"Say something," Sloane begged, a look of fear on her face.

I was still unbelievably stunned by what she had admitted to our group, and I dragged my fingers through my hair—still trying to figure out what to say to her admission.

I'm flattered. Really... I am. But what she added to her admission also freaked me out a bit. "I will. I'm still trying to process what you told the group."

I'm not innocent. I know this. One of the things Sloane admitted to, I did as well—with every woman I fucked. But fuck. Imagining her husband was me every time she looked at him, had sex with him, and looked at her kids' as if I was the father of them?

What the fuck?

I shouldn't feel mad about what she admitted. But somehow, I am. I shouldn't feel freaked out about it, either. But I am. It makes me feel like there's more going on with her than she's letting on.

This isn't my field of expertise, so I don't know if this is normal behavior or a huge concern I should be worried about. But I am concerned. So, for my sister not to warn me about her thoughts? It has me thinking, what the fuck, Shayla?

I'm confused about how to feel about what she said. And I need clarification so I know how I'm supposed to think moving forward with what I know now.

"Aaron," she whispered.

"Not right now, Sloane. I'm thinking."

With this new thing she brought up, I think I know why and understand more about what her husband could've been thinking and why they fought as much as they did. It probably was killing him knowing she looked at him as me and that their kids were mine—not his.

I wondered about this before if that was the case between the two, but now it makes me believe that's why he had sex with her how he did. He didn't want to make her feel good if it was me she was thinking about, believing it was me who was giving her orgasms. Not him.

He most likely figured, what's the point?

Now that it was out in the open, I had to know the truth. I can't just sit and continue thinking about the what-ifs. So I didn't give myself a headache by racking my brain with all this thinking and wondering, I asked, "Did he know?"

"About what?"

"You're thoughts."

"He knew about you. But he never knew what I thought or believed I saw whenever I looked at him. I don't know for sure, but I'm sure he felt it."

That answers some of my questions, I guess.

"What did you two fight about then?" I asked, glancing at her quickly, then returning my eyes to the road before another repeat of what happened to her a couple of years ago happened again.

"You. It was always about you. He said I needed to get over you. That what was done was done. I needed to get over it; I was his wife, and I needed to let things go. The past was the past, and I needed to focus on the future. And so on."

I frustratedly scrubbed my face. Then, my stomach suddenly sickened about what I wanted to ask Sloane next—worried to hear her answer. But I have to ask. "Did he ever hit you?"

She shook her head, but there was a bit of hesitation in that shake at first.

"Sloane. Tell me the truth. Did. He. Ever. Hit you?"

She cried.

And my heart ripped in two when I heard those fucking tears leaving her eyes.

Fuck.

If I continue being this freaked-out dickhead, I'm going to bring her right back to where she was before today if I continue asking questions. But if we're going to be together, I need to know these things. She may be talking to my sister, but she needs to talk to me to help me understand her more.

Christ, it's been nearly twenty years since I knew anything about her.

Now, I needed to ask the dreaded question.

Sighing, I asked, "How often did he hit you?"

She looked away toward the passenger window, shaking her head.

"Talk to me, Sloane," I demanded. "You opened up to the group. Now it's time you start opening up to me, more than you already have. Please. I need to understand what the hell is going on with you. The bomb you dropped tonight was not something I expected to hear you say tonight." I paused, thinking about something my sister said, and because of that, I asked, "How much of this does Shayla know about this?"

"He wasn't hitting me all the time," she quietly admitted, her tears smothering her voice. "It was once," she added, ignoring my other question.

"Once," I repeated, unsure if I should believe her. Usually, when a significant other hits you, it's more than once.

"Yes. It was only the one time. It was also the last time because after I left the hospital, it was the last time I saw him."

I shook my head, confused by her answer.

"What? I thought you said you were in the hospital for trying to end your life?"

"I was," she whispered.

Now, I'm baffled.

I couldn't talk about this and drive, so I pulled over to the side of the road, killed the engine, and turned to face her.

