"Oh, dear. I've made you sad. I'm sorry."
"Don't be." I gave him a false smile. "It's been long over, and I should have already learned to let it go."
"It'll go when it wants to and not before."
I stared at the white napkin in my lap, blinking furiously and trying to get my errant emotions under control.
He patted my hand, where it was still on his thigh, asking, "So what was going on Friday night that we couldn't get together then?" A diversionary technique, I'd have bet.
My head came up immediately, ready to chide him for asking about something he had no right to.
But he got there ahead of me. "And, before you take me to task, I know I shouldn't ask, but I feel I have to. Got to scope out the competition as best I can."
He waited, more patiently than I would have thought, for me to answer, but I was suddenly intrigued by my water glass, which I twirled slowly by the stem.
"Isa?"
It was my guilty blush that gave me away, dammit.
And his own blasted perceptive tendencies where I was concerned. "Wait a minute. Was there something Friday night that prevented us from getting together?" he asked, with an unmistakable note of suspicion.
I opened my mouth to reply, then closed it again, all without looking at him.
"Did you fib to me, Isabella?" The question was so softly spoken—how could it possibly make my heart pound in my chest like that?
"Not—not exactly." I finally said. "There might have been something—"
"But was there something you had already committed to, since I know you said that you were unavailable this Friday in particular?"
"Well." I fidgeted in my chair under his penetrating stare. "I do usually go out with coworkers on Fridays."
"But, correct me if I'm wrong, it sounds as if that was something casual that you could have ducked out of if you'd wanted to. Am I right about that, Isabella?"
I didn't answer him—I just bit my lip and twisted my fingers in my lap.
"But you fibbed to me instead, insinuating that you had a prior commitment? To what end? Did you want to make me jealous?"
Things were going rapidly downhill, and I didn't know how to stop them from doing so. "No—well, yes, maybe—I don't know! I'm sorry—I shouldn't have implied—"
Dan sat back in his chair, having released my hand, and looked at me consideringly for a long moment, then, without another word to me, he raised his hand and caught our waiter's attention. "Check, please."
I THOUGHT he was royally pissed at me, although he was just as solicitous as he had been before with me, paying the bill—as he'd paid for the movies—outright glaring at me when I tried to rummage in my clutch for my debit card until I ceased doing so, then pulling back my chair, helping me into my coat, holding the door to the restaurant open for me as well as my car door, and even latching my seatbelt over me.
The drive back to my place was accomplished in, what was for me, anyway, a very uneasy silence, with me wishing I was anywhere but there.
He drove into the parking lot of my apartment complex, putting the car in park and I reached for the door handle immediately, but he said one word, "Stop."
I did, but I didn't turn towards him, my hand still on the handle.
I heard him shifting towards me in his seat, and he cleared his throat. "I'm going to give you a choice, Isabella, but I don't want to give you the wrong impression in doing so, because if we were even just a little bit further into our relationship, I would not be giving you this choice."
My eyebrows rose, but he couldn't see that, and I didn't say anything.
"Turn and sit quietly in your seat until I'm done, then you can say whatever you want to say to me, even if it's only to tell me to go to Hell."'
I was intrigued, and I did as he asked, but I retained my hold on the door handle, which, of course, he noticed.
"Put your hands in your lap and look at me."
I did as he asked with obvious reluctance.
"I suppose you realize that I am not happy to have discovered that you fibbed to me. I know it was only what probably qualifies as a 'social lie' or a 'little white lie', but, having been lied to before in past relationships, in both big ways and small, I have an intense dislike of any kind of dishonesty, because, in my experience, little lies have a definite tendency to lead to much bigger ones. I will never be dishonest with you—I won't cheat, I won't tell you've I've been one place when I've been another, even if the truth would hurt you, and I expect the same courtesy from you."
He was quiet for a moment before going on, "But we're barely at the 'getting to know each other' stage, and I could hardly expect you to know that about me, and, as I said, it's very early on. Still, I feel, that, especially since you've so kindly already let me know that you're submissive, and I am most definitely a Dom, and as I would very much like to see where this relationship might lead, I feel very strongly that some sort of penalty is in order."
I opened my mouth to say, "Penalty?" but then thought better of it and closed it. The bald truth was that I knew exactly what he meant.
"So I am giving you the choice. If you would like to end this, no harm no foul, right now—we could even be friends, if you like—then I want you to get out of the car. I'll escort you to your door and give you a hug and a peck goodnight on the cheek, and we'll only see each other again on a purely platonic basis.
"But if you think you might want more than that from me—if you want a Dom in your life—a loving but strict one—if you feel the need to be held accountable for mistakes like this and others, as deemed by the man you give your body to, then I want you to look me in the eye and tell me that you're very sorry, but you've been naughty, and would I please give you the good, hard spanking you need."
Oh, dear God. I think I came a little at him saying those words, especially in relation to me!
