With Hearts Aflame: Valentine's Day Box Set Page 18

  Even in these enlightened times, Small Town Middle America was hardly the most tolerant place for the sort of people who patronized Hedgewick's. Her shop, she knew, was a safe place for many of them and for some, the only place where they could be themselves and still be welcome, free of judgment.

  Except she had judged them, hadn't she? They were Fred and Franny Fluffy, normals playing at witchery, ignorant of the true witch, the superior witch, who waited on them. Now that she thought about it, she could understand the words Damien used too well—words like hurt, bully, trick. She hadn't wanted to hurt anyone, but what she had wanted was even worse: she'd wanted to show them up.

  Well, she'd made something magic, all right. She'd made something real. And she'd made something that had forced her favorite customers, total strangers and even her own sister to ask for a spanking they didn't deserve and probably didn't want. Whether or not they managed to enjoy themselves anyway was completely beside the point. She'd hurt them. She really had. And she hadn't wanted to fix it as much as just hide it, to prevent anyone else from living through her fantasy.

  She'd thought she felt as bad as anyone could already, but she was wrong. Softly, she began to cry.

  He did not comfort her. He stood behind her and watched until she had sunk as far within herself as she could go and when he finally spoke, it was just her name.

  She shuddered, too ashamed to face him. "Please help me," she whispered. "Please take it away."

  He took her hand and led her to the couch. He sat and she folded herself over his lap as though she'd done it a hundred times. That it was Damien's lap meant nothing in that moment. She scarcely felt him pulling down her panties. The thought that she was now completely bare to the man she had crushed on and fantasized about for years never pierced the dark fog that occupied her senses now. She only knew that she had done something so awful that it had poisoned every part of her that could feel and this was the only way to draw it out. She needed him, not as the prelude to later pleasure or even as the necessary beginning to the potion's unmaking, but just to bring the pain to the outside so she wouldn't have to feel it on the inside anymore.

  He spanked her. She did not resist, but neither could she lie quiet. As numb as it seemed her mind had become, all her senses had heightened. She had not thought her panties to afford her any protection during his first assault, but now, upon her naked flesh, she felt each crisp blow so much more. Even the sound of it in the air fell upon her ears with more clarity.

  She was, of course, very much aware of the pain, but remained oddly untroubled by it, as if the pain belonged to someone else entirely and she was only minding it for a while. With every slap, she sank deeper into that dark inner space, surrendering herself to his punishing hand. She hugged his ankle for stability as her body instinctively sought an escape her heart did not desire; her moan when he scissored her legs between his and pinned her down was one of relief, not dismay. Her tears came and went like the tides, washing out a little further with each wave, until at last she hung limp over his lap, feeling everything, thinking nothing, almost dozing even as the whole core of her seemed alight with burning hurt.

  Just as she had not been entirely aware of that first renewed swat, she was not aware of the last one. There was only a broad blurred line between that still place of submission and that moment when she found herself upright again, tucked beneath his chin with her fists clenched on his shirt. Each pass of his hand, gentle as she knew his touch to be when it swept down her back, turned to scouring flame on her bottom, making her moan each time and roll her hips in a fruitless endeavor to keep ahead of his touch. He let her evade him, but seeing as she was on his lap, she couldn't go far. His hand came back—sometimes kneading, sometimes rubbing, sometimes merely caressing and moving on—gradually lifting her out of herself and grounding her to what was here and now and real.

  "Ow," mumbled Harper, her first coherent word since she'd begged him to help her take the bad stuff away.

  "You're all right," he told her, combing his fingers carefully through her disheveled hair.

  She believed him. Not that she would be all right, but that she was, right now. It was not a logical feeling, but logic didn't have much to do with any part of sitting bare-assed and burning on Damien's lap, so there.

  "Now do we start over?" she asked. 'Please say yes' hovered unspoken after her words, but of course he would. He had to, after all this.

