He hadn't told her he loved her, though he’d wanted to. Nor had she said it to him. He sipped his wine, wondering, not for the first time, what exactly he was doing and where he thought he was going with this relationship, if that’s even what it was. She was nearly ten years his junior, and she’d never been married. She seemed wedded to her work—a classic workaholic, using that work as a way to keep herself distanced and safe from too much intimacy.
He understood that well. He’d done the same thing in his marriage to Joanie. He’d promised himself going forward that wouldn’t happen again. So far he’d never let his work get in the way of seeing Elizabeth, but she had, and quite often.
If only she belonged to me
, he thought wistfully.
Truly belonged to me as my submissive.
Would that make a difference, he wondered. Would it allow her the space to slow down? He understood her better now after these few weeks.
She literally could not stop. He wouldn’t go so far as to call her manic, but she was driven.
She couldn’t sit still. She always arrived at his place with her briefcase, stuffed to the gills with folders and work. He took secret pride in making sure she never opened it. He knew very well how to distract her.
The only time she slowed and stilled was when they were making love. He knew if he could teach her to truly submit, she would find even greater peace, peace she could take with her beyond the bedroom. It was something he’d witnessed and read about, and as a Dom had experienced firsthand.
Interestingly, most true subs he had known were very in control in their day-to-day lives, women like Elizabeth, powerful and driven, confident and sure of themselves. They weren’t the passive little rabbits he’d met all too often at the BDSM clubs, girls looking for a man to take over their lives and make all their decisions.
No, the most sensual and satisfying subs to train were women like Elizabeth, strong and smart, and sexy as hell. To claim someone like her, to own someone like her…he sighed heavily and pulled out his phone, in case she’d sent him a message he’d missed.
It rang at just that moment, startling him. He saw her name and, because he was annoyed with her at standing him up, answered formally. “Cole Pearson.”
“Cole,” she said breathlessly in that low, sexy voice that never failed to give him an erection. “I’m so, so sorry. I hope you didn’t hold dinner for me. I kept trying to get away to call you but the negotiations weren’t going well and I’ve wanted this account forever. And guess what, I think we
got
it. I was able to meet every one of their demands and objections with a solution and I think we sold them. This could mean millions for the agency and a big fat bonus for me.”
She paused, no doubt expecting his praise and admiration. He was too pissed off to give it.
“That’s good,” he said curtly.
There was a pause, then she rushed on. “Oh, Cole. You’re mad at me. I know, I know, I said I’d be there two hours ago. I don’t know what to say. You know how busy I am.”
“Yes. It’s all right.” He cut her off. “Don’t worry about dinner. It’s not a big deal. You’ve obviously got a lot on your plate at work right now. I’m afraid I’m rather busy the rest of the week myself, but maybe we can get together this weekend.” He knew he sounded stiff, even cold.
There was a brief silence at the other end of the line. She sensed, correctly, his rebuke. “All right. Well, have a good night—what’s left of it.” He could hear the hurt in her voice. She clicked off.
Cole shook his head.
That was childish of me,
he chided himself.
I’m punishing her for
standing me up.
He thought about calling her back and apologizing—telling her she could come over any time, no strings.
But he didn’t pick up the phone. Maybe a few days apart would be a good thing. They had been moving very fast. Maybe she welcomed the break and he’d only thought she’d sounded hurt, because he had been. He snorted and shook his head. He was definitely over-thinking this thing. He never experienced this sort of confusion and indecision in his professional life. How was it that a woman could reduce him to feeling like he was back in high school?
He thought about making one of the steaks, but didn’t really feel like eating a full meal without her. Instead he poured himself some very fine Scotch, grabbed a handful of smoked almonds and went into his study.
He did a little work at his computer and then checked his email. While clicking through mostly junk, he thought about Gary Dobbins, who had hacked his way into Elizabeth’s private email account as part of his elaborate attempt to bring her down. Elizabeth said they hadn't heard a peep from him at the office, for which she was relieved.
