"Hey, babe," the tall man called out after tossing his cover onto a nearby chair. "I'm home early for a change."
"Where are you, Kitten?" he called again, wandering through the house looking for his wife. "That's strange," he mumbled. "She's usually home at this hour. I wonder..."
The trilling rings of his cell phone interrupted his thoughts and he answered with a brisk "Yes!"
Listening to the voice on the phone, he paled considerably, grabbed his cover, and rushed back out the door and into his SUV. Breaking numerous traffic rules - speeding, passing on the left and the right, driving on the shoulder - he exited onto the off ramp at the county hospital on two wheels. It was a sheer miracle that he hadn't killed himself or anyone else in his haste.
Patients and hospital personnel got out of his way as he dashed through the emergency room doors and introduced himself. "My wife is here," was all he had to say and was immediately ushered into a trauma room where the local police were questioning two women, a third heavily bandaged and in bed.
"Spencer!" he yelled, relieved to see her in one piece as she shakily rose to her feet. "Baby," he murmured, gathering her into his arms. "I got a call... someone said you were brought into the ER... an accident... I didn't know... are you all right? Are you hurt? What the hell happened?"
He was holding her so tight she could barely breathe, let alone answer his questions. "JC, I'm okay, I'm okay," she said, her voice quavering, losing her composure now that he was here to hold her and take care of everything. "Just a little scratch on my arm, and a small bruise on my cheek, that's all."
"Admiral?" the police officer approached. "I'm Officer Chadwick. I'm the one who cut your missus out of the car. And I have to tell you..."
"Cut her out of the car!?!" JC swallowed. "What car?" He stared at his wife and crushed her to his chest again. "Cut her out of the car?"
"With the jaws of life, sir," the officer explained. "The top of the car was crushed in... she's one damn lucky lady. Just a scratch... you should be real proud, sir. She was calm... did everything right... even in the back seat, she had her seatbelt on... laying flat on the seat. She's a survivor, sir."
JC was speechless. He hauled his wife up into his arms and stared at her and then, slid down the wall to the floor. Holding her against him, he breathed with great difficulty, only half listening to the police officer as he related the facts. Trained to react calmly and with a clear head in the face of danger was one thing. Faced with the possibility that his wife had almost been killed was something else entirely. All defense barriers evaporated when he discovered that she had narrowly missed death. He was weak with relief and couldn't hug her tight enough. He wasn't sure he was ever going to let her out of his sight again.
His wife, Spencer, had been out shopping with two friends and the driver, Harriet the devil's own wasn't paying attention to traffic as usual and crossed the median strip. Losing control of the vehicle, it sideswiped a pickup truck, flipped onto its side and roof first, crashed into a concrete barrier. Surprisingly, Harriet broke only a few bones and had a moderate concussion, nothing worse. Mara, in the front passenger seat had a broken wrist and Spencer, in the back seat, came away unscathed.
"But for the grace of God," JC murmured, still hugging his wife.
"You mad at me?" Spencer asked, peeking a glance at her husband who wasn't terribly fond of Harriet or Mara, for that matter.
"No," he answered, the adrenaline still surging through his gut. He cupped her cheek and kissed her brow, rubbing his lips against her skin. "I'm thanking my lucky stars you're alive and not broken into a million pieces."
He took a week off from work to be with her, rarely letting her out of his sight, holding her as often as humanly possible. His arms and his lap were sanctuary and Spencer constantly sought that haven while she came to grips with her near-death experience. JC's mind was in overdrive. On the one hand he was vastly relieved she was alive and well; on the other, he wanted to burn her butt for putting herself in jeopardy in the first place. Once they both calmed down from the event, he was going to teach her a lesson she wouldn't soon forget.
~~~
She was sitting on his lap.
"I love you, baby, and I'm gonna spank you hard," he said softly, cupping her chin so she had to look at him.
"Why?"
"Because you scared the hell out of me a few days ago."
"I didn't do it on purpose. I wasn't even driving," she protested, her lower lip beginning to protrude.
