“When I get my hands on you…”

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“I’ll be home within the hour, bambina. Wait for me and we’ll go shopping together,” he told her when he called.

“I can shop without you,” she protested, stepping around boxes that had yet to be unpacked. “I know the way; it’s not too far.”

“Wait for me, Spencer,” JC insisted. “The roads are still a little icy and your car doesn’t have chains on it.”

She mumbled a half-hearted reply and hung up. She had been in their new quarters for four days straight and was chomping at the bit to get out. She didn’t need an escort; she knew where the grocery store was.

Married five years and he’s *still* giving me orders! she fumed. It’s not like I’m a baby! I’ll give him an hour and then I’ll go without him. Tired of takeout, tired of the Officers’ Club, need to cook a decent meal.

She waited an hour. She looked at her watch and paced back and forth to the window to watch for his car for an additional 15 minutes. Then, satisfied that she had given him ample time to come home, donned her heavy coat and boots, determined to go shopping whether he liked it or not.

He didn’t like it.

He came home to find her gone and though he had been running late, was irritated that she had left without him. The weather wasn’t conducive for man or beast but he had been ready to indulge her desire to shop for groceries. He knew she preferred cooking to eating at the Officers’ Club and he wanted her to be happy. They had moved several times in the last few years and spending time in her own kitchen was one of the few things that gave her pleasure in the middle of another upheaval.

“But you’re *not* going to get pleasure from the weight of my hand on your pretty little butt when I catch up with you,” he muttered as he went back out the door.

He missed her at the grocery store and retraced his route back to their quarters, driving slowly as the wind picked up. Drifts of sleet and snow covered his windshield and he sent a harried and worried prayer heavenward hoping she had made it home all right.

“When I get my hands on you…” he hissed under his breath, wondering if he’d make it home in one piece.

He swerved to avoid a car that was parked half into the road and half onto the shoulder and as he passed it, recognized it and braked sharply.

“Spencer!” he shouted over the wind as he got out of his vehicle and ran toward her. “What the hell…? Are you all right?” he yelled, grabbing her into his arms as she opened the car door. “Are you hurt?”

“Okay… I’m okay,” she muttered, a little shaken by her slip and slide and nose-dive into a snow bank.

“Everything okay here?” a uniformed naval officer asked as he stopped his car near them.

“Yes, thanks,” JC answered and recognized the officer as a new neighbor. “Except for the car. Have to move it out of the road and…”

“If you’ll trust me, I’ll get it back to your place for you,” the officer offered. “My son can handle our vehicle.”

“Much appreciated,” JC replied, taking Spencer’s car keys from her shaking hands and handing them over. Spotting the grocery bags in the back seat, he transferred them to his car before depositing his errant wife into the front seat.

Before pulling back onto the road, he leaned over her and buckled her seatbelt.

“JC…”

“Not one word, Spencer!” he said softly but firmly. “Not one!”

She pressed her lips together, rehearsing protests in her mind. JC drove slowly; the wind had picked up and his attention was on the road in front of them. The eerie sounds of snow and sleet hitting the windshield coupled with the wipers swooshing back and forth unnerved her but she relaxed when he pulled into their driveway.

The reprieve was temporary.

He pulled her out of the car on the driver’s side and physically placed her on the small front porch. “I’ll get the groceries,” he said as if there wasn’t a storm brewing between them.

“I’ll help you,” she offered.

“Go inside,” he told her as he unlocked the door. “I don’t want you out in this cold any longer than necessary.”

“I don’t want to eat at the Officers Club,” she said as he came back into the house with his arms filled.

“Not to worry,” he said with a casual shrug. “We’re not going out tonight.”

“I’ll see what I can cook quickly, maybe pasta and a salad,” Spencer replied as if that would detract him from what she feared was imminent.

“First things first,” he responded crisply, pulling off his heavy coat and gloves and then hers since she seemed incapable of doing so and then drew her into his arms.

“J… JC?” she queried, the very slightest stutter in her voice.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked, concern in his voice as his arms held her closely, his hands roaming over her back more thoroughly than he had when they were on the road.

“Mmmm,” she nodded into his chest, inhaling his scent.

“Good,” he smiled, bending his head to kiss her, calm again now that he was certain she hadn’t been hurt. “Then you’re not in any pain… yet.”