I could've waited to do this at my house, but I can't.

"Talk to me, Sloane. We said we wouldn't hide anything from each other, and you did. So, lay it all on me. Right now. I want to know every fucking thing there is to know about you and what happened."

She looked out the passenger window, then the windshield, before she looked at me, furrowing her brows. "Here?"

"Yes. Here. I want to know everything. And does Shayla know any of this?"

"Yes," she answered after a moment of fighting her tears. "She knows everything."

"Christ," I groaned, sitting back in my seat. I tilted my head against the seat and scrubbed the frustrations away from my face.

I looked at her, then looked out my driver's window, waiting for her to start talking.

"Logan overheard a conversation I had with my mother about him. He confronted me about it after I hung up with her. And when I told him I thought it would be best if we separated for a while until I got my head on straight, Logan attacked me. Then he started strangling me and yelling, 'You want to die? Is this what you want?' You want to leave our kids and me? If this is what you want, I'll help you complete your mission to leave us. Then he let go of me when Olivia came into our bedroom and started screaming and crying. Later that night, I locked myself in the bathroom and tried to end it all. The following morning, I woke up in the hospital. He never came to visit me. The only time I saw him and the kids was when they picked me up from the hospital."

Now my blood is boiling. Either from what her husband did and said to her or because she hid this part from me. Or was my blood hot from both scenarios?

"Jesus, Sloane. Why didn't you tell me this?" I asked, returning my eyes to her.

"I'm fucked up, Aaron. That's why. I was too embarrassed to tell you. And because of what happened to Logan and where he is now, I didn't feel it was something you needed to know."

"Yet, you told Shayla," I groaned.

"Aaron, that's not fair. You asked that I talk to her, so I did."

"Yes, I know, but we also said no hiding anything from each other."

"You never told me you were holding in that issue with your parents. So we're even," she threw back at me, hissing.

A sigh left my lips, knowing she was right. Still...

I didn't want to fight with her, and I didn't want to make or see her cry more than I had. I didn't want to sit on the side of the road, drawing attention to us, so I restarted the engine and pulled back onto the road.

"So now you're not going to talk to me?"

"We'll talk more. I just wanted to get off the side of the road and head to my place."

"I'm sorry."

She doesn't have to be sorry. Sloane did what I asked; I'm just jealous she opened up to my sister first instead of me.

"You don't have to apologize. I'm the one who should apologize. I overreacted. As for the issue with my parents? I guess I never thought about it bothering me until I talked with Shayla earlier. She didn't bring it up, but she insinuated I had some issues I needed to remember and to open up to the group about it. It's been something she's been trying to get me to see for years."

I'm still bothered she felt her kids were mine and looked at them as they were. I'll have to find out if that's normal because of her depression or if she's got another side to her that needs to be addressed. Because if that's the case. Then she'll need more help than I thought.

"I do have something to ask," I said when we approached a stoplight.

"If it's about my kids. I'm sorry if you're freaked out by what I told the group. What I said came out wrong. I meant to say that I always wished you were my husband and my kids were yours. Not that I looked at Logan as if he was you every day. I mostly did it when he had sex with me, hoping it would help me orgasm. But it never worked."

Sloane's getting better at reading my mind. She just answered what I wanted to know except about her children. I'm still bothered by that one.

I pulled into my driveway, and as I killed the engine, I looked at her. "And the kids? You said you always looked at them as if I were their father. They're gone, Sloane. Gone. I know it shouldn't since it was just a thought of yours, but that freaks me out. Because if we had kids together. Had those kids been mine, that makes me feel I lost them, too. And in some way, in the back of my mind, I feel like those kids were mine because they were yours, and you're now mine. If things were different and all three of them were still here, I would've been your kids' second father, helping you raise them. I don't know if that makes sense to you, but it does to me. And I may still be overreacting, but when you said that to the group, it just felt like my heart had been stabbed."

