Free The Bossman by Renee Rose

killer there?”
    He exhaled. “It was an accident, Sophie. No one murdered him in cold blood.”
    “Was he, or wasn’t he?”
    “Dammit, I never should have told you!” he exploded, standing up to pace again. In the back of his mind he registered she’d just redirected the conversation, but he’d lost the thread, angry with himself for opening this can of worms with her. He stopped and pointed a finger at her. “You’d better keep your mouth shut about it, for your own sake.”
    She stood up, flushing. “Are you threatening me?”
    “No!” he snapped. “You could get both of us killed if you pop your mouth off about it.”
    Her flush faded as quickly as it had appeared, leaving her pale and horror-struck. Finally, she seemed to understand the seriousness of the situation. She ran at him, her small fists flailing, though with no real intent. They struck his chest the way a toddler’s might strike the floor in a tantrum. He tried to wrap his arms around her, but she twisted away with a ferocity that took him aback.
    He hesitated. Did she want him to spank her? Did she need it? Was this the way she asked for it? She certainly needed some kind of release. But if he took her in hand when she really needed a serving of compassion, then he’d be the biggest asshole on earth. He gritted his teeth. Well, it wouldn’t be the first time.
    He grabbed her around the waist and hauled her off her feet, not surprised when she thrashed and kicked. He carried her into the bedroom, stood her on her feet, and reached down to unbutton her jeans. Her breathing was heavy but she didn’t move to stop him. Maybe it was just because he was looking for it, but he thought he sensed complicity, like she wanted to be forced, to have her will taken away from her this way. He pulled down the jeans and panties and still received no protest. He pushed her torso down on the bed. She turned her head to the side with an angry expression but she lay perfectly still for him.
    Spanking with his hand did not seem to match the intensity of her emotions. It was not that he thought she deserved the belt. Hell, he hadn’t planned on punishing her at all. It was that she seemed to need it. As he wrapped the buckle end of the leather belt around his fist, he prayed he wasn’t making a huge mistake.
    She bucked at the first stripe and listed to one side, giving a little cry. He gave her another, and then another, applying them with intensity, but giving her ample time between each one for the pain to set in.
    She would tell him to fuck off if she really didn’t want this, he told himself, still questioning his judgment. He continued to spank her at the same steady pace. It seemed to be true. Though she was very vocal with her cries of pain, she did not tell him to stop, nor beg for mercy.
     
     

Chapter Six
     
    Just. Need. To cry.
    The pain satisfied a craving in her--overpowering her senses, providing a focus for her emotions. She didn’t know what the hell was wrong with her, but she’d felt out of control since the moment they’d arrived at the barbecue and now she was finally channeling it out. Or she was close to channeling it out. She sensed it like a giant bubble of pressure in her chest, moving up her throat, choking her with its darkness.
    She wanted him to spank her harder, faster, imagining each strike of his belt propelled the suffocating feelings upward and outward. Her breath shuddered, voice emitted little cries and moans until it finally erupted. One sob. Then another. He continued spanking her, though it seemed like he lightened the intensity.
    She felt distant from him--like this wasn’t a thing between the two of them, but rather, her own conflict, and she was using him to get what she needed. The same way another might use their partner for sex to release their tension. She’d never known she needed this sort of thing, but the relief poured out in tears on her bedspread. And she’d certainly picked the right man for it. What