With those ominous words, he left no room for doubt as to what was going to happen next. Spencer was left breathless from his kiss and immobile as his arms surrounded her. Lifting her to his chest, he moved toward their bedroom, stepping around boxes and furniture.

“You’re not going to spank me for this,” she declared with all the indignation she could muster.

“I’m not?” he snorted. “Think again, bambina.”

“Not fair!” she protested. “I waited over an hour for you to come home.”

“You should have waited longer,” he said calmly, removing his jacket and settling her on his lap. “I told you I didn’t want you to chance driving in this weather and you ignored me,” he said with regret. “And you plowed right into a snow bank. It could have been worse. It could have…”

“It could have happened to anyone,” Spencer retorted, trying to move off his lap.

“True,” he agreed, easily pulling her back into his embrace. “Exactly why you shouldn’t have been out there in the first place.” She sat straighter, looked him in the eye and spoke softly. “If you spank me for this, I will never forgive you.”

He gazed back at her. Her words were familiar; she always said them when he was ready to deliver a harsh spanking. The difference, this time, was her tone. She wasn’t pouting or protesting; she was stating a fact. He believed her but that wasn’t going to stop him.

“You drove in snow and ice when I told you not to,” he said, his voice still calm. “You went off the road and by the grace of God, came out of it unscathed. A reasonable person would have looked at the weather and stayed home.”

“You’re not going to spank me for this,” she repeated, ignoring his words.

“Yes, I am,” he said softly and with an arm around her waist, lifted her and pulled her wool slacks down and off, her boots falling to the floor with loud thumps. Her panties followed and she was face down over his lap in seconds.

One hand was on her back and the other cupping her ivory-hued bottom when he reminded her that it would hurt. “I regret doing this, piccola little one, but I will not tolerate your impulsive and destructive behavior. This is going to be a painful lesson so that next time you will heed my words.” He raised his hand to deliver the first spank and realized that Spencer wasn’t moving. Normally, she’d be protesting vehemently, wiggling and squirming, trying to get loose. She lay perfectly still and this didn’t bode well.

The first spank jolted her; she gasped. And then remained still and silent throughout the volley of spanks that rained hard on her posterior.

His hand maintained a steady rhythm; a pattern of up, down, center, each spank landing on the fleshy part of each cheek, the flesh quickly blushing to pink, then deep rose, and all too quickly, to fiery red. He wasn’t alarmed when she didn’t cry out, she was usually silent when he spanked her, but he was surprised her body lay limp across his lap from the beginning. He paused to listen to her breathe and was satisfied when he heard her soft but harsh breaths. She was conscious and feeling the heat of his displeasure. The spanking continued until her butt was flaming hot and his hand was burning.

He picked her up so she faced him, straddling his lap, his arms holding her close to his chest and his hands rubbing her back. There was no need for explanations or recriminations; each knew why he had spanked her. Her silent tears continued to flow, soaking his shirt and he rested his chin on the top of her head and murmured soft and soothing sounds while he waited for her to regain her composure.

And that’s when he realized she wasn’t clutching him, wasn’t seeking the comfort of his embrace, wasn’t burying her face in his neck. Her hands remained at her sides, her body limp against him and he knew more was at stake here. It wasn’t just the spanking that had upset her; that had been just the tip of the iceberg.

“Talk to me, zucca pumpkin,” he said softly as he pulled her even closer to his body. “I need to know why you’re so quiet. Not like you,” he murmured in her ear. “You should have called me a piss-ant by now.”

Spencer remained silent, the tears slowing their descent and her body unmoving against his. She hadn’t fought him or cursed him or the spanking; she had lain across his lap like a rag doll, her harsh breathing the only indication that she was conscious and had felt the fiery weight of his hand.

“Tell me what’s wrong, Spence,” his voice soft, calm, a soothing sound in her ear. “Why are you so quiet? What’s happened that I don’t know about, piccola?”

When she didn’t respond, he cupped her chin, tilting her face up so she would look at him. Spencer kept her eyes cast downward, refusing to meet the gaze of the man who had spanked her harshly once too often.

“Talk to me, sweetheart. I can’t fix it if I don’t know what it is. Tell me what’s bothering you,” he whispered.

She turned away, the simple push away from his body making his pulse race and his heart crumple. When she had been disturbed by other spankings, she had leaned against him until she could talk. This was the first time she had turned away from his embrace and he was shattered.

“I love you,” he said simply as he gently pulled her back. “Tell me.”