Her lips parted to say something, but then they closed, and she looked away, turning to face the door, whispering, "I'm sorry. I don't deserve you, Aaron."

"You do deserve me. I've told you before I'm no saint and that we can get through our fucked up times together. And that's what I want. I want you. I want us. And I want a future with you, Sloane. I want us to get our heads on straight together. So from now on. I want no more secrets between us. If there's something, you still need to tell me. If you need to talk about something, please talk to me. Tell me everything on your mind. I'm not here to judge you. I'm here to help lift you back to your feet."

She looked at me with pleading eyes. "I'm sorry. I know I should've told you everything when you asked. So, because I deserve it, I want you to punish me. Teach me a lesson, Aaron. I need all the discipline I can get—for everything I've done. I'm a fuck up, and I no longer want to be that person anymore. Please. I want it. And I need it. Please."

Sloane, begging I punish her, tells me she planned this. Her pleading eyes bore into mine. The repeated begging for me to discipline and punish her and the countless please leaving her lips says it all. She purposely hid things from me, knowing I'd punish her.

"Punish me, Aaron. Please," she repeated, desperation in her eyes.

Feeling unsure of what to do, a long breath of air left my mouth as I combed my fingers through my hair.

"Please."

"This is what you really want me to do to you?"

"Yes. Please. I've reached the breaking point that I can't be like this anymore. And if I continue going the way I have, I know I won't be around much longer. I need you to help snap me out of this misery. And I'm willing to do whatever it takes. Please, Aaron. I felt the best about myself the last time you punished me in a long time."

She's looking to be praised—desperately acting like she needs it.

"Fine. If this is what you want, when we get inside my house, I want you to go to the bedroom, strip down to nothing, and then I want you to get on the bed on all fours and wait for me."

A hint of a smirk appeared on her lips, satisfied knowing I'd be giving her what she wanted and what she believed she needed.

I'm excited she wants me to do this to her. Still, there's a hint of fear floating inside me also, worried memories of her ex attacking her will return and haunt her, bringing her back to feel nobody in this world, like me, who will want her, and she'll attempt a repeat of two years ago.

Sloane did as I told her to do. When I entered the room, she was on the bed, on all fours, her delicious ass facing me. My dick hardened from the beautiful sight.

I quietly undressed as I headed toward the bed, and when I got to her, I slapped her right asscheek—hard, then I swatted her left asscheek. "Is this what you want? Spankings?"

She mewled, then begged, "Yes. Do it again, and again, and again."

I wanted to leave handprints on her ass that would be on her cheeks for days, but before I got busy doing what she wanted, I had to be sure she remembered one important word. "Do you remember your safe word?"

"Mango."

"Good girl."

"I also remember the colors. Red for stop, yellow for slow down, and green to continue."

"Very good. Now, tell me exactly what you want me to do."

"I don't care how it's done. I want you to do whatever it'll take to remove every damn demon inside this body. Every. Single. One of them. I want it so I don't have to talk to a psychologist anymore. I want it so I don't have to take pills for the rest of my life for me to be happy. I don't want to cry and feel miserable anymore. I just want to be me again."

I have a paddle and a flogger—things I bought to use on her after the night she first had me punish her. Those will sting more than my hand, but I want to leave pink handprints on her ass first. But since I don't wish Sloane to see a fucking thing, and I want her to feel vulnerable, she needs to be blindfolded.

"Close your eyes, and don't you dare open them." I removed the blindfold, punishing items and toys from my drawer, and set them on the nightstand.

Then, I kneeled on the bed behind her, and as I brought the blindfold around her face, she asked, "Are you blindfolding me again?"

"Yes," I responded, not saying anything more as I brought the blindfold around her, securely tying it to her head. I slapped her smooth as silk ass asking, "How does that feel?"

"My ass or the blindfold?"

I chuckled lowly. "Both, I guess."

"My ass wants more spanking. And the blindfold feels just right."

More spanking, hey? This girl has no idea what she's asking for.

