around her waist and his other hand rested ominously on her now bare bottom. With her only view that of the floor, he said in a voice she’d never heard before, “Amanda, in ten seconds, I’m going to full-on spank you. If you really don’t already know why, we’ll discuss it later. You can fight me, accept it, or call the cops when it’s over, but make no mistake, little girl, it’s about to happen.”

Without another word, Chase Walker raised his hand and changed the game again.

AMANDA WOKE UP the next morning in Chase’s ginormous bed alone. All snuggled within his zillion-thread-count cotton sheets and his downy comforters.

She knew she wasn’t free of him. He was located somewhere inside the penthouse apartment. She sat up, pulling the bedding with her, unconsciously reclaiming her modesty and remembered the night before.

Last night was hot and steamy and wild, she thought.

And kinky.

Amanda Cole was not kinky. She was gracious and refined. She wasn’t a prude, but she shied away from the fethishy stuff. Last night was all evidence to the contrary, however. And this wasn’t about toe-sucking or him wanting to drink something out of her shoe. What he did to her actually hurt, enough to make her cry. And that almost seemed like the least of her worries.

The whole episode only lasted about two minutes. A tiny span of time that opened up a floodgate of more feelings than she thought a person could have. She fought him as hard as she could for that first minute, so incensed by what he was doing, but there was no way to match his strength. Chase said nothing as she struggled, simply kept to his word and saw to his task. With uncanny expert precision, he maneuvered around her squirming and kicking to connect with his target every time, using just enough force to remind her of exactly where she was. But as soon as she stopped trying to escape, worn out from all the thrashing, his as well as her own, he began to scold her, something about soap and her mouth. The words were all jumbled in her mind. But she couldn’t forget the same crisp, authoritative tone that continued since he informed her of his intention. It was curt, resolved, and disappointed, definitely disappointed. It demanded her attention, and she found herself getting caught up in it. The more he scolded, the worse she felt. The absence of his generous loving affection cut into her like a knife.

Then they seemed to combine, the pain of his voice with the sting of his hand, and she gave over to it all. It was like she had risen out of her body and was watching it all take place from the ceiling. And whether it was from the ceiling or nothing more than a picture in her mind, she was able to see his handsome face, a mask of determination and control. It was strangely comforting. It matched the look he got when he kissed her, and when he made love to her. Which meant it was a look that was erotic as hell.

It was too many feelings all at once, vying for space in her brain. Pain, shock, frustration, disappointment, love, trust, eroticism, control. Control. She crashed back down to the floor, and once again it was the only thing she could see.

It was then that Amanda really started to cry.

As soon as he recognized her tears for what they were, Chase stopped. He waited a moment, caught his own breath. Then he helped her to stand and stood up next to her. All traces of fury in him had vanished. He almost appeared serene. He certainly didn’t look like he wanted to hurt her any further or force himself on her in any way. He took a few steps back to give her some space, crossed his arms over his chest, and watched, waiting to see what she would do next.

Although her dress fell back down, her panties pooled at her feet. She could feel them around her ankles. She wanted to reach back and try to rub at the burn, but refused to give him the satisfaction of letting him know just how well he’d done the job, as if there were any question. Embarrassment tried to cram its way into her skull. There was just no room for anger. And she didn’t want to be angry with him anyway, she wanted his laughing, loving voice back. If she didn’t hear it, and soon, the absence of it would be more than she could bear. The longer it continued, his silence created an expanding void that grew bigger and she didn’t have the strength to climb out of. She didn’t know how she would be able to stand one more second of it. She swiped at her nose with the back of her hand and choked on a sob the only word she could think of, part question, part exclamation, and all distress signal. “Chase.”

And then he was there, scooping her up and holding her close against his chest. He went back to the corner of his bed, only this time to sit her on his lap. She bit back the wince while he held back a smirk and he settled her more comfortably against him. He held her quietly as she cried incoherent, random words, trying to make sense of it all.

When her last tear was shed and the last word babbled, he kissed her. It was tender, conciliatory, but by no means remorseful. With each kiss, she wanted to coax the words out of him, words to explain, words to forgive. Only he wouldn’t say them. He adoringly hummed and hushed but his mouth was far too busy doing other things. Instead, he tumbled her backward onto the bed and helped her work through each of the feelings that were bottled up inside her, one by one. As each feeling exploded out of her body with the force of a line drive coming off a fastball, he caught it, made it his own, and joined her in it. He matched her emotion for emotion, and it was manic and chaotic and euphoric. . . .

Amanda vigorously shook her head. She could never be accused of being a delicate flower, but last night went beyond aggressive sex. And her feminist school of thought was, if you let a guy hit you once, it’s like giving him permission to make you his punching bag. This felt different and only added to the confusion.

Where had this man come from? This was not the completely gallant gentleman who politely pulled out her chairs, opened all her doors, and held her hand. Who took chivalry to a whole new level. The Chase from last night was forceful, intent on overpowering her and refusing to stop.

