"My mother has a lot invested in her name. She chose it herself.” Emma curved her mouth into a wry smile. “Her birth name was Josephine. Summer rarely gets angry, but if you want to see her blow, call her by her birth name."
"Yet she named you Emma. Very traditional."
"Actually, she didn't.” Emma glanced at her plate. “I don't tell too many people this, but my mother named me Starlight.” Emma hesitated. “I always suspected my name may have been related to how I was conceived—under the light of the stars."
Dan's cough didn't completely cover his choke of laughter.
"Emma was my grandma, Summer's mother. She was so nice. So normal. Once I got older, I starting using her name, and when I became an adult, I legally changed it."
"Your mother was a free agent."
"She still is. Expressing her ‘creative spirit,’ as she calls it, is very important to her. She gets involved in a lot of different things. She made soy candles for a while, sold hemp clothing, taught yoga.” She paused, then added, “Just as a venture would start to take root and show success, Summer would move on to something else and start all over again."
"Is that why you stuck with a job you didn't like for so long?” he asked gently.
"You're perceptive. I thought being dependable and persistent was the way adults should behave."
"What about your father?"
"John teaches English Lit at the community college. He's a little more practical and down-to-earth than my mother, but they're still kindred mates.” She grimaced. “When I was a teenager, my friends thought Summer and John were perfect parents—they let me do anything I wanted."
Emma sighed and glanced at the city lights. “Other kids complained about rules, curfews, being grounded for bad grades. I got none of that. Not that I got bad grades. I was a good student. It sounds crazy, but I wanted some rules. I guess I needed to know she cared enough to discipline me,” Emma said wistfully and looked at Dan.
Dan nodded. “Structure helps kids feel secure."
"Once I deliberately stayed out all night to find the boundaries, how much was too much, you know? I didn't come home until four a.m., and Summer was waiting for me. She asked if I had had a good time!” Emma shook her head, still in disbelief. “Years later, John let it slip that she'd been worried and had called around to find me, but she never said a word.” Emma pushed her glasses up on her nose. “I know my mother loves me, but without the discipline, it didn't always feel like it.” She sipped her wine.
Dan toyed with his fork and fell silent for a long moment before he raised his gaze to her face. “I guess that means you were never spanked."
"As a child or an adult?” Emma joked, surprised to find herself clenching her butt cheeks.
She expected him to laugh or at least smile, but his eyes remained serious. “I meant as a child, but my question could apply to both."
"My mother never punished me at all. The closest I ever got to a reprimand was when Summer would suggest I ‘reconsider my choices.’ John followed Summer's lead."
"How do you feel about spanking now?” He stroked the stem of his wineglass. The goblet appeared delicate and fragile next to his large hand.
"I think it's ill-advised. I support the concept of discipline. From my own childhood, I know kids need boundaries to feel secure and loved. But I don't believe spanking would have the intended positive effect. I suppose swatting a toddler on his diapered behind probably won't hurt him, but why hit at all when there are other alternatives?"
Dan tilted his head to the side. “So what about adults spanking adults?"
"What about it?” Emma squirmed and pressed her thighs together. Just talking about spanking caught her in a strange emotional tug-of-war, jerked her between discomfort and excitement. She wanted to both slam a lid on the discussion and rip it wide open. Oh, the stories she could tell! The urge rose again to confide in him about the Rod and Cane Society and her friend Melania, who was spanked regularly by her husband and who not only consented to it, but relished it.
"Do you approve, disapprove?"
"I don't get it.” She pursed her lips. Even after interviewing dozens of Auxiliary wives, she didn't have a clue why a woman would allow a man to rule their home, let alone permit him to apply a hand to her backside. She had flaws, but she'd dedicated herself to improving them. They didn't give a man the right to order her around, to enforce his will by inflicting physical pain. “Spankings hurt, don't they?” Her imagination flashed a scene of Dan smacking her ass as he fucked her from behind, and her heart went crazy in her chest.
An avid curiosity in spanking didn't mean that she wanted to experience one. If she sometimes thought about being spanked when she masturbated, well... She'd fantasized about having sex with two men too, and Lord knew she didn't want
that
to happen in real life.
