Branded (The Club)

“Here.” He plunked a large, long, ripe banana in front of me and dropped his hands to his waist expectantly.

“Um?” I put my toast down, wondering what he wanted me to do with the banana because I didn’t like them. I didn’t eat them, and if he thought he could Dom his way into my diet, we were in for a battle. They were by far the worst fruit I could imagine.

“Go on.” He pushed it closer to my plate.

“What do you want me to do with it?” I eyed both his hands and the banana in my peripheral vision. I clenched my legs together reminded of how sore I was from the copious amounts of sex the previous night and his threat to find me appropriate toys to practice on.

I looked down at my thigh which still bore a bruise in the shape of his fingers. It

was already yellowing but clearly visible on my leg given the lack of dress I had to cover it with.

“Do you want me to peel it for you first?” he said.

“Are we still talking about last night?” I asked, feeling curious.

“You mean about the toys?” He sat down next to me, smirking, and I gulped down my coffee almost burning the back of my throat.

“When I said anything, I don’t think I meant bananas in my butt.”

“Langley,” Sloan husked out emphatically and I shrugged. I hoped he wasn’t serious about the banana going there. I really hoped he wasn’t serious.

“Well?”

“It’s for eating. For your leg cramps.” He patted my leg careful of the bruise, and color crept up my face.

“Oh.” I felt stupid.

“Yeah. Besides, I have plenty of butt plugs I ordered for you coming in the mail later this week.” Of course he did.

“So no banana?”

“No. Unless you want a bright yellow plug because that can be arranged.” It would seem Sloan had a sense of humor after all.

“Uh, thanks. Flesh colored is fine, or whatever,” I said, hoping the embarrassment would swallow me up.

“Or whatever, she says,” Sloan parroted me, chuckling.

“We could always pass on the plugs,” I said, sipping my coffee, and pushed the banana away from my plate.

“Be good and I’ll see you later.” He poured himself a cup of coffee and then exited to the barn.

I spent much of the morning wandering the house as usual. I used Sloan’s office to catch up on my emails and call my mother who was luckily busy because she didn’t answer her phone, and I got to leave a message to my relief.

I looked out the window and saw my buddy Blackjack standing in the field. I knew I should stay inside, watch television, or research being a submissive some more. Anything except be drawn outside by that damn horse with the silky black coat and eyes dark as night.

I felt like a thief sneaking out of the house through the back kitchen door. I grabbed my apron and filled it with a handful of apples. At least if I’m caught I can say I was feeding the mares in the barn. No sooner I handed over the apple to Blackjack’s greedy mouth, and I felt Sloan’s presence behind me. I would make a terrible criminal.

“Shit,” I muttered.

“Aptly said, Luchadora.” Sloan’s hands covered my shoulders, and I dropped the apron and with it about half a dozen apples bounced into the dirt. My feet were bare, and I didn’t even move them when one hit me square on the toe. It smarted but not nearly as much as the anticipation of Sloan following through on his spanking.

“Please don’t,” I said, biting my lip until it swelled under the pressure.

“I told you what would happen if you came near Blackjack.”

I turned to face him, stomping my bare foot into the ground sharply.

“He’s lonely. You keep him for stud but not for company.” I looked between the man and the horse that at least had the grace to hang his head subdued.