Compound a Felony by Elinor Gray

Author:Elinor Gray [Gray, Elinor]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Full Fathom Five Digital
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

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The bakery was ideal, and afterward Watson dragged me to a small local church to get in a little sightseeing and make this seem as much like a proper holiday as possible. It was not a large building, which made the walkabout comfortably brief. Watson got his look at a bit of history, had a chat with the deacon, and I was not subjected to any more information than my mind needed. We started back down the street toward the beach, and on the way Watson took his hand and slipped it into the crook of my elbow. The simplicity of it nearly made me falter. How could he, after all of this, still cherish me the way he did? He was my rock, I was the one meant to be holding onto his arm. I squeezed his hand against my body, acknowledging the gesture, and out of the corner of my eye saw him smile.

When we reached the little house, I locked the door behind us.

"I want you to punish me," I said.

Watson looked taken aback. "Punish you?" In the warm light of the afternoon in that strange house, it did sound positively insane.

"For the cocaine."

"My dear," he said, "you are punishing yourself quite enough."

“You don't understand.” I took off my jacket and began to unbutton my shirt, starting with the collar and ending with the cuffs. I shook the shirt off and laid it over the jacket on the back of a chair. John was watching me carefully, saying nothing. I held my wrists together, forearms facing up, displaying the track marks. “I'm asking you to do this for my well-being.” I offered my wrists to him, my fingers curled loosely against my palms. “I need this.” I'd never felt more rational about something that pertained to John, although admittedly I had a habit of being particularly irrational around him.

He took my wrists in his hands, moving slowly. His fingers were warm and steady, and he did not falter as he looked into my eyes. "All right," he said. "I didn't bring your riding crop." A shiver ran down my spine. "But I'm sure I could find something suitable."

"Your hand," I offered, "would be welcome."

He smiled, dark and knowing. "Would it?" he said. "Very well, but that's not really out of the ordinary."

What else could there be in this house? I must have frowned at him, for he leaned in to press a kiss to my cheek and stroked his fingers across my collarbone.

"Go into the kitchen," he said, "and bring me the cane standing by the back door."

Lord. It was where he'd said: a thin, rattan cane, probably left behind by vacationers with naughty boys. I swallowed hard. I knew the bruises and the welts this would leave, and already I was aroused. I took it back to John. He bent it carefully between his hands, testing its flexibility.

"Good," he said, and lashed out with it suddenly, striking me low on the front of my left thigh.

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