  He shook his head, dropping the bottom out of her whole world until he said, "We don't start over, we just move on. Like your counter curse; it doesn't erase the potion from ever existing, it only robs it of its power to hurt. And speaking of the counter curse, I suppose you ought to take some potion so we can get started."

  "Um... " Suddenly shy—with his hand still cupping her naked bottom!—she drew back just enough to look at him. "You know what that means, right?"

  The corners of his mouth quirked up. "I certainly hope so."

  "Are you sure you want to?"

  His smile softened. "If you're asking am I sure I want to help you fix what remains of this problem, yes, of course I do. If you're asking am I sure I want to play out your fantasy with you, the answer is most definitely... this one and all of them. I've loved you for a while now, Harper and I'm ready to try to be in love with you, too. I don't particularly relish having our first time together under the effects of a love potion... but I hear it's more of a great sex potion anyway."

  She giggled nervously, too loud.

  "Besides, it'll give us something to measure up against in the future. I can hear me now... " He rubbed his hand lightly over the fullest curve of her nate, smiling as she squirmed. "... 'That was even better than that time we took the potion.'"

  "And you won't have to spank me," she said. "I mean, this time, obviously, it's still part of the fantasy, although please go easy, because I'm tender like you would not believe."

  "I'd believe it," he said seriously. "I was there."

  "But in the future," she continued. "You won't have to spank me anymore, I promise."

  "Oh, I don't know about that. I would hope episodes like tonight wouldn't happen often, but if the situation arises, I certainly won't hesitate to address it. However, leaving aside future-Harper's disciplinary needs, I think it would be a shame if a bottom like yours wasn't spanked now and then."

  "R-really? Even if I'm not bad?"

  He nodded gravely. "In fact, I promise to save the best spankings for when you're very good."

  Her pent-up breath escaped her as a little-girl sound, a puff of mingled apprehension and, yes, excitement, in spite of it all. "Oh."

  "Oh," he echoed and kissed her almost chastely. Almost. "Drink your potion, Harper," he murmured when the kiss was over. "I don't want to wait anymore."

  "Me, neither," she told him and it felt good, better than she could have ever dreamed, like a confession and a song at the same time. She twisted around, never leaving his lap, to grab up a bottle and drink it down. Tossing the empty aside, she snuggled close again, wrapping her arms around his neck and smiling as his dark eyes glinted with strange, gold fire. "I've wanted this for so long."

  "Mm." His hands dropped to cup her nates and bring her as close as his clothes allowed. She could feel his readiness, but he remained aloof, controlled. "And what is it you want from me?"

  "I want you to make love with me," she said. "And I want you to spank me."

  After that, there wasn't much talk.

  Epilogue

  The day after Valentine's Day was a Saturday, always a good day for sales and it came with a light dusting of snow riding a cold wind, which was always good for the coffee counter. Both of them were kept fairly busy at opposite ends of the store, their conversation restricted to, "Toss me a pen, Harper. Mine's gone dry," or "Damien, did we order any more winged Isis boxes or is this the last one?" In many ways, it was as though nothing had changed between them. But every now and then, he'd catch her looking his way and they'd share a smile that, even
though it didn't feel any bigger or goofier than any other smile, nevertheless brought a few knowing smirks from those regular customers who glimpsed them.

  "And how was your Valentine's Day?" one of them asked after intercepting one of these looks.

  "Oh, I stayed in," Harper replied, ducking her head as though the cash register required all of her attention to ring up Mrs. Emerson's usual weekly supply of loose leaf teas. "It was really just another quiet night at home for me."

  "Not too quiet, I should hope."

  Harper tried to feign innocence, but she was afraid her blush gave her away. Last night had been a lot of things, all right, but quiet really wasn't a good word to describe any of them. "How was yours?" she asked, hoping to change the subject before anyone else got in on the act.

