Snippets Twenty Six...
Tucked into his arms, she was deep in sleep, exhaustion winning out, her energies depleted by the assault, the police details, the scolding and the threat of another spanking.
He held her close to his body, her head on his upper arm, his other arm around her mid section. Without thought he bent to kiss her brow, her eyelids, her chin and each time his lips grazed her skin, his arms tightened around her.
He had been alarmed when he got the call, scared witless she had been seriously injured, relieved when he saw she had only a few small bruises. Then his sanity returned and shoved his raw emotions back beneath the surface of his psyche.
She had kept her cool through the whole ordeal, calm and cool and in charge. She had the good sense to speak to JC in a calm voice when the police contacted him, answered the police officer's questions as succinctly as she could and made only feeble protests when JC insisted that a doctor examine her.
He held her tenderly all the way home, drew a hot bath for her and kept an arm around her while he gently soaped and rinsed warm water over her. He checked her body for any sign of pain as he dried her and made note of the bruised thumb and bruised knuckles...
...which she hurt when she punched him in the face.
Her foot was bruised, the toes curling as he gently dried them...
...when she kicked him.
She flinched when he dried her shoulder and he bent his head to kiss the pain away, pain the attacker had caused when he tried to grab her shoulder bag and she had jerked away from him.
And that's all she should have felt if she had let go of her handbag, let the man steal it.
She was enraged, instantly defended herself, reverting to the street urchin she had once been, kicked... kick boxed a blow into the man's stomach, slapped the heel of her hand into his throat, kick boxed lower... punched him in the face... would have kept kicking and punching but started coughing...
The police told her she was lucky the perpetrator didn't have a gun or a knife, common elements in crime and especially common in Miami where they were currently billeted. She would have to press charges, appear in court... there were witnesses.
When JC was certain she wasn't injured... hadn't suffered anything more serious than a few bruises... he scolded her. Told her how foolish she was to fight back - it wasn't worth getting hurt over - what was she thinking?
"You could have been seriously hurt, bambina," his voice firm and bordering on stern disapproval.
"But for the grace of God," he muttered.
"I can take care of myself," she protested, her rage about to resurface now that he was scolding her. "I took care of me a lot of years before you came along."
"A lot of years? You think street fighting... street skirmishes with kids your own size is a skill you can use with grown men?"
"You think it was only little boys that tried to bully me? Shall I tell you how many of them were bigger than me? What about the sick perverts looking for little girls to play with? The bums that wanted whatever they thought I had? The nuns that loved to slap kids around. You think I was sheltered from all that? Think about that, tough guy. It's dog eat dog on the streets. You don't fight back, you may as well die because as soon as anyone thinks you're easy prey, your life is over."
His tone changed, turned softer, gentler and he swallowed hard. Her words hurt. She didn't talk about "those days." She didn't wallow in it, kept those memories in check, and didn't look back, always moving forward. He rarely heard any of those details and each time he heard about some single event... from her, from her childhood friends, it always hurt.
But that was then and this was now. Those days were long gone. She was no longer that street urchin; she was an adult who was not skilled in the art of self-defense. True, she knew how to kick box. This didn't make her immune to a lethal weapon or a man capable of extreme violence.
"I did the right thing," she said as she leaned against him.
"You did the wrong thing," he retorted. "Losing your handbag is better than getting injured or worse, losing your life."
"I didn't see any reason to let him take what's mine," she huffed, indignant at the thought.
"What if he had pulled a gun? What would you have done then?"
"Spence, you're not thinking. Listen to me."
"I'd do it again," she yelled. "I'm not letting some moron take what's mine and furthermore..."
He flipped her over his lap so fast she choked on her breath and when she continued to yell at his high-handed ways, he smacked her backside once... then again. A few quick hard spanks... each one delivered by his large hand, each one creating heat. He stopped before the heat was unbearable, stopped while he was still rational, and pulled her up and to his chest, holding her much too tightly.
"You're hurting me. I can't breathe," she gasped.