Tell me.

Two simple words but ones that always made her heart ache. “Tell me” meant tell him that she loved him.

“Tell me” meant tell him that she wanted him to spank her sweetly, fill her, love her fully.

“Tell me” meant that he would guard her secrets if she had a need to share them.

“Tell me” meant that he would keep her safe from childhood memories that lingered and frightened her unexpectedly.

“Tell me” meant that he would not laugh or tease when lightning struck nearby and she flew to the safety of a dark closet, crawling in after her and holding her until all was calm again.

“Tell me” meant that he would listen to whatever she had to say – without censure – without criticism, embracing her, embracing her words, her thoughts, her feelings.

“Tell me” meant that he was there for her – no matter what. She shook her head and turned her back to him, unable to tell him what she wanted to say.

He was undeterred, pulling her back against his chest, the heated discomfort of her fiery bottom searing his thighs, the pain he had inflicted second to the ache in her heart. There was an echoing ache in his.

“I’ll wait,” he murmured, holding her close. “For as long as it takes,” he assured her, “I’ll wait until you’re ready to tell me what’s wrong.”

“It hurts,” she said softly as she tried to take the weight off her bottom.

“I know,” he agreed, lifting her and tucked an arm under her thighs so her weight was concentrated there and not on her sore bottom. “Talk to me,” he coaxed, his breath on the back of her neck, his other arm around her waist.

“I have to go to the bathroom.”

“I’ll let you go,” he murmured, “but you come straight back here after that. Do you understand?”

She nodded and he let her stand and watched her hesitate before she moved forward, her bottom cheeks fiery red, each step causing discomfort. He sat on the side of the bed and waited for her.

Spencer was certain he’d be outside the bathroom door when she opened it but he wasn’t. Without thought, she automatically flew out the bedroom door and to the guestroom, quickly locking it behind her when he yelled her name.

“Open this door, Spence,” he said just soft enough for her to hear. “Open this door now.”

She yanked the quilt off the guest bed, covering the lower half of her body. Though the cloth had been washed many times and was soft, it still irritated her bare bottom. The spanking had been harsher than usual and again, she was convinced it had been undeserved, that he had spanked her more out of frustration and anger than because of her slight accident.

With quiet ease he twisted the knob until the lock snapped and he could open the door. She was on the floor on her side against the far wall in a fetal position, her hands clutching a quilt tightly to her body. She didn’t move or say anything when he knelt in front of her.

“Are you afraid of me, Spence?” he asked quietly.

She shook her head no.

“Do you think I’m angry with you?” he continued softly.

She didn’t respond.

“Are you afraid of what I might do?”

She shook her head again.

“We’re going to do this right,” he murmured, picking her up and walking back to their bedroom. “You’re going to come out of the bathroom again,” he decreed, setting her on her feet in the doorway between the bathroom and the bedroom. Dragging the quilt away from her body, he kept it as he walked back to sit on the bed. “Come to me, Spence,” he said softly, his hand beckoning her to his side.

She stood there for a moment and her flight reflexes took over, her feet flying out the door and down the hall. He caught her before she got too far, gave her one firm swat on her very sore bottom and took her back to the bathroom.

