Читать книгу Confessions of a Kinky Wife - Justine Elyot - Страница 11

Be careful what you wish for.

Great advice, but impossible to follow. Wishes come unbidden and desires can’t be quelled. I wished for it, I got it. I really, really got it.

I was woken with a kiss.

‘Sleeping beauty,’ he said.

The room was still dark and my alarm hadn’t gone off.

‘Wass time?’ I tried to come to, but everything was blurred and the bed felt like a place I wanted to stay in for a lot longer.

‘Early,’ he said. ‘I thought we’d get up an hour earlier. We’ve both got work today, and I want to sort a few things out while they’re still fresh in our minds.’

Something about the way he said the words sent a warning pang right down to my solar plexus. Actually, it went a bit lower than that. I squinted at him through one eye.

He was sitting up in bed, looking ahead, his face perfectly grave. When he caught my glance, he raised an eyebrow, unsmiling.

If he was playing a role, he was doing it very convincingly.

I was scared of him. Actually scared.

But it was exhilarating at the same time.

‘You mean … about last night?’ I said.

‘Yes, I do. We have issues to address, Pip. Go and shower and brush your teeth and whatnot and then I want you straight back in here in your pyjamas. Understood?’

I think he wanted me to say, ‘Yes, Sir’ but I didn’t give him that satisfaction. Instead, I said, ‘Are you serious?’

‘Do I look like I’m joking, Philippa?’

Oh, bloody hell, Philippa.

It was enough to send me out of bed and into the bathroom without another word.

Under the hot shower jets I woke up properly, the citrusy scent of my shampoo acting like a stimulant to my senses. I put my hand on my bottom and felt the water stream over it. What sort of state might that be in by the time he was finished with me?

I pressed my thighs together and squirmed, feeling hot and breathless at the thought. I was going to be punished. Actually punished for my bad behaviour, and I had never looked forward to anything more. I didn’t care how much it was going to hurt – I hoped it would hurt a lot and I’d have to beg him to stop.

I washed myself carefully, getting every inch of myself as fresh and soft as I could, paying special attention to my bum. I wanted it to look good over his lap, or wherever he was going to put me. If the poor man had to do this terrible thing to me, the least he deserved was a nice view.

I towelled myself dry, scrubbed my teeth and put my pyjamas back on. They were thin cotton summer pyjamas – just plain white shorts and a vest. The material wouldn’t offer much protection, even if I was allowed to keep them on.

Allowed. The word made me cross my arms over my chest and shiver. I was going to be subject to Dan’s authority. Whatever he said in the next hour went. I wondered how naturally obedience would come to me.

Only one way to find out.

I stood dithering by the door handle for so long that he called out to ask if everything was all right in there.

His voice galvanised me and I walked into the bedroom, in pyjamas and hair wrapped in a towel turban.

‘You’ll have to dry your hair,’ he said. ‘I’ll get a shower while you’re sorting yourself out.’

While I sat at the dressing table, drying and straightening my hair, I looked into the mirror and noticed a few things. He had made the bed, but he’d put my pillows out in the centre of the duvet, one on top of the other.

Next to them, laid out neatly, were The Belt and my wooden-backed hairbrush.

‘Oh.’ I moaned out loud.

This was actually happening. I didn’t know whether to squeal or swear.

My hair was dry before Dan came out of the shower. I wasn’t sure what to do, but I didn’t dare approach the bed with its frightful accessories, so I simply sat quietly at the dressing table, rather compulsively arranging my nail polishes into colour groups.

When he came out, I couldn’t look at him, but I caught sight in the mirror of his smart dark trousers and white shirt. A wave of synthetic ocean freshness blasted my nostrils when he came closer and crouched down behind me, looking at my face in the mirror over my shoulder.

‘All ready?’ he whispered, putting his hands over my bare upper arms.

‘I don’t know,’ I whispered back. ‘Depends what I have to be ready for.’

‘Go and sit down on the edge of the bed,’ he said.

I obeyed without thinking, sinking my bottom down into the comfort of the duvet. He took a seat opposite on the swivel chair, which placed him quite a lot higher than me. Instantly he was in the superior position, leaning forward, hands on his knees, demanding my full attention.

‘Now then, Philippa,’ he said.

I could barely breathe. He had exactly that calm, authoritative manner he used with his suspects in the interview room – firm but fair, always likeable but never to be crossed.

I thought I might fall in love with him all over again, even though I was fidgeting at the end of the bed, horribly aware of the objects behind me. Objects that might very soon be making harsh contact with my bottom.

‘Can you tell me what you think I want to discuss with you this morning?’

I chewed on the inside of my cheek.

‘I skipped lunch,’ I muttered, fighting an absurd urge to smile. Now I understood why naughty kids caught in their mischief tended to smirk and fidget while they were being reproved. I was doing exactly the same things, and I just couldn’t stop myself.

‘Is something funny?’

The smile died and I shook my head.

‘No, Philippa, you’re right. It isn’t funny at all. Your health and your well-being are serious matters. Aren’t they?’

‘I s’pose.’

‘Look up and speak up.’

Christ, he sounded quite fierce. I swallowed and met his eye, very unwillingly.

‘Yes,’ I admitted.

‘So why did you neglect them yesterday?’

‘I told you why. I forgot. I was busy.’

‘Sweetheart, we all have busy lives. You aren’t unique in that. You need to organise yourself better, don’t you?’