"And as soon as you ask me that, in the manner I just prescribed, I will open your car door and unbuckle your seat belt and carry you into your house and give you exactly that. And, even though we're new, but because I consider this to be a serious offense, I want you to know right now that it might not be what you're used to, because this is not in any way play to me. I'm not going to swat you five times with a limp wrist and call it good. You are going to cry, and maybe even scream, and I am going to make you thoroughly regret lying to me—because that's what it was—and probably just as thoroughly regret having agreed to be spanked by me. But if you felt then, and perhaps even feel now, even the slightest twinge of guilt about having deliberately given me the impression that something was one way when it was actually the other, then I would suggest that you already know what your answer should be." He sighed. "Whether or not you're brave enough to do so after what I've just told you, well, that depends entirely on you."
He reached over and took my hand, lacing his fingers with mine. "You may speak now."
There were a million questions flying through my highly anxious mind. "Would letting you spank me tonight mean that I'd tacitly given you permission to spank me any time? That I'd essentially accepted you as my Dom?"
Dan caught my eye. "I'm not judging in any case, I'm just curious—we haven't really gotten to talking about these kinds of issues yet—but do you usually let men spank you casually?"
I actually shuddered at the thought. "No, I do not. It's always meant something to me, in the past." He nodded. "You know, I knew that he was doing it because he cared about me, and that was why I was able to let him do it."
"I understand completely. For me, that's the way it should be. And, if it helps you to know, I already like you a lot—I'm not usually this attracted or attached this early on, so that tells me that this is something special we could have between us. I already like you more than well enough to be concerned about your welfare, as a good Dom would be."
My eyes darted away from his when I asked my next question. "What about sex?"
His finger found the point of my chin and brought my face back
to him. "What about it?"
"Would you, uh, want to have sex…after?"
He surprised me then by leaning down to kiss me, gently but passionately, taking the hand he was already holding and placing it atop a truly impressive erection. "Very probably. I find it bonding and healing to make love to my sub after I've punished her. I might not make her come, depending on how well I thought she'd taken her punishment and how naughty her original behavior was, but even without climaxes of her own, I like to think a sub finds the closeness of sex with her Dom after she's been punished to be a very powerful thing, because I know I do."
Now I was nodding. "It is," I whispered.
"Yes, I thought it might be that way for you, too."
Despite all of the thoughts and questions that were crowding my head, I couldn't seem to get any of them out, and he didn't seem inclined to say anything, so there was complete silence in the car for a long moment.
Then he squeezed my hand. "I can't—I won't—decide this for you, Isa. I could, but I won't. I don't have the right to at the moment."
"What would you decide?"
His eyebrow rose. "Do you really have to ask me that question when I've already shown you how hard I am right now?"
"Yes, but that's sex."
"It's a bit convoluted for me, and I think it is for most guys. Kind of all rolled up into one, if I'm lucky, along with some very heady emotions. But that's also why I like to have my sub afterwards, pressing myself into her while she's still sniffling from the spanking—or paddling or whatever—I've just given her, maybe even wet from it, although I know she really didn't enjoy it intellectually but her body did. It's another way to enforce my dominance, also, I suppose, although that's not usually the uppermost thought in my mind at that moment."
"What is?"
I saw his face flush little. "Well, my own selfish pleasure's pretty far up the ladder, but also, sometimes, especially if it's been a bad punishment, I like to rise to the challenge of bringing her off, of turning those moans of discomfort I just caused her to emit into moans of desire, instead."
I had to fidget at his bold words, unable to keep myself from, first, clenching my legs together, then crossing and uncrossing then crossing them again, but finding no relief, until he reached over and put his hand high up on my thigh, not slapping it or even trying to pull it away from its mate—just his hand on my leg, those long fingers much too close to where I was becoming more desperate by the minute for them to be.
"No, you're not allowed to do that, honey," he chided huskily. "Your legs must always be open for me."
As I obeyed him and uncrossed my legs, I looked at him, really looked at him, and saw the openness of his expression, heard the softness of his tone, even when giving me an order, loving that he'd used an endearment with it—and with me.
I couldn't stop staring at his hand, biting my lip and willing it to move closer to the juncture of my thighs, but it didn't.
I drew a deep breath. "Dan?" It didn't seem really right to call him that, but he hadn't asked me to use anything else, and I didn't want to assume.
"Yes, baby?"
I was so hot from wanting to say it but it was so damned hard to ask for something like that, something I knew was going to make me miserable for who knew how long, to allow myself to surrender that much control to a guy I didn't know very well. I don't think I'd ever felt so horribly nervous or embarrassed in all my life. Still staring at his hand, I steeled myself against what I was going to do and just did it, my voice sounding very soft and tentative, and somehow juvenile at the same time, although I wasn't trying to make it sound that way. "I'm very sorry, b- but I've been naughty. Would you please give me the good, hard spanking that I need?"
"That was very lovely, Isabella, but you'll want to learn to listen to me very carefully and not subject yourself to unnecessary humiliation—that's what you have me for." He chuckled at his own joke.
Confused, my eyes shot to his, and he looked almost sad. "I don't understand."
"You got the wording down perfect, darling, but where did I say your eyes should be when you asked me?"
At the realization of my mistake, I gasped and blushed at the same time, fidgeting against what I knew would be my fate even before I asked the question. "But I don't have to ask you again, do I?"