No More Spanking!
by sarAdora
~~~~~~~

“I’ll be home within the hour, bambina. Wait for me and we’ll go shopping together,” he told her when he called.

“I can shop without you,” she protested, stepping around boxes that had yet to be unpacked. “I know the way; it’s not too far.”

“Wait for me, Spencer,” JC insisted. “The roads are still a little icy and your car doesn’t have chains on it.”

She mumbled a half-hearted reply and hung up. She had been in their new quarters for four days straight and was chomping at the bit to get out. She didn’t need an escort; she knew where the grocery store was.

Married five years and he’s *still* giving me orders! she fumed. It’s not like I’m a baby! I’ll give him an hour and then I’ll go without him. Tired of takeout, tired of the Officers’ Club, need to cook a decent meal.

She waited an hour. She looked at her watch and paced back and forth to the window to watch for his car for an additional 15 minutes. Then, satisfied that she had given him ample time to come home, donned her heavy coat and boots, determined to go shopping whether he liked it or not.

He didn’t like it.

He came home to find her gone and though he had been running late, was irritated that she had left without him. The weather wasn’t conducive for man or beast but he had been ready to indulge her desire to shop for groceries. He knew she preferred cooking to eating at the Officers’ Club and he wanted her to be happy. They had moved several times in the last few years and spending time in her own kitchen was one of the few things that gave her pleasure in the middle of another upheaval.

“But you’re *not* going to get pleasure from the weight of my hand on your pretty little butt when I catch up with you,” he muttered as he went back out the door.

He missed her at the grocery store and retraced his route back to their quarters, driving slowly as the wind picked up. Drifts of sleet and snow covered his windshield and he sent a harried and worried prayer heavenward hoping she had made it home all right.

“When I get my hands on you…” he hissed under his breath, wondering if he’d make it home in one piece.

He swerved to avoid a car that was parked half into the road and half onto the shoulder and as he passed it, recognized it and braked sharply.

“Spencer!” he shouted over the wind as he got out of his vehicle and ran toward her. “What the hell…? Are you all right?” he yelled, grabbing her into his arms as she opened the car door. “Are you hurt?”

“Okay… I’m okay,” she muttered, a little shaken by her slip and slide and nose-dive into a snow bank.

“Everything okay here?” a uniformed naval officer asked as he stopped his car near them.

“Yes, thanks,” JC answered and recognized the officer as a new neighbor. “Except for the car. Have to move it out of the road and…”

“If you’ll trust me, I’ll get it back to your place for you,” the officer offered. “My son can handle our vehicle.”

“Much appreciated,” JC replied, taking Spencer’s car keys from her shaking hands and handing them over. Spotting the grocery bags in the back seat, he transferred them to his car before depositing his errant wife into the front seat.

Before pulling back onto the road, he leaned over her and buckled her seatbelt.

“JC…”

“Not one word, Spencer!” he said softly but firmly. “Not one!”

She pressed her lips together, rehearsing protests in her mind. JC drove slowly; the wind had picked up and his attention was on the road in front of them. The eerie sounds of snow and sleet hitting the windshield coupled with the wipers swooshing back and forth unnerved her but she relaxed when he pulled into their driveway.

The reprieve was temporary.

He pulled her out of the car on the driver’s side and physically placed her on the small front porch. “I’ll get the groceries,” he said as if there wasn’t a storm brewing between them.

“I’ll help you,” she offered.

“Go inside,” he told her as he unlocked the door. “I don’t want you out in this cold any longer than necessary.”

“I don’t want to eat at the Officers Club,” she said as he came back into the house with his arms filled.

“Not to worry,” he said with a casual shrug. “We’re not going out tonight.”

“I’ll see what I can cook quickly, maybe pasta and a salad,” Spencer replied as if that would detract him from what she feared was imminent.

“First things first,” he responded crisply, pulling off his heavy coat and gloves and then hers since she seemed incapable of doing so and then drew her into his arms.

“J… JC?” she queried, the very slightest stutter in her voice.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked, concern in his voice as his arms held her closely, his hands roaming over her back more thoroughly than he had when they were on the road.

“Mmmm,” she nodded into his chest, inhaling his scent.

“Good,” he smiled, bending his head to kiss her, calm again now that he was certain she hadn’t been hurt. “Then you’re not in any pain… yet.”

With those ominous words, he left no room for doubt as to what was going to happen next. Spencer was left breathless from his kiss and immobile as his arms surrounded her. Lifting her to his chest, he moved toward their bedroom, stepping around boxes and furniture.

“You’re not going to spank me for this,” she declared with all the indignation she could muster.

“I’m not?” he snorted. “Think again, bambina.”

“Not fair!” she protested. “I waited over an hour for you to come home.”