  "Oh, the usual. I sent flowers to myself at work so the other girls could envy me my adoring husband and Mr. Emerson dropped in to take credit for them and take me to lunch."

  "That was sweet of him."

  "It was Long John Silvers, dear. But he did share his tartar sauce with me when I ran out, so I guess I'll keep him. I tried some of your love potion," she added.

  Over at the cappuccino machine, Damien looked around.

  "How did it go?" Harper asked uncertainly. She'd followed Verity Hedgewick's instructions and certainly Damien had performed amazingly well, but counter curses weren't Harper's thing and she had no real way to know how well she'd pulled it off.

  "It had a most unique flavor," Mrs. Emerson said after a pause. "Mr. Emerson tasted some—he has quite the discerning palate, according to him—and he says you used rosehips."

  "I did, among other things."

  "Well, it was good. I was expecting some sort of cherry-flavored candy water, so I was quite pleasantly surprised."

  "And... um... " Harper braced herself and took the plunge. "How did it work?"

  "Oh, we watched Antiques Roadshow and went to bed."

  Breath she hadn't been aware she was holding came out in a giggle. "You animal, you."

  "After twenty-three years of marriage, a hot night means he turned on the electric blanket," Mrs. Emerson said wryly. "It was a cute bottle, though. I put his heart pills in it. He says he'll never forget to take them again."

  "Oh. Good."

  "In fact, I was hoping I could buy a few more. My daughter's little girl is really into making bead jewelry—you know the kits they sell for children? And those bottles are just the right size to keep her colors separate. She uses Baggies now, but the bottles are so pretty."

  "Yeah, I've got some," Harper said vaguely. "If you'll come back at closing, I'll have as many as you want washed out and ready for you."

  "Marvelous! Thank you."

  Mrs. Emerson left smiling, followed shortly by a small group of teens warming their hands with mochas and finally, Harper and Damien were alone.

  "Sounds like it worked," he said, wiping down the counter.

  She left the register and went over to the sofa, meaning to do her customary flop into its over-stuffed cushions, but wisely changing her mind at the last minute. Instead, she knelt carefully and leaned over the back of it with her chin resting on her folded arms and her butt sticking out. This was a position with a lot of benefits, one she was sure she'd be using frequently in the next few days.

  "Have I told you yet how great you are for getting me out of that mess?" she asked.

  "Not in so many words, but I got the gist of it." He left the rest of the cleanup and came to lean over her, not quite in kissing distance. "You did tell me I was great for a few of the other things I did."

  "Add it to the list." She caught his shirt and tugged him down to kiss her. What started as a we-have-a-moment-alone-let's-make-the-most-of-it kiss steadily escalated into one that was practically a re-enactment of last night: bruising force alternating with tender exploration. "Add that one to the list too," she said when it ended.

  "I will." He came around the sofa and sat down, patting his lap in invitation.

  "You're kidding, right? I'm not sitting on your bony knees with this ass."

  "You can straddle me then."

  "Oh gee, may I?" But her sarcasm was somewhat lessened by her immediate obedience. She wriggled herself comfortable, then wriggled some more for good measure and finally tapped her forehead lightly against his. "Let's close for lunch and go upstairs."

  "This is our money day, Harper. If you want to break for lunch, you go and I'll man the register."

  She rolled her eyes. "I don't want lunch, I want to go upstairs."

  "I know what you want." He gave her bottom a light swat through her jeans. "And you know what you're going to get if you ditch work."

  "Sheesh, always with the moral high ground. Haven't you heard? Witches are supposed to be bad."

  "They're supposed to be green and warty, too."

  "Good point. Although," she added thoughtfully, "I could always brew up a potion to make myself green and warty."

  "No."

  "Oh, come on. That's just a variation on a toading. Easy-peasy."

  "No."

  "You know, I don't screw up all the time. I'm usually really good with potions."

  "I believe you."

  "You're just saying that. Fine," she said with a huffy toss of her hair. "I don't want warts anyway. I only wish you could see me being a good witch for a change."