She wanted pain. So, that's what she'll get. I grabbed the bottle of lube, squirted it into my hand, and made her anticipate what I was about to do as I rubbed the liquid all over her ass.

The second my hand touched her asscheek and she felt the lube, I grinned when her breathing hitched. She must think I'm about to fuck her ass. And to make her think I was, I slid the lube between the crack of her ass.

"Aaron?"

"Hush. The only thing leaving your lips will be moans and groans, screams and cries, answers to my questions, or the safe word."

After a moment of making her think about what was coming to her, she yelped and lunged forward when I slapped her ass, leaving a nice pink handprint behind. "That was for keeping things from me when I asked you not to. What do you say about that?"

"I'm sorry. I'll never keep anything from you again."

"Promise?"

"I promise."

"I'm holding you to that promise."

She lunged forward and yelped again when I slapped her other asscheek. Leaving another beautiful bright pink handprint on the ass, I love so much. "That was for telling the group about your husband and kids—blindsiding me with that admission. What do you say about that?"

"I'm sorry for ever looking at them as if you were my husband and believing you were the father of my kids," she said, whimpering.

I grabbed the paddle and rubbed some lube on the side I was about to swat her with. Rubbing where my handprints were showing, soothing the area before she felt a significant sting, I asked, "Are you ready for more?"

"Keep them coming," she nervously panted, her back rising and falling faster as her breathing picked up. "Those were nothing," she taunted.

My hand tightened around the paddle handle as I raised my arm. And before it met Sloane's flesh, I thought about what I'd punish her for this time.

When it came to me, my hand flung down, and the room echoed from her scream and the sound of the paddle making contact with her skin. "Fuck! That hurt!"

"That's for still believing you're not who I want to settle down with. For testing my eyes and heart at the club the other night."

"I'm sorry. I'll never do that again. But I only did that for my own peace of mind."

"I won't ever lie to you, Sloane. When I tell you something I believe is true. I mean every fucking word. Never question me again. Got it?"

"Yes, Aaron. I do," she quietly answered, and I could hear it in her voice. She tightened her eyes as she said it, fighting to believe it.

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure. I'll never question your remarks again."

"Promise?"

"I promise."

The paddle met her ass again—harder. She screamed, "Ouch! Fuck! What did I do to deserve that one?"

"For making me punish you when I shouldn't have to. I'd much rather spank you for fun to make you orgasm."

Her ass was the reddest I've ever seen it. And as I rubbed the marks, I heard her tears. She asked for this. Not me. And since she hadn't said the safe word, I ignored her sniffles.

Hovering over her, I wrapped her hair around my hand and tugged, pulling her head back so I could get a look at her blindfold. It was wet, so I asked, "Where are you color-wise?"

She swallowed, wet her lips, then swallowed her tears again, carefully thinking about her answer. "Green," she responded without taunting me.

"I want to know what you're thinking before I continue. I'd much rather fuck you, see you smile, and hear you panting, begging for my cock to move inside your pussy. But this is what you wanted me to do tonight."

She bit her lip, thinking about what I just said to her. I could see the disdain on her face. She wanted to end this. But I won't.

"Maybe this wasn't such a good idea?" she said.

"Why?"

"I'd rather we have sex instead."

I chuckled. "Nope. Not happening. Not yet, anyway."

"My ass feels like it's on fire. And my pussy is looking for attention."

My lips curled upward.

I can give her sweet cunt attention. But then they'll both be pissed at me when they realize it's not the attention they're seeking to have.

My hand reached around her body and to her needy cunt. I slid my fingers down her pussy lips. She was fucking wet.

I lowered my lips to her cheek and kissed it while sliding a couple of digits inside her. "Is this what you want?"

"Yes. Oh, God. Yes."

I smiled against her cheek. "Too bad," I said, removing my fingers from her warmth. I tugged her head back and slid my wet fingers up her body and to her breasts. Seeing both her nipples were erect, I pinched, then pulled until she cried out in pain.