He held onto her but loosened his hold and when he did, she reached a hand back to rub her sore bottom.
He took that hand and held it in his own. "No, bambina. I want you to feel how disappointed I am. You're too cavalier about what happened. It could have turned out far worse than it did. You made the wrong decision but you were lucky, very lucky."
"You wouldn't have made such a fuss if I was a woman under your command," she huffed.
"A woman under my command would have been trained to defend herself," he retorted.
"I can defend myself!"
"I can spank you again!"
"You're not being fair!"
"Fair has nothing to do with it. You're my wife, my love. Spencer, you're my life. I could not bear it if anything happened to you."
"Nothing did," she said in a much softer tone.
"Another spanking is gonna happen if you don't stop and think about your actions."
"Are you sure you really love me?"
"Yes... another spanking any second now," his voice barely a whisper as he tightened his hold on her. "And a spanking every day - maybe, twice a day - until you realize how much I love you."
"Maybe you shouldn't love me so much."
"Maybe you should stop while you're ahead."
"I was too angry to be afraid," she said later, yawning and struggling to keep her eyes open.
He nodded. He understood that kind of anger.
"You're lucky I don't ever take my anger out on you," she stated.
"Si, very lucky," he agreed and smothered his smile in her hair.
"You don't know how lucky you are," she added. "I could hurt you but I love you and I don't really want to do that."
"Grazie, bambina," he grinned and coughed to cover the bout of laughter about to erupt.
He watched her drift into sleep, her body relaxing in his arms, her features smoothed as her breath eased. As much as he loved her, the full realization of how much she meant to him shook him badly when he found out she had been in harm's way.
The man who tried to steal her handbag was in police custody. He probably picked her because he was bigger than she was, probably thought she'd be an easy mark, probably thought she'd be intimidated by the altercation. He thought wrong. Spencer intimidated? Not likely. He was lucky she didn't break any bones, lucky she didn't jump up and down on his chest, and luckier still that she didn't emasculate him.
The combination of her coughing and the bystanders rushing to her defense had saved the man from greater injury. By the time the mall security had the man in custody, he was more than willing to go with them rather than face more of Spencer's wrath.
The longer he held her sleeping form, the more he thought about what had happened, what she had done and the outcome. He knew she was right in her thinking; it had been reflex on her part to defend herself, reflex and a touch of impulsiveness. More than one of her childhood friends would have beaten the would-be felon to a pulp. What Spencer did was minimal in comparison.
I'm married to a mini titan, a mini Amazon, am imp... my imp, my birbantella.
He was stretched out beside her when she woke, his body warming her from top to bottom, his even breath on her neck. She moved slightly but knew he'd wake if she tried to get off the bed. As it was, his arm tightened around her, a gentle holding and then... his lips moved against her skin.
"Are you still mad at me?" she asked as she turned in his arms.
"Not mad. Was never mad, just worried," he answered as he tilted her chin up to look in her eyes.
"Are you going to spank me again?"
"You could kiss me. I feel better when you kiss me."
"I feel better when I kiss you, too," he smiled, his lips dropping those kisses all over her face, his hands under her camisole, palms gently rubbing.
"I couldn't help it, JC. I was attacked. I acted naturally."
"I know. I apologize for thinking you were rash. You weren't rash; you reacted as most people probably would."
"I would have backed off if he showed a weapon."
"I know that, too. Mi spiace I'm sorry. In fear for your safety I jumped to a conclusion. Will you forgive me?" he asked with a smile.
"You know I don't believe in forgiveness. If you feel badly about what you did, that's enough. Although..." she paused. "That doesn't mean I'll ever feel badly about anything *I* do."
Soft laughter followed her words. *Guilt* was not one of Spencer's emotions and was rarely a part of her vocabulary.
"That won't keep me from spanking you when I feel it is necessary, bambina."
"Good thing I love you," she mumbled, her words drowned out by his continuing laughter.
And then all was forgotten as they lost themselves in each other, their touching and kissing mere prelude to the dance that followed.