“You should have waited longer,” he said calmly, removing his jacket and settling her on his lap. “I told you I didn’t want you to chance driving in this weather and you ignored me,” he said with regret. “And you plowed right into a snow bank. It could have been worse. It could have…”

“It could have happened to anyone,” Spencer retorted, trying to move off his lap.

“True,” he agreed, easily pulling her back into his embrace. “Exactly why you shouldn’t have been out there in the first place.” She sat straighter, looked him in the eye and spoke softly. “If you spank me for this, I will never forgive you.”

He gazed back at her. Her words were familiar; she always said them when he was ready to deliver a harsh spanking. The difference, this time, was her tone. She wasn’t pouting or protesting; she was stating a fact. He believed her but that wasn’t going to stop him.

“You drove in snow and ice when I told you not to,” he said, his voice still calm. “You went off the road and by the grace of God, came out of it unscathed. A reasonable person would have looked at the weather and stayed home.”

“You’re not going to spank me for this,” she repeated, ignoring his words.

“Yes, I am,” he said softly and with an arm around her waist, lifted her and pulled her wool slacks down and off, her boots falling to the floor with loud thumps. Her panties followed and she was face down over his lap in seconds.

One hand was on her back and the other cupping her ivory-hued bottom when he reminded her that it would hurt. “I regret doing this, piccola little one, but I will not tolerate your impulsive and destructive behavior. This is going to be a painful lesson so that next time you will heed my words.” He raised his hand to deliver the first spank and realized that Spencer wasn’t moving. Normally, she’d be protesting vehemently, wiggling and squirming, trying to get loose. She lay perfectly still and this didn’t bode well.

The first spank jolted her; she gasped. And then remained still and silent throughout the volley of spanks that rained hard on her posterior.

His hand maintained a steady rhythm; a pattern of up, down, center, each spank landing on the fleshy part of each cheek, the flesh quickly blushing to pink, then deep rose, and all too quickly, to fiery red. He wasn’t alarmed when she didn’t cry out, she was usually silent when he spanked her, but he was surprised her body lay limp across his lap from the beginning. He paused to listen to her breathe and was satisfied when he heard her soft but harsh breaths. She was conscious and feeling the heat of his displeasure. The spanking continued until her butt was flaming hot and his hand was burning.

He picked her up so she faced him, straddling his lap, his arms holding her close to his chest and his hands rubbing her back. There was no need for explanations or recriminations; each knew why he had spanked her. Her silent tears continued to flow, soaking his shirt and he rested his chin on the top of her head and murmured soft and soothing sounds while he waited for her to regain her composure.

And that’s when he realized she wasn’t clutching him, wasn’t seeking the comfort of his embrace, wasn’t burying her face in his neck. Her hands remained at her sides, her body limp against him and he knew more was at stake here. It wasn’t just the spanking that had upset her; that had been just the tip of the iceberg.

“Talk to me, zucca pumpkin,” he said softly as he pulled her even closer to his body. “I need to know why you’re so quiet. Not like you,” he murmured in her ear. “You should have called me a piss-ant by now.”

Spencer remained silent, the tears slowing their descent and her body unmoving against his. She hadn’t fought him or cursed him or the spanking; she had lain across his lap like a rag doll, her harsh breathing the only indication that she was conscious and had felt the fiery weight of his hand.

“Tell me what’s wrong, Spence,” his voice soft, calm, a soothing sound in her ear. “Why are you so quiet? What’s happened that I don’t know about, piccola?”

When she didn’t respond, he cupped her chin, tilting her face up so she would look at him. Spencer kept her eyes cast downward, refusing to meet the gaze of the man who had spanked her harshly once too often.

“Talk to me, sweetheart. I can’t fix it if I don’t know what it is. Tell me what’s bothering you,” he whispered.

She turned away, the simple push away from his body making his pulse race and his heart crumple. When she had been disturbed by other spankings, she had leaned against him until she could talk. This was the first time she had turned away from his embrace and he was shattered.

“I love you,” he said simply as he gently pulled her back. “Tell me.”

Tell me.

Two simple words but ones that always made her heart ache. “Tell me” meant tell him that she loved him.

“Tell me” meant tell him that she wanted him to spank her sweetly, fill her, love her fully.

“Tell me” meant that he would guard her secrets if she had a need to share them.

“Tell me” meant that he would keep her safe from childhood memories that lingered and frightened her unexpectedly.

“Tell me” meant that he would not laugh or tease when lightning struck nearby and she flew to the safety of a dark closet, crawling in after her and holding her until all was calm again.