Then I moved to the other nipple and repeated until she screamed, "Fuck, Aaron! That hurts!"

"You asked for this."

"I changed my mind."

I laughed. "It doesn't work that way."

"Mango."

What?

I shook my head. "Sorry, sweetheart. It doesn't work that way, either. Your safe word is only to be said when you can't take the pain anymore when you need me to stop doing something you can't handle."

"Fine. Do what you must. You and I know I need this if I want to be the woman of your dreams."

You are already beautiful.

"The girl of my dreams..." I said, then hummed. She may be here in this room with me. But the girl of my dreams will also recognize how gorgeous she is. "Who is the girl of my dreams, Sloane?"

Her skin peppered in goosebumps as I slid my fingertips along the sides of her body. "Who's the girl of my dreams, Sloane? Answer me?" I asked when she didn't respond.

"A curvy, long-haired brunette with warm, chocolaty brown eyes."

"Do you know a woman who fits that description?" I asked, sliding my fingers down to her wet, needy pussy, and sliding them inside.

"Me?"

Her ass lunged into my cock when my rocking fingers increased in speed.

"Tell me how you feel about yourself—truthfully."

She didn't answer.

"Sloane," I warned. "Do you want to be punished again?"

"I can't think with you finger fucking me how you are. I'm enjoying it too much."

"Tell me now, Sloane," I demanded, sliding my other hand around her body and to her swollen clit, pinching and pulling until her pussy clamped tightly around the fingers inside her, and she moaned.

I removed my fingers from inside her and let go of her clit. She hissed, "Why did you stop?"

"You never answered me. Plus, I want you to learn to orgasm when I say you can."

"What?" She squealed. "Is that what you call edging? Because if it is, it sucks. And it's mean!"

I chuckled. "I agree. It's mean. But you said you want to be disciplined and punished, so you're getting what you asked for," I said, grinning. "So, if you want more than you asked for, I suggest you be truthful with me. I want to know where you're at with your body image. Just know that if you lie about it, it'll cost you."

"Cost me," she whispered to herself. I heard what she repeated to herself, but I said nothing, curious to see what she'd say.

Encouraging her to admit what she felt, my hands roamed her belly, and then they roamed up to her taut tits. I pinched. I pulled. And I leaned to her ear, saying, "You've got ten seconds to answer what I want to know. If you don't, I'll torture us both."

"Torture? How?"

"You'll get no more of my cock until you admit how you feel about yourself."

Teasing her, I slid my cock between her wet pussy lips until she realized I wasn't joking.

Finally, she said, "I'm getting there, Aaron. I've fully accepted what my kids did to my belly. I may hate the looks of the stretch marks they caused, but I appreciate them. If they weren't there, I wouldn't be reminded of how beautiful I looked while carrying them, watching them grow inside me for nine months. I accept how my body has changed since the accident and understand why it changed. As for the scars on my face, I'll admit that will take more time. If they weren't there, I'd have no problem telling you I agree you think I'm beautiful. But they're still there, and I can't help but wish I didn't have to look at them every day. Have I accepted them? Yes. Will I ever like them? No. Who would? But because they'll be there for life, I'll continue doing what you want me to—not hide them from everyone and tell myself I'm still beautiful no matter what."

I can live with this answer from her. Besides the night she wore her new leather bondage outfit and admitted she felt the most beautiful and strongest she'd felt in a long time, this is the first genuine statement that's left her lips since I begged her to repeat after me about her being beautiful all over—the night I found her in the park weeks ago.

I should carry on with punishing her as she originally asked. But I can't. Not anymore tonight. This girl deserves to experience sex with me the way I enjoy having sex like she's wanted to from the beginning.

She's earned it.

Sloane's also earned a step up the ladder to me helping her fix her scars so they're more tolerable for her to look at. And when that time comes, I hope she understands I can't altogether remove them, but I can minimize their appearance.

I hope you enjoyed the chapter!!