Free The Kink Therapist: Nothing But Trouble (Erotic Romance Novelette) by Krissy Rose

 
CHAPTER
1
    God, my manicure went to shit. Looks like
demons munched on my fingers. Feels like it too.
    I chuck the blue sponge in my fist and
wiggle my achy digits. Still on my knees in a ginormous tub, I
shove the lemony Mr. Clean bucket away, bow in some yoga pose, and
dig into my sore lower back muscles with massaging thumbs. Crap.
Though kinda relieving, my body won’t let me forget that this is a
shit job. Shit. Job. I fucking hate chores, HATE, especially those
I’d never in a million years choose to do … like cleaning a
baptismal? How often do they use this helltrap anyway?
    Since my expulsion from college three months
ago, for a party-turned-riot that was not entirely my fault,
my mom’s been dragging me to church— her house, her rules —and
I’ve yet to see anyone get dunked. And this is the lesser-used
chapel besides! I’m only at the preliminary scrub here. There’s no
way my hands can handle bleach. I tried to be quick and thorough.
Big mistake! For the Winter Retreat in two months, today’s car wash
earnings will go into the group fund, but twenty-five bucks a
pop’ll be deducted from individual registration fees for each
completed deep-clean task. I hope to cross off at least four of
these junk jobs by sunset. Less money out-of-pocket. Ski trip,
Molly! Ski trip! Feel the rush.
    I suck in deep breaths and imagine the
frigid crystals flicking my face as I swoosh down slopes. It bites
my skin, but I don’t care.
    Fuck. Not even a mental escape, far, far
away from the shithole of Miami, is jacking me up to anything close
to ‘cool with this’. I think I’ll hunt down a spray bottle for the
bleach and cheat my way out of this one.
    It’s my first Saturday off in forever, and I
thought this wouldn’t be too bad, but even my dull-as-dirt job in
auto parts is better than this.
    Angry voices invade my irritation, and I
lurch up, only to bash my head on the lip of the tub. Clutching the
throb, I duck and bite back verbal bile and a destined shriek and
roll my lips like a fish out of water. I rub out the worst of the
sting and inch up more carefully.
    Pastor Rick, the b-ball fanatic, as he’s
proudly proclaiming in his Heat shirt, has his wife by the arm, and
he’s yanking her into the chapel. I want to bolt, like now, but I remain frozen. This might be an argument, except he’s the
only one yelling. He slams the door and rushes her to the wall.
She’s shaking. What the heck! Why’s he so livid? I’ve never seen
the genial joker so pissed, except at bad calls.
    He roars, “I heard you, Sheila, doing it
again. I want you to be above reproach, especially in our position
here.”
    Her voice wobbles as she says, “I know, I
know. I just got caught up in the conversation, I’m sorry. It won’t
happen again.”
    “You’re right it won’t. Even if the affair were true, you should zip up about it. In fact, you should
rebuke the other women for discussing the matter. Have you spoken
to Carrie about it, told her what’s being said about her? We agreed
what would happen if you exhibited loose lips again, did we not?
You asked me to keep you in check. And that’s exactly what I’m
doing. Right now.”
    Her body’s shaking and sobs bubble out.
“Yes, but not here. Please, Rick. Can’t it be in private?”
    “The people of this congregation, especially
the young people, need to know you are trustworthy. I love you and
want you to be the best woman you can be. You need to set things
right. It can’t wait.”
    I can’t see her tears, but she keeps wiping
her face with horizontal smears.
    “We can’t let this slide, Sheila. We’re all
alone here. Gimme your bag. Let’s see what you brought for your
thrashing.”
    Thrashing? What the hell! My eyes bug out
and my heart leaps into my throat. I thought he was going to make
her apologize in front of everyone or something embarrassing like
that. He’s going to spank her? Like, spank her? In front of
me? With what? What on earth did she bring?
    My