“Tell me” meant that he would listen to whatever she had to say – without censure – without criticism, embracing her, embracing her words, her thoughts, her feelings.

“Tell me” meant that he was there for her – no matter what. She shook her head and turned her back to him, unable to tell him what she wanted to say.

He was undeterred, pulling her back against his chest, the heated discomfort of her fiery bottom searing his thighs, the pain he had inflicted second to the ache in her heart. There was an echoing ache in his.

“I’ll wait,” he murmured, holding her close. “For as long as it takes,” he assured her, “I’ll wait until you’re ready to tell me what’s wrong.”

“It hurts,” she said softly as she tried to take the weight off her bottom.

“I know,” he agreed, lifting her and tucked an arm under her thighs so her weight was concentrated there and not on her sore bottom. “Talk to me,” he coaxed, his breath on the back of her neck, his other arm around her waist.

“I have to go to the bathroom.”

“I’ll let you go,” he murmured, “but you come straight back here after that. Do you understand?”

She nodded and he let her stand and watched her hesitate before she moved forward, her bottom cheeks fiery red, each step causing discomfort. He sat on the side of the bed and waited for her.

Spencer was certain he’d be outside the bathroom door when she opened it but he wasn’t. Without thought, she automatically flew out the bedroom door and to the guestroom, quickly locking it behind her when he yelled her name.

“Open this door, Spence,” he said just soft enough for her to hear. “Open this door now.”

She yanked the quilt off the guest bed, covering the lower half of her body. Though the cloth had been washed many times and was soft, it still irritated her bare bottom. The spanking had been harsher than usual and again, she was convinced it had been undeserved, that he had spanked her more out of frustration and anger than because of her slight accident.

With quiet ease he twisted the knob until the lock snapped and he could open the door. She was on the floor on her side against the far wall in a fetal position, her hands clutching a quilt tightly to her body. She didn’t move or say anything when he knelt in front of her.

“Are you afraid of me, Spence?” he asked quietly.

She shook her head no.

“Do you think I’m angry with you?” he continued softly.

She didn’t respond.

“Are you afraid of what I might do?”

She shook her head again.

“We’re going to do this right,” he murmured, picking her up and walking back to their bedroom. “You’re going to come out of the bathroom again,” he decreed, setting her on her feet in the doorway between the bathroom and the bedroom. Dragging the quilt away from her body, he kept it as he walked back to sit on the bed. “Come to me, Spence,” he said softly, his hand beckoning her to his side.

She stood there for a moment and her flight reflexes took over, her feet flying out the door and down the hall. He caught her before she got too far, gave her one firm swat on her very sore bottom and took her back to the bathroom.

There were tears in her eyes as she rubbed her bottom, unconcerned about her partial nudity, only aware that the man she loved had caused her discomfort. Her eyes narrowed as she watched him back away from her and lean against a far wall.

“Come to me, Spence,” he repeated the words.

Her anger was close to rage and it was time she stopped being a wimp and let him know that she wouldn’t tolerate any more of his high-handed ways.

She charged.

She flew at him, her body leaping and landing hard on his chest, her fists punching, her legs kicking, her low throaty growls of rage unintelligible but her meaning very clear.

Catching her up in his arms as her tempest raged, one hand inadvertently cupped and pressed against her sore bottom, the other on her back. He moved forward and away from the wall as she continued to hiss and kick and punch until he cornered her hands between them. Dropping onto the bed, he held onto her, keeping her on his chest and locked a strong leg around hers to stop her kicking.

“Feel better now?” he asked softly when she was finally immobile, her face drenched with tears, her hair a tangled mass, and her breathing much too harsh.

“No.”

“Do you want to punch and kick some more?” his words soft in her ear, willing to let her vent until she was satisfied.

“No,” she whispered.

“Tell me,” he murmured, loosening his grip on her, and sitting up, lifted her so she faced him as she straddled his lap once again.

I’m very angry with you,” she sobbed when she could speak, her hands still at her side, not seeking the comfort his arms offered.

“I know you are,” he acknowledged.

“I don’t want you spanking me any more!” she declared. “Not ever again!”

“Not even the sweet ones, bambina?”

She didn’t respond.

“You can’t have the sweet ones without the other ones,” he said quietly. “And God knows you deserve those from time to time.”

“You’re always spanking me… for anything… it’s constant! You get frustrated about something and before I know it, I’m over your lap and you’re beating me until…”

“Have I ever beat you, zucca?” he asked quietly as he tilted her chin up.

“You know what I mean!” she huffed, pulling her face away from his grasp. “You spank me so hard I… You spank me too hard!”

“I don’t spank you hard enough,” he said softly. “If I did, you’d take better care of yourself.”

“I’m still mad at you!”

