31 Flavors of Kink by Leia Shaw & Cari Silverwood Page B

my walls clamp down tight onto him. I shut my eyes and cherish this moment.
    Shuddering, panting, we wait out the descent of our lust, then collapse raggedly onto our sides, cuddling.
    When the lingering tingles and pulses finally fade, my mind flips back to the week we’ve had. Distant. Cold.
    I snuggle closer to him, and his arms hold me tighter. Strange how the memory of recent misery climbs straight back into my thoughts. I don’t want to lose how I feel right now, yet we haven’t resolved anything. He gave me what I needed tonight. He fed the BDSM-craving monster I’ve become. But what happens when he gets tired of it? What if his hand hurts too much and he doesn’t want to spank me again?
    The riding crop pops into my head, along with the erotic scene from a book. I should read him that. Maybe he’ll be more receptive to an implement that will save his poor hand from misery. A small smile touches my lips. I can’t believe he had the nerve to complain that his hand hurt while my ass was throbbing from his cursed hand. As I fall asleep in Nick’s warm embrace, my love for this funny, sweet, caring man overwhelms me.

Chapter Eleven
    It’s Christmas morning. I’m in the kitchen making pancakes with blueberry sauce—Nick’s favorite and a holiday tradition—and singing to a Christmas CD. I ignore the complaints about my song coming from the living room, where Nick is checking the news online while having his morning coffee. Christmas is my favorite holiday. I’m a bit ridiculous when it comes to presents. Wrapping paper, shiny bows, and packages under the tree, all of it excites me in a way that should be inappropriate for an adult my age. But I don’t care. My theory is that I’m compensating for the Christmases I spent with very few presents as a child. My mom did the best she could, even made some wonderful things herself.
    And now we’re not rich, but we’re comfortable. So I go a little crazy with gift buying for my friends and family. And especially for Nick, which makes him roll his eyes. He doesn’t get the same thrill from presents as I do. But he’s aware of my excitement and makes sure there are plenty of shiny packages with my name on them.
    I am a notorious gift snooper. If Nick had discovered spanking earlier, I’m pretty sure I’d have been in for it the weeks before Christmases past. I snicker to myself. A little less ballsy now, knowing retribution is just a few rope knots away. So with great effort, I behaved myself this year and didn’t peek at a single receipt, e-mail purchase confirmation, or package hidden in the closet.
    I am almost jumping out of my skin with excitement. Breakfast first, Nick insists. I purse my lips and flip a pancake. Easy for him to say. Anything he wants badly enough, he buys for himself. It takes the fun out of Christmas shopping; that’s for sure. The scrooge.
    As we eat breakfast, I bombard Nick with a dozen questions about my gifts. He rolls his eyes, gives cursory answers, and pretends to hide behind the gold wire Christmas tree table decoration. From the pile of bonbons waiting in a stack to go to the family gathering, I select one and toss it at him. He ignores me, so I prop on my elbows and put on my grumpiest look. How can anyone eat so slowly? Finally he threatens to tie me up and gag me until it’s time for our family party this evening. I gulp and give a nervous giggle because I’m not confident he’s joking.
    Since I cooked the meal, Nick gets to clean up after breakfast—our usual arrangement.
    At the entry to the kitchen he pauses. “Go take a shower while I do the dishes.”
    “Why?” I ask suspiciously. “Pajamas are traditional for opening presents on Christmas morning.” Besides, shaking the presents while I wait will be so much fun.
    “Because I say so.”
    I narrow my eyes. There’s something devious going on here, and to hell if I’m not going to try to figure out what it is.
    He sighs at my hesitation. “You can put your