"You were riding with Harriet," he said quietly. "Someone I don't want you spending time with and that includes riding in her car. You know she's not responsible."
"I already told you it just sort of happened. Mara drove me to the mall and we bumped into Harriet and she wanted to show us her new..."
"Kitten," he put a finger on her lips. "If you hadn't been riding with Harriet, you wouldn't have been in that accident. I thought the worst when I got that phone call." He cupped her face and kissed her gently. "I died a thousand deaths until I saw you in that trauma room. I thought I lost you, baby. Now, I'm going to spank you so you'll remember not to ever ride with Harriet again. Do you understand?"
"Not fair," she protested again.
"I just told you why," he said softly.
"But you waited almost a whole week. Why didn't you spank me when it happened? Why now? I thought you weren't angry," she pouted. "You said you weren't mad. Were you just saying that?"
"I didn't spank you when it happened because you were still shook up over the accident. I didn't tell you I was going to spank you because I didn't want you fretting over it every day. And I wasn't angry about your role in the accident." He kissed her brow and then cradled her to his chest, still speaking softly. "I'm disappointed you chose to ride with Harriet when I specifically asked you not to. I'm no longer asking, Kitten. I'm telling you. And to be sure you remember, I'm going to spank you - hard - so you won't forget."
"No," she yelled, jumping off his lap and backing away from him.
"Yes," he said, rising and stepping toward her.
"NO!" she cried, backing up until she was standing against the wall, her palms out to stop him.
"Yes, little one," he said softly, towering over her and pulling her into his arms.
"I'll never forgive you," she hissed.
"I know," he replied, carrying her to the couch. "But I can live with that; I can't live with the idea that you might have been killed. You had a really close call."
He held her until her breathing eased, then without another word, turned her over on his lap and pulled her sweats and panties down and off. Without warning, his hand came down hard and swift - S-L-A-P - she yelped and he paused, letting the sting sink in before spanking her again.
Nine more hard spanks followed and he paused between each one, holding his palm down on that part of her bottom he just spanked. Her body bounced on his lap but Spencer bit her lip, refusing to cry or plead or beg. At that moment, she hated him and was at a loss for words.
He rubbed her butt for a few seconds, then started spanking her again, this time with swift hard spanks - no pausing - just a machine gun spray across each cheek, covering every inch of her sore behind.
She inhaled sharply, choking on her breath, gasping for air, and clenching her butt cheeks, cursed him softly. "Insufferable pig. Camel dung! Anal retentive bully!"
He couldn't help grinning at her words as he watched her pretty bottom change from white to pink and deepen to light red. Pausing a few seconds to let her catch her breath, he began the slow, hard spanks again - stopping only when her butt was a fiery red.
She was limp across his lap and he let her lay there while he rubbed her bottom. "I'm sorry, baby," he said softly when he finally lifted her into his arms. "I'm sorry it's come to this, but I want you to remember why I'm spanking you."
With a finger under her chin, he tilted her head up so she had to look at him. Her face was drenched with tears and he shook his head. Except for two quick yelps, the little minx hadn't made a sound except to curse him, words he chose to ignore.
"I hate you," she sniffled, yanking on his T-shirt so she could wipe her nose.
"I know you do," he answered, hugging the teary eyed, semi-nude woman in his arms. "And you're going to hate me even more before this is over."
"It's not done!" she squealed in alarm.
"That was just the beginning, Kitten," he said solemnly. "I'm going to spank you again - really hard."
"You are not!" she yelled, pushing away from him and standing. "You are not!"
"I am," he insisted, his arms folded across his chest, eyeing the half naked woman standing in front of him. He shifted in his seat, his erection making him uncomfortable as he gazed at the pouting beauty that was his wife. God! She's delicious, he thought, eager to make love to her.
"Come here, Kitten," he said softly.
"No!"
"Yes," he said, opening his arms in invitation.
"No! You're not spanking me again!" She turned away from him and with a little difficulty, ran up the stairs.
He took his time going after her; she'd be an easy catch.