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pulled her skirt out from its waistband and covered herself. Her panties lay discarded on the floor as they had slid off during the course of her spanking.
    He stood and walked to her, but she took a step back, her eyes just able to glance quickly up at his before she looked back down, her face as red as her bottom was.
    “Rebecca,” he began, reaching out.
    She turned her back to him. “Please go.”
    “Are you all right?” he asked. She still wouldn’t look at him, but he saw her shoulders shake with a sob she tried to stifle. He touched a hand to her, but she flinched and he let her go. “I’ll go,” he said, taking out his wallet and pulling out one of his cards. He took a pen from her desk and wrote his private cell number along with his address on the back of it. “If you need anything at all, call me. Anytime, day or night.” He set it and the money with which she had tried to pay the bill at the restaurant on her desk.
    He took another step toward her, considering taking her into his arms, considering forcing her to allow herself to be held, but he didn’t. He had done enough forcing tonight. Instead, he turned and walked out of the office, questioning himself again, questioning his actions.
     
    * * *
     
    Rebecca sank to the floor when she heard him go and gave herself over to a fresh onslaught of tears. She wasn’t even sure what she was crying about anymore. It was everything, all of it, and most important, it was the fact that she could never see Sawyer Hayes again.

Chapter Four
     
     
    Rebecca had called in sick the following week on the day Sawyer was due in for his final appointment. She asked the receptionist to reschedule him with another therapist. He had tried to contact her a few times in the two months since that night, but he’d gotten the hint and stopped and she was pretty sure she would never see him again. That fact made her sad, but at the same time, allowed her to go on without having to face what had happened between them.
    She just couldn’t do it. She had been trying to come to terms with her feelings over what he had done, but was struggling. In a way, in a very strange way, she felt almost closer to him for having done it—which she could not understand at all. She didn’t hate him and she wasn’t angry with him. But she couldn’t face him either. She was too embarrassed. He had been there when she needed a friend. Aside from him, she was fairly isolated. Work took a lot of her time and she wasn’t naturally outgoing, preferring to change into her pajamas and relax with a book and a cup of tea after the long work days to going out. But what he had done not once but twice now, was something she couldn’t quite wrap her brain around. It wasn’t even him she was trying to avoid. It was her own submissive side, that part of her that reacted in that way to him—only to him. It had all those years ago too and now, after so much time and so much change in her life, it was still exactly the same. It was the one thing that hadn’t changed.
    In a moment of anger, she had considered calling the police and reporting him, but that would only lead to her own embarrassment. Besides, she didn’t want to get him into trouble. She cared for him.
    She had determined in the months that followed the incident to just try to forget about it like she had the last time, but that wasn’t happening as easily as she had hoped. And the most unsettling part of this was that when she would think back on that night, think back on how he had positioned her over his knee, how he had raised her skirt and taken down her panties, she’d find herself wet, more than a little aroused even. She had, on more than one occasion, put that skirt back on as well as those same panties. She had lain herself down on the bed using a pillow beneath her hips in place of his thighs, lifted her skirt and bared her bottom just as he had and with her eyes closed and her fingers working her clit, she had imagined his hand