All he did was look down at me with one raised eyebrow.
I sighed, looking away from him for a moment, knowing that this was going to be even harder to do than the last—wholly unnecessary one—but also acknowledging that I had no one to blame for my mistake than myself. He was right. I needed to listen to him. It was definitely a fault of mine that I didn't necessarily do that.
It took every ounce of my willpower to meet his kind eyes, and he squeezed my hand once, as if in support, before I began to recite what he'd told me I had to. Again.
And as soon as the last syllable faded away, he turned off the car—which he'd kept on to keep me warm—got out of the car and came around to my side. Dan opened the door, unlatched my safety belt and swung me up into his arms.
No man had ever carried me anywhere before! I had to admit that I was surprised he could—he had to be hiding a tremendous amount of lean muscle under that beautiful suit of his.
What's more, when we got into my flat, he wasn't even breathing heavily.
He didn't have to ask where my bedroom was—my apartment was small and the door was wide open. He kept me in his arms until we got to the end of my bed, then he set me down in front of him, shrugging out of his suit coat and putting it on the back of the chair to my vanity. Then he began to roll up his sleeves as he spoke and the two actions combined nearly had me panting.
"I know that was hard, baby. Thank you for doing it. I had no idea how I was going to manage to keep my hands off of you if you had wanted to go the platonic route." He tipped my chin up and kissed me then, one hand stroking my hair, the other cupping my cheek, his tongue dancing tentatively across my bottom lip then gently pressing between mine, and I opened my mouth beneath his, feeling that wonderful—powerful—rush of submission in just this simple act, already loving his height and his strength.
Eventually, he pulled a little away and nibbled my lips. "For what it's worth, and I know it probably sounds crazy, but I think I'm more than halfway to loving you," he confessed huskily.
I didn't know what to say to that. "I-I—"
"No." He pressed a finger over my lips. "You don't have to say anything back, Isa. I didn't say that to pressure you in any way. I just wanted you to know that I am coming from a place not only of lust and a desire to dominate and take care of you, but also from what I think will rapidly become a lot of very deep seated emotion."
"Thank you," I said, looking down, hoping I sounded as sincere as I felt, hoping it was going to be enough for him, because I knew I couldn't honestly say anything like that back to him yet.
"You're welcome," he said, pressing his lips to my forehead. "I don't think you're going to want to thank me for much of anything in a few minutes."
I hugged myself, not out of cold but out of nerves.
"There is another thing I want you to say for me, Isabella."
My eyes found his. "What's that?"
"I want you to tell me that you consent to me being your dominant and to being my submissive. I know we haven't hashed out the details yet, and that kind of rankles me a bit, but I want to hear it from your own sweet lips, right here, right now, before we go any further."
He took my hands in his, and, to my great surprise, he got down on one knee, as if he was going to propose.
Dan laughed at the astonished look on my face. "No, I'm not going to ask you to marry me. But frankly, what I'm asking of you is even more binding and intimate than that. You're placing yourself into my care, and I take that very seriously, as I'm sure you do. I want you to know that I take that commitment very seriously, at least as seriously as marriage vows."
This was a little—although not much—easier to do than the las
t thing he'd asked me to say. "Dan, I consent to have you as my Dominant, and I would please like to be your submissive."
There was that light up your world grin again. "Very nicely put, Isabella. You honor me with your willing submission, and I accept that submission. I will do my very best to be the kind of Dom you deserve—to put your needs before my own, to be firm enough in my resolve to do for you what I think is best and to fulfill you in every way I can." He rose then and kissed me again, then moved behind me to lift my hair and reach for the zipper of my dress.
He was going to undress me—this was really going to happen! Seconds from now, I was going to be over his lap, and he was going to spank me! Most parts of my brain couldn't even begin to deal with that reality yet.
CHAPTER 5
A nd he did the entire nine yards, too, not allowing me to help him in any way. I felt like a concubine being seen to by a doting servant, when I was the sub in this equation! He certainly had the caretaking side of things down pat.
I felt truly treasured, in a way I hadn't before.
My dress was peeled—slowly—off me so that he could appreciate the loss of it and the revelation of what was beneath. He took my hand to help me out of it, leaving me standing there in just the pretty sherbet colored bra I'd chosen deliberately, because I wasn't exactly sure how this date was going to turn out, as well as the matching lace panties.
"Remind me to buy you some sexy garters and stockings. I have a feeling I'm going to be at you all the time—you are one gorgeous woman," he sighed raggedly, and I could feel his gaze on me as thoroughly if it was a third hand.
Compliments always made me uncomfortable, so I automatically tried to turn away from him, receiving a crisp swat to my bum for having done so that made me yelp unbecomingly. He grasped my chin firmly, saying as he looked directly into my eyes, "That's the second time I've complimented you, and the second time you've shied away from it. I can see that one of the first things I'm going to have to teach you is how to take a compliment graciously, young lady, or your bottom is going to burn even more constantly than I have a hunch it's already going to."
On the Razor's Edge of Paradise Page 5