‘No, you don’t. You think of this as something you can do when you’re in the mood. The rest of the time you can be as huffy and passive-aggressive – or aggressive-aggressive – as you like. No, Philippa. You’re going to learn that this is going to be done wholeheartedly or not at all. You can’t blow hot and cold with me.’
He stopped in a clearing. Even on this blazing hot day it was cold and forbidding there. When he turned to me, he looked so darkly intent that I was momentarily scared.
‘That’s not what I meant,’ I said. ‘I want you to be wholehearted. I want that. But … this is a public place.’
He waved an arm.
‘There’s nobody here. We’re far enough from the car park, so we won’t be heard.’
‘What if I scream blue murder?’
‘What if you do?’
He patted his thigh.
‘Come to me, Philippa.’
His lips were curling upwards and I had the distinct impression that he was more concerned with getting my cut-off jeans down than actual punishment. All the same, I felt that same set of contradictory tingles his stern face always triggered.
There was nothing for it. Neither fight nor flight was an option. Only surrender.
I wasn’t sure how he meant to do this. There were no convenient tree stumps or logs for him to sit on, just row after row of spookily symmetrically arranged firs.
I went to stand before him and he pulled me against him, then pushed me into a bending position, bracing one of his arms beneath my stomach so that I was cinched around the waist by it. I could only see his back view and I tried to kick, to see if I could bring him to the ground, but his grip was firm enough to hold me in place.
‘Keep still,’ he warned, when I tried to reach for the nearest tree for something to hang on to.
The inability to see what he was doing or guess what would come next was intensely disorientating. Added to this was a nagging worry that somebody might stumble across us thus engaged.
Dan seemed to have no qualms, though, and his hand fell heavily on my tightly denim-covered bottom. The sound it made was loud and querulous, and so was the yelp that came from my mouth. He laid on more, punctuating each with a word.
‘You.’ Smack.
‘Will.’ Smack.
‘Show.’ Smack.
‘Me.’ Smack.
‘More.’ Smack.
‘Respect.’ Smack.
‘Won’t.’ Smack.
‘You?’ Smack.
It seemed an answer was required.
‘Yes,’ I mewed. ‘Oh, my God, someone’s coming!’
They weren’t. But the way Dan dropped me like a hot rock was enough to make me forget my sore bottom and roll around in the needles, cackling for joy.
‘Fuck’s sake, Pip!’ he said, clutching his brow. ‘You’ll get me the sack.’
‘Your face.’ I laughed some more.
‘You’ve asked for it,’ he said, lunging for me.