The magnitude of what Dobbins had done was incredible, and it was only through sheer luck and determination Elizabeth had been able to bring him down. On the one hand, Cole was oddly grateful to Dobbins, not for what he did to Elizabeth, but for the fact Cole never would have met her otherwise. As exasperating as it was to share her with her first love—her career—he was happier now than he could ever remember being.
Still, Dobbins had been a real prick on so many levels. He should be punished for what he did. Cole could understand why Elizabeth didn’t want to press criminal charges and have her named dragged through the muck of it all, but it irked him the creep got off so easily. Yes, he lost his job, but a guy like him would find another, of that Cole was certain. Maybe not in Manhattan, but he’d land on his feet.
It infuriated Cole to think the smug bastard was still at large, hanging out at clubs like House of Usher, a bully posing as a Dom, doing who knew what further damage in the world. Cole sat back in his chair and stared down into his drink, recalling what Elizabeth had said that first day
—don’t get mad, get even.
~*~
He didn’t hear from her the rest of the week, nor did he call her.
Give her space
, he told himself during his more mature moments.
We’ll connect this weekend
. He started to call her a hundred times, but pride kept him from doing so. In his decidedly less mature moments, he told himself if she was too busy to connect, he was damned if he’d chase her. He knew he was acting like a fool, but still he didn’t call her.
Saturday morning he was awakened by a text message on his cell phone. “Hey, stranger,” it read. “Just happened to be in the neighborhood. I’ve got bagels!”
Joy rushed through him. Grinning broadly, he texted back. “Well, since you have bagels…
come on up!”
He jumped out of bed and went into the bathroom to wash up. Quickly he pulled on some jeans and a shirt, combed his hair and rushed into the living room to wait for Elizabeth. He realized he was grinning like an idiot and told himself to get a grip.
He opened the door just as she was about to ring the bell. She was carrying a white sack from the bakery and, to his delight, no briefcase. She stood just at the threshold, her expression uncertain, even shy. He felt a rush of tenderness and remorse.
Forgetting his resolve to go slow and careful, he blurted, “It’s
insane
how much I’ve missed you.” He held out his arms and she stepped into them, pressing her cheek against his shoulder. It was so good to hold her.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered.
“Me too,” she replied.
Letting her go, he stepped back to look at her. Her hair was down and the turquoise of her silky sleeveless blouse caught and mirrored the color of her brilliant blue eyes. “I had forgotten how incredibly lovely you are. I’m sorry I was such a jackass. I know you’re busy at work and I need to make allowances for that.”
“And I know I tend to use work to keep from getting too involved. I don’t want to do that this time. Not with you. And it was rude of me to stand you up for dinner again.” She gave a coquettish grin, adding, “I probably should be punished.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Let’s discuss it over bagels. You
have
been a very naughty little girl.” He laughed, enjoying the flush rising in her cheeks.
In the kitchen, he prepared coffee while Elizabeth put the bagels on a plate and set the table.
He liked having her there, the two of them moving about it like a real couple, doing the mundane, domestic things necessary to prepare a meal. He wanted that with her. He wanted more than that—much more.
Elizabeth was quiet at first and it was obvious she was nervous but, at the same time, excited. Who would have dreamed this lovely girl would be asking for a punishment, even if she was half-kidding? Cole’s cock was swelling at the thought, but he forced himself to tread lightly.
Hoping to help her relax, he asked about her work week and how it was going with the search for Gary’s replacement.
It was she who brought the conversation back around to the topic of punishment. “You know, when Slave Anna misbehaves, she gets punished. Sir calls it a correction. He says he’s teaching her to behave correctly in order to please him at all times.”
She’d brought it up again. It was time to pay attention “Just what exactly are you saying, Elizabeth? What are you asking?” He kept his tone light, but watched carefully for her reaction.
Elizabeth’s eyes widened and she caught her breath, her tongue sliding nervously over her lower lip. “Well, I, um. You know…”
“Say it. I want you to say it.”
“I, um…” She looked down, her voice low, “need to be corrected.” He studied her lovely face and dropped his eyes to her breasts, pleased to see erect nipples poking toward him.
