Disciplinary Measures by Cara Bristol Read Free Book Online Page A

discomfort matter?
    She had expected to hate domestic discipline, not love it. Six weeks had passed since the experiment began, a month since the punishment. She loved Linc more than ever and trusted him with her heart, soul, and body. As he’d promised, when the credit card bill came, he’d paid it without a word of censure. It was so pleasant not to fight, not to rehash old issues, not to have to worry about what she’d done.
    She’d never felt more loved, more cosseted, more respected. So when Linc sat her down and suggested that another month of shopping restriction would be beneficial, she’d agreed because she trusted his judgment. After her restriction ended, she would receive an allowance to give her a limit. She could admit now that she needed him to set boundaries for her. After soul-searching, she realized she spent money as an emotional response to stress, to soothe herself when she was upset or to avoid facing a problem. She counted on Linc’s loving support and the certainty of physical consequences to keep her on track.
    She glanced at a favorite clothing store as she drove past but ignored the tug and headed for the supermarket. She’d pick up a couple of steaks and a bottle of wine, treat Linc to a meat-and-potatoes meal.
    On Eleventh Avenue, she performed a double take at the sight of a tall, dark-haired man, a helmet clutched under his arm, bent over a motorcycle at a dealership. She swiveled her head to get a better glimpse, but she’d gone too far to see. That’s not Linc. What are you thinking?
    She stopped at a red light, drummed her acrylic nails on the steering wheel. Not Linc . That man looked like he was prepared to hop aboard the bike and take it for a spin. The light changed to green, she pulled into the intersection, executed a U-turn, and went back to put her mind at rest.
    She inched close enough to get a good look but not so near that she would attract attention, and watched as the salesman dropped a key into the man’s outstretched palm. He was the same build and size as Linc, but he’d donned the helmet, and she couldn’t see his face. The man who couldn’t be Linc straddled the motorcycle, revved it up, and roared out of the lot.
    She performed an illegal U-turn and followed him. You’re gonna feel like an idiot , she chided herself. Linc wouldn’t buy a motorcycle after putting you on shopping restriction, after spanking you . But with every turn that led closer to her house, hope dwindled.
    Her heart hammered when he motored down a quiet residential street. Her street . Tears flooded her eyes when he steered into a driveway. Her driveway . She slammed on the brakes in the middle of the road. He cut the motor, leaned the bike on its kickstand, and swung off. The world shattered at her feet when he removed his helmet.
    She floored the accelerator and sped away, betrayal opening a hole in her chest.
     
    A CAR PULLED up to the curb. Webster leaped out of the passenger side, slammed the door, waved the driver off, and bounded up the driveway. “Well?” Excitement lit the young man’s face.
    “It’s a good motorcycle. Rides smooth. It’s been well maintained,” Linc answered.
    “Thank you for checking it out. I should have had you do it before I bought it, but it seemed like such a great bike I worried somebody would snatch it up.”
    Linc clapped him on the shoulder. “I was happy to do it. It gave me a chance to ride a Harley again, if only for a few minutes. You picked a good one.” He handed over the keys.
    Webster grinned from ear to ear as he donned his helmet and fastened the chin strap. He hopped on his motorcycle and zoomed down the street. Linc entered the house smiling. Had he ever been that enthusiastic about anything?
    Until recently, no.
    But his marriage to Gina had awakened an exhilaration. Coloring her sweet ass had turned his life rosy as well. They’d achieved a level of closeness and excitement that pervaded his being even when he wasn’t with