Had she even said stop?

No, she hadn’t. She fought and she swore and called him every name she could think of. She even made up a few. It had become an accelerating battle of words and wills until it was clear who was going to come out the victor. But at no time did she tell him to stop. At one point early on, she actually sank her teeth into his side, a decision she could probably thank any lingering soreness for. The resulting volley of sharper swats was a stark reminder of just how much restraint and control he wielded over her. How helpless and completely at his mercy she was. The mind-blowing sex afterward was born of the adrenaline created from the whole experience. It was wrong for him to take that sort of advantage of her. It was even more wrong that she let him. And there was no way to rationalize how, through it all, there was this out-of-body element that she had never felt before. It was feral, hedonistic, and uninhibited.

One of his bathrobes was lying across a corner of the bed. Was he being thoughtful, presumptuous, or just plain lazy? Amanda pondered, standing up. She slipped on the heavy terry cloth. It was completely dry; he hadn’t used it. She settled on thoughtful while tying it at the waist and pulling up the extra material to ensure she wouldn’t step on it when she walked. She tiptoed down the hallway, the same hallway that only hours ago he’d tried to drag her down, peeking into open doors for any sign of him. She encountered his cleaning lady in his memorabilia room, an entire room full of trophies and other dedications to his greatness. Lena was a stout Latino grandmother with a ready smile whom security picked up every morning at five A.M. and drove home at the end of each day since she was hired three years ago. She politely directed Amanda to the kitchen at the opposite end of the hall. Chase’s magnetism started creeping up on her as she got closer and hit her full force before she made it to the entranceway. She drew in her breath and held it. She thought she was ready to face him. She was wrong.

Chase was sitting on a stool at the kitchen’s long center island, which also served as a breakfast bar. He was freshly showered and fully dressed in Kings workout garb, sans his hat and spikes. His blond hair shone under the bright lights overhead in the windowless kitchen, making him look more angelic than mortal. He held on to a coffee cup. The heavy ceramic mug looked normal in his large hand, and probably held a quart of coffee. The remnants of his Paul Bunyan–sized bowl of Cheerios sat beside a stack of newspapers, one opened directly in front of him. Chase always had his morning papers delivered by six and tried to be done reading them all by seven. When he caught sight of her in the entranceway he smiled brightly.

“Morning, angel,” he greeted her, pointing to the opposite end of the long counter near where she was standing. “Coffee’s ready, over there in the corner.” He went back to reading.

Amanda suddenly felt shy. Silly even. Something about the way he’d said “corner.” How could someone telling you where the coffee is sound so dominant and sexy? He was completely relaxed. That was fine. She could follow that lead. She was still feeling the aftereffects from what he’d done to her last night; he was engrossed in the box scores, no big deal. She ambled across the kitchen floor to where her Gulliver-made-it-home-sized mug waited and made herself a trough of coffee. As she methodically poured coffee, then added milk and Splenda, she tried to work up the nerve to broach the subject. To inform him in no uncertain terms she wasn’t that kind of girl, no matter how much she may have acted like one. Nothing came to her mind that sounded even remotely plausible. She didn’t need to rush; she told herself. She could do small talk.

“I thought all you big shots only wore your play clothes when at the field?” She stirred her coffee with a teaspoon that looked more like it was made for soup.

“I have clothes everywhere,” he replied cheerfully. “Sometimes I need to make a sudden appearance. Today I just overslept a bit and wanted to get a jump on the day.” He looked her up and down while her back was turned, before adding, “Lots of great energy.”

Energy, Amanda repeated to herself while she stirred her cup. That would help explain all the electricity that left her feeling so jittery. Maybe it was the way he said it, so at ease with the dimension he was trying to add to their relationship.

He went back to reading as she turned around. She stared at the contents of her mug and took a moment to appreciate that there was no way she could convincingly pretend nothing had changed with so much being left unsaid. If he wasn’t going to bring it up, she was going to have to. He wasn’t focused on her and she considered it a benefit.

“Chase,” she began steadily, but her voice cracked as soon as she said his name, “about last night?”

“Yes?” he asked casually, not looking up from his paper.

“You seemed like you really knew what you were doing there.” She tried to sound snarky, but it came out more flummoxed.

“I do,” he stated, very matter of fact, still seemingly engrossed in the paper, but with the corners of his mouth starting to turn up.

“Like you’ve done that sort of thing before.”

“I have.” He grinned, turning the page and scanning it.

“And that if we keep seeing each other, it’s something you’ll want to do again?”

“I will.” He nodded, still grinning. He took a sip of his coffee, his eyes focused on the comics.

His two-word, nonchalant answers and perceived lack of interest was starting to completely unnerve her. She hadn’t even come out directly to say what she was talking about and he was behaving like they had entered into a pact that only he was privy to.

“What if I don’t want you to?”

Chase finally looked up from his paper, his eyes spearing her from across the granite island. “Then you better not be naughty.”