He tried to keep the exaltation out of his tone. “I agree. I think we’ll start with a spanking.
Not the little tap I gave you the other day, but something you’ll remember. You ready for that?”
“Yes.” It was no more than a whisper. Their bagels forgotten, they both stood from the table.
She looked up at him, her eyes shining, the color high in her cheeks. Yes, she was definitely ready to move to the next level in their D/s adventure and he was more than ready to take her there.
He gestured for her to precede him, enjoying the sight of her shapely ass in her tight jeans as she moved gracefully along the hallway toward his bedroom.
Once there, she turned toward him, wrapping her arms around herself, her lower lip again caught in her teeth. Taking pity on the nervous girl, he moved toward her and pulled her close.
“Relax, sweetheart. Yes, the spanking will be real this time, but I’ve said this to you before and I’ll say it again, as often as you need to hear it, I will never take you further than you feel safe going. You’ve said you want to explore this lifestyle with me, and we will continue to do so, but you have to trust me. Okay?”
He held her shoulders and peered into her eyes, needing her to trust him before he would go further. “Yes,” she whispered, dropping her arms at her sides and managing a small smile.
“Take off your jeans and panties and lie down on your stomach.” He watched her, his cock straining in his jeans as her lovely, long legs were bared. She was wearing lacy pink panties, which she pulled down her slender thighs, her eyes on his face as she did so.
She started to lift the hem of her blouse. “No. I didn’t say to take off your top. I’m going to punish you, not fuck you. You don’t deserve to be fucked right now. First you must be…
corrected.”
Her eyes flashed and he waited for her retort but none came. Instead she nodded and lay across his bed, her gorgeous ass offered up for him, her face turned away.
He reached into his jeans and stroked his cock, which ached to thrust into her. He sat down beside her and rested his hand lightly on one rounded cheek. Elizabeth jumped at his touch.
Gently he smoothed her skin, stroking her ass cheeks and lower back to calm the skittish girl.
When he decided she was relaxed enough to begin, he gave her bottom a light pat. She wriggled against his palm and he smiled. She was ready. He smacked her across the right cheek, admiring the way the flesh moved. Elizabeth gasped lightly but stayed still. He smacked the other cheek, a little harder. He wanted to take her over his lap so he could feel her body against his, but he knew that would make the experience too sexual for her.
It would be sexual eventually, but he would control the pace. First he’d put her to the test and see just how sincere she was about experiencing the lifestyle, as she had put it. He began to spank her in earnest—hard, steady swats, alternating cheeks.
“Ouch. It
hurts
.” She covered her bottom with her hands.
“It’s supposed to hurt. This is a punishment. Keep your hands at your sides or I’ll have to tie you down.” He waited to see if she would obey. Slowly, she removed her hands and put her arms at her sides. Her hands were balled into fists.
“Unclench your hands,” he ordered. Again she obeyed. Her ass was already a nice shade of pink. “Thirty swats. You can count out loud or in your head or not at all, but that’s what you’re going to get.” He struck her three more times, much harder than before, the sound of his palm against her flesh reverberating in the air.
She gasped and immediately clenched her hands into fists again. He tapped at one fist.
“Unclench your hands. It shows resistance. You are not to resist me.” Again she uncurled her fingers. She was breathing hard, her head turned away from him.
“Turn your face to me. I want to see you.” She turned her head. He smoothed away the hair that had fallen over her face, tucking it behind her ear. He stroked her cheek for a moment, resisting the urge to bend down and kiss her. This was, after all, supposed to be a punishment.
“You’re okay,” he assured her. If she couldn’t handle a simple spanking, there was no way he was going to introduce her to the whip or the cane, no matter what she said she wanted.
She nodded. “Twenty-two left.”
It took him a moment to realize she had been counting. He grinned at her, pleased. “That’s right. You earned every swat, too.” He watched her face as he began to spank her again, just as hard as before. She squeezed her eyes tight and began to breathe in a rapid staccato but she didn’t clench her hands and she didn’t protest.