  "I see that all the time."

  "I want you to see me making magic," she said wistfully. "I want you to think I'm amazing."

  "I do."

  "Yeah, because I can flip a pancake."

  He caught her chin and gave it a warning pinch. "Harper, you are amazing."

  "Yeah?"

  "As a woman, as a witch, as a lover. Everything I learn about you only makes me love you more."

  "I'm allergic to pistachios."

  "Amazing," he replied solemnly.

  "You amaze me too, you know."

  He smiled. "Even if I am a normal?"

  "Not so normal." She kissed him again, moving one of his hands from her waist to her bottom and giggling into his mouth when he squeezed. "Normal's over-rated anyway."

  Robin Smith

  Robin Smith is an inveterate liar who lives in the middle of Nowhere, where she has disguised herself as a very poor person so that she won't upset the natives. She shares a dilapidated old house with an assortment of family members, furry animals, and surly turtles, and in addition to the massive stacks of accolades she's received for her writing over the years, she's also been awarded Deadliest GameMaster five times. Her first publication was in her fifth-grade newsletter, but she has since appeared in all sorts of periodicals, including "Dagger of the Mind," "Dark Desires," and "Hustler" magazine. She hopes to someday win the coveted Golden Tissue for her work in mainstream erotica, just as soon as they start awarding one.

  A MESSAGE TO MY READERS

  If you enjoyed reading Love Potion #9.1, I would appreciate it if you would help others enjoy this book, too.

  Recommend it: Please help others find this book by recommending it on readers' groups and discussion boards.

  Review it: Reviews help authors a great deal, particularly on Amazon. Please tell others why you liked this book at Amazon, Goodreads, Barnes and Noble, and / or Blushing Books.

  Other books by Robin Smith

  Agent Vogle’s Eagles

  (Originally published as Eagle Eye)

  Alpha

  The Blue Light of Home

  The Casablanca Cruise

  Charla’s Shadow

  The Clearwater Chronicles

  Digging Up Bones

  Hopler’s Happy Toads

  The Many Adventures of Nick and Virginia and the Mesopotamian Marital Aid

  (Originally published as The Challenge)

  Millennium Falls

  Naughty Tails 1

  Naughty Tails 2

  Naughty Tails 3: Spankings Thru the Year

  Penitent

  Reiko

  X on the Beach
/>
  Also:

  The Complete Adventures of Owl and Dylan: Warrior of Gaia

  which includes:

  Fourteen Hours on Flathead Mountain

  Five Nights in Dead Horse Flats

  A Long Weekend in Emerald City

  Eight Days in Hell’s Canyon

  Master My Love

  Decadence LA Book 1

  By

  Maddie Taylor

  ©2014 by Blushing Books® and Maddie Taylor

  Chapter One

  The tight leather skirt rode up a bit more with every step she took. Pulling it down in back once again, Valerie Thornton wondered for the umpteenth time what she'd been thinking by wearing it. Looking at the steep steps, she knew that the climb up to the main entrance would show her goods to anyone behind her, especially her dimpled thighs, most of her ass, and the thin scrap of lace that was wedged between her cheeks like butt floss. Although not technically a thong, the upward-inching garment didn't deserve to be called panties. She was going to kill her friend Kate who had helped her put the awkward and uncomfortable leather ensemble together. Valerie, who had no psychic ability whatsoever, had a feeling that this night would be transformative.

  Looking up at the massive double doors, Val paused. Her heart was racing and her palms were sweaty. She licked her dry lips and swallowed, her throat tightening. That she had come this far simply amazed her, because a forty-year-old widow did not go out clubbing by herself. It smacked of desperation and promiscuity that were not consistent with her nature. Still, she had a craving, an unfulfilled need. Could it be that what she sought lay behind those heavy doors? Moreover, could she actually bring herself to climb the remaining steps and walk inside of a sex club?