“I know you are,” he replied gently, his arms tightening around her, holding her close, trying to convey his love for her. “Tell me what else is bothering you.”

“Nothing,” she mumbled, trying to get off his lap.

“We’ll just sit here until nothing becomes something,” he murmured, keeping her on his lap.

“No,” she protested.

“Yes,” he insisted. “Silence doesn’t solve problems, piccola. Tell me what it is so I can try to fix it. I love you,” he murmured. “You’re not happy; I want you to be happy. Tell me,” he urged.

No matter what her head commanded, her heart had a mind of its own and her body melted into his. She buried her face in his neck, the scent of him filling her, his love too powerful to ignore. Her hands moved up, clutching the fabric of his shirt, her silent tears heralding her need for him, a need that was greater than she realized.

“Tell me,” he said softly when her breathing eased.

“I’m still mad at you,” she reminded him.

“That’s okay; you can be mad. Now tell me what’s wrong,” he urged, one hand cupping the back of her neck, his fingers squeezing gently, his need to touch her, hold her, and comfort her uppermost in his mind. “What’s wrong, Spence?”

“You,” she replied.

“Me?”

“You go away for months. Then you come home and everything’s okay for a few days and then, out of the blue,” she snapped as she leaned back and punched him as hard as she could in the vulnerable soft part of his belly. “You spank me for *no* reason at all! Absolutely none!”

His well-honed reflexes saved his marriage.

As soon as Spencer punched him, he pulled her body tight to his own, her head under his chin so she wouldn’t see him bite his lower lip to keep from laughing out loud. The punch hadn’t fazed him but her outrageous words had him fighting to control his mirth. If ever any woman deserved a good sound spanking…

Knowing she was serious, he forced himself to refrain from laughing at her declaration. Part of what she said was true; he did seem to spank her fairly often after being away for months. He wondered if her actions warranted it so often or if he was just so hungry for her that his eyes rarely left her and he was more aware of what she did after a long absence.

Tilting her face up, he bent his head to kiss her and she turned her head away. “Spence,” he said softly. “Look at me.”

She shook her head and tucked it back under his chin.

“I love you,” he murmured as he held her close, one hand rubbing her back, the other cupping the back of her neck. “And because I love you and I know you love me, we’re going to sit here until you talk to me.”

Seconds stretched into minutes as he held her to his chest, his hand slipping under her sweater to rest on her back. The hand on the back of her neck remained in place as he bent to kiss the top of her head. His soft murmuring sounds were sweet in her ear and the anger she was feeling began to unravel. Without warning, she pushed at him to loosen his hold and looked him in the eye.

“Do you know how many times we’ve moved in the last five years?”

He didn’t have a chance to answer; she answered for him.

“About every 10 months,” she snapped. “We were in DC a whole damn year! A whole year! That’s the longest we’ve been anywhere!”

“Baby, I…” The stacks of unpacked boxes caught his eye; they were everywhere and he suddenly understood her temper. She was exhausted. “And you’re the one who packed every time we moved and unpacked and packed again. You’re the one who changed the mail and the bank accounts and took care of every other detail. And all I did,” he murmured, rubbing his lips across her brow, “was show up when I came into port. I took this for granted,” he said softly. “I come home to your open arms and to our new quarters, quarters that you make warm and inviting. I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he said as he tilted her head up, noticing for the first time that she had shadows under her eyes. “You’re tired; you’ve had all this to contend with,” he gestured to the unopened boxes. “Just about the time all is settled and comfortable, we’re transferred again.”

Spencer didn’t reply to his words. She *was* tired and unsettled. JC was supposed to be home for a few months but that wasn’t a given; he could be sent anywhere on a moment’s notice. His skills were in great demand and he was career military and moving up.

She sagged against him; her anger evaporated and her body in need of nourishment and rest. His embrace was safe haven, feeding her need to be held and comforted, her need to be cherished by the man she loved.

“I didn’t mean to make you angry,” she whispered. “I was just tired of everything… every time we move, it’s… I get stressed and unsettled and then…”

“I know,” he murmured, his heart at ease once she sought his arms. “We’ll find a way to make it easier for you next time. You don’t have to do all the packing; I’ll fix it, bambina. I promise.”

“I still think you didn’t need to spank me,” she pushed the envelope.

He tilted her head up and smiled at the imp. “You needed that spanking, mia adore and you know it,” he added. “And you know what you need now?”

“What?” she asked as her arms went around his neck.

“You need some good old-fashioned lovin’,” he said as he turned her onto her back.

“You still love me?” she asked, knowing full well that he did.

“I still love you, cara mia. I’ll always love you,” he affirmed. “You’re my world.”

by sarAdora

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