Mark stood at the counter, his feet and torso bare, wearing only a pair of pants. She watched as he sliced, then diced the pepper with controlled, expert movements. The chef’s knife appeared small in his strong, sure hands.
Her stomach fluttered. Simple fact: she needed him to spank her again. Once wasn’t enough for her to judge. Should she ask to be paddled or wait until he felt her behavior had earned it?
“You seem pensive,” Mark said. “Everything at work okay?”
How tuned in he was to her emotions. Almost like he could read her mind sometimes. Spank me. Spank me. “Work is fine. The usual chaos.” The communication class had been rescheduled, and she was confident the curriculum was progressing. Of course, she’d been certain before. But Bethany wouldn’t let her down twice.
Mark had presented the perfect lead-in to tell him what she wanted, but, chicken that she was, she couldn’t do it. How did a warrior ask for a spanking?
“What are you cooking?” She watched him peel and chop an onion.
He glanced at her and smiled. “Crab cakes.”
“You remembered what I told you.” She’d mentioned in passing several days ago that she loved crab cakes but hadn’t had them in a while.
“Of course I remembered.” He added the onion to the bowl, cut the lime in half and squeezed it into the mixture, then added a large dollop of mayo. He stirred with a wooden spoon but then set it aside. “Sometimes fingers work best.” He stuck his hand in the bowl.
Stephanie slid off the stool, sidled up to him, and wrapped her arms around his waist. “Thank you. You’re so good to me.” Good for me too.
She hugged him, enjoying the rock hardness of his muscled back against her breasts, the ripples of his abdomen beneath her fingers, his toned ass against her stomach. Before she’d been introduced to spanking, she’d never given much thought to buttocks, her own or men’s. But since then she’d come to appreciate the roundness, the firmness of Mark’s. She shamelessly ogled his backside when he got out of the shower or walked naked around the bedroom.
But she had to admit, the frontal view was her favorite. His cock was a work of art. She loved him in tight jeans; the color faded over his bulge. He always seemed to have one. But then khakis, like he was wearing now, were good too.
Because she could do this. She slipped her hands into his pockets and reached for his penis. “You’re hard!”
“I’m always hard around you. And often when I’m not.”
She stroked his cock through the fabric of his pockets while rubbing her breasts against his broad back. He stilled his hand in the crab-cake mixture.
“Keep working.” She squeezed him. Solid. A hydraulic marvel.
She pulled out of his pockets and tugged at his belt buckle.
“What are you doing?” His voice rumbled with suspicion.
She inched down the zipper.
“I can’t touch you.” He held up his right hand, coated with the shellfish mixture.
She grinned. “I know. You’re at my mercy.”
He growled. “Let me wash up.”
Ignoring him, she hooked her thumbs in the waistband of his pants and briefs. He pressed his hips against the counter to prevent her from pulling them down. She grabbed a fresh wooden spoon from the holder and stung his ass twice. “Behave.”
A delicious, threatening aura descended on the room. “Oh kitten, you so don’t want to do that,” he said quietly.
Her heart hid at the base of her throat, but her pussy moistened even more. “Really?” she said. “I think I do.” She smacked him two more times.
When he shifted for the faucet, she yanked on his pants and undershorts. He half turned toward her, and she fixated on his cock. Men generally thought entirely too much of their penises, but his deserved not only study but also worship. The crown, reddened and slick with fluid, capped an arrow-straight shaft as impressively thick as it was long. A crinkle of dark hair nested at the base, curling atop his balls. She stared, enjoying the awesomeness. He stood, one hand raised and covered with food, his pants in a heap around his ankles, and he’d never looked sexier. She dropped to her knees and grasped his hips, shifting him to face her. “Stephanie…”
~*~*~ a few pages later ~*~*~
SHE’D HIT HIM with the spoon! After his breathing normalized and blood flow delivered reason to his brain, Mark stifled a grin. Stephanie rose to her feet, and he embraced her in a one-armed hug and laid a punishing kiss on her lips. He dragged his mouth to her ear. “You’re in so much trouble,” he whispered. But he’d let her stew for a while.
He gave her an awkward, left-handed swat. “Sit down. Let me finish dinner.”
Confidence slipped from her expression, but she put on a good performance of sauntering to the barstool as if everything was proceeding according to her plan.
Mark formed the crab mixture into small cakes, dusted them with the Japanese bread crumbs, and while they baked, put together a spinach-and-pear salad, sliced crusty artisan bread, and set the table. When the oven timer dinged, he served the crab cakes with homemade rémoulade.
“Mm… This is so good. Thank you.” Stephanie bit into a crab cake with almost sexual vocal appreciation. It reminded him of her moans when he licked her clit. His cock twitched, and he snorted. Fortunately they had a domestic discipline arrangement. He needed to maintain the balance, because this woman had a firm grip on his short hairs. Everything she did turned him on, and he scampered around like a lovesick puppy to please her.
She’d assumed his closet was at her disposal, and of course it was. None of his clothing suited him as well as it did her. His shirt skimmed the tops of her thighs when she had stood. Her breasts filled out the starched cotton, her nipples two hard nubs beneath the fabric.
She tore off a piece of bread from her slice and buttered it. He watched her chew as if glued to the final seconds of the Super Bowl. She had the most amazing mouth. Luscious. Soft. Rosy after going down on his cock, which was rigid again. A perpetual state these days.
He cleared his throat. “The Rod and Cane benefit auction is next week. The grant requests have been processed, so I wasn’t able to retract WAN’s name. Are you sure you can’t accept?”
She stuck her left hand out palm up. “A feminist organization.” She flipped up her right. “A men’s society that promotes the physical punishment of women. Gasoline and lit match.” Regret flickered in her eyes. “I’d love to accept the money, but one thing I’ve learned is that reality doesn’t matter as much as perception. Even if donations are given under RCS Enterprises, I can’t risk someone finding out. Dating you is chancy enough.”
“No one knows I’m a member of Rod and Cane.”
“Because?” She raised her eyebrows.
“Because I’d probably lose my job.” He sighed. “I do understand your position.”
“I’ll have to intercept the check when it comes in and return it. I have to admit, I would not have expected Rod and Cane to be as open as it is.”
“That’s a new development.”
“Since the Sentinel article?”
“Yep. Security is still pretty tight. Only members of a certain standing are permitted to bring guests to the mansion.”
“So you’re a member of certain standing.” She grinned. “You could say that.” He smiled. “So does your prohibition against accepting an auction donation prevent you from attending?”
“No.”
“Then it’s a date.”
She expelled a huff of air. “Are you ever going to ask me on a date instead of tell me?”
He leaned forward. “You don’t want me to ask you. You like it when I take control.”
“I do not!” She glared at him.
He rose, grabbed her wrist, and pulled her to a standing position. Bracing his foot against the chair seat, he motioned, and she obediently bent over his knee. He administered four swats to her naked behind. She emitted the cutest little squeak with each one.
He allowed her to sit and returned to his place. “I rest my case.”
Just Right!