"That's the point."
"That is the point,” she agreed. “Why would someone do something that hurts?”
Hurts so good
, came a wicked whisper. The insidious, shocking little voice beckoned her to step into the dark side, but she quickly smothered it. Refused to listen.
"A really intense orgasm can feel painful."
"That's different.” She'd approached her Rod and Cane story from a professional, objective base. This discussion had grown too personal. Uncomfortable. “All I know is that the first time a man spanked me would be the last time a man spanked me,” Emma said fiercely.
An unidentifiable emotion flashed across Dan's face. “Some people find it erotic, that it heightens their sexual pleasure."
"That's what they
say
,” she admitted and found her gaze drawn again to Dan's hands again. Strong, masculine, large. Gentle, but firm. In control, but not controlling. He'd held her hand as they walked from the car, the simple gesture causing her pulse to race. She knew how good it felt to have Dan touch her intimately, squeeze her ass cheeks. But to slap her butt? She shivered. She did
not
want to be spanked. Absolutely not. Never. No way.
Nunca.
Negatory.
"So, you don't think a spanking could be enjoyable?” Dan persisted, toying with his fork.
Emma thought of Melania. “Some people do,” she conceded. “But I'm not wired that way.” She shifted in her chair and gave a thankful sigh when Dan abruptly stood up.
"I'll get dessert. I promised you a brownie,” he said.
"Is there anything I can do?” Emma asked as Dan collected the dirty dishes.
"No, I've got it,” he said and disappeared into the house. Moments later, he appeared with two brownies, drizzled with chocolate syrup. “Here you go.” He set one in front of her and took his seat.
Emma forked a small bite into her mouth and closed her eyes in bliss. The rich, dark fudge tasted like heaven on a dessert plate. “Mm. This
is
sinful,” she said. “Anything this good has to be."
As decadent as the brownie was, it couldn't compare to the deliciousness of the man who'd served it. Pleasurable warmth filled her. She couldn't remember when a date had gone to such lengths to please her.
"I'm glad you're enjoying it,” he said and launched into an amusing anecdote about a client he'd worked with, but his chuckles struck her as forced.
By the time she'd eaten half her brownie, she noticed Dan hadn't touched his. “You're not eating."
"I'm full."
Emma was too, but she couldn't resist the dessert. “The brownie is delicious,” she said. “The entire dinner was. You're an excellent cook."
"Thank you.” He sounded distracted.
"You're welcome.” She studied his face. He
looked
perfectly normal, relaxing back in his chair. She must have imagined the tone.
"You have chocolate"—Dan reached out with his napkin to wipe her face, then jerked his hand back—"right here.” He touched the corner of his own mouth instead.
"Oh. Thanks.” Emma dabbed her lips. If he'd had chocolate on his mouth, she would have kissed it off, and not because of the chocolate. An unease she couldn't name settled over her.
"Is everything okay?” She nibbled her lip and peered at him. What could she have said wrong? Maybe she shouldn't have mentioned Summer or her unconventional upbringing or the way she wanted to quit a well-paying job for a lower salary at a newspaper. Did she seem unstable? Flighty? And how had they started talking about spanking? She hoped she'd made it clear she wasn't into kink, that she was perfectly normal. She didn't want him to think she was a weirdo. She remembered Melania asking if Dan was into spanking, and she'd said no. But now Emma's certainty slipped a little. She'd figured out Dan was an ass man, and he
had
asked her a lot of questions about spanking. But he hadn't come out and said what he thought of it. If he sought a woman to spank, why not say so? The dominant men in Rod and Cane made no bones about their practice. They told their women up front what to expect. Dan hadn't done that. Or had he been trying to? Was that the purpose of the whole spanking discussion?
Emma stifled a huffing sigh. She would drive herself crazy going round and round with thoughts like these. She studied Dan's face from underneath her lashes.
"I'm fine.” He answered with a smile, but the corners of his mouth barely turned upward. She recognized a fake grin when she saw one. Anxiety quickened in her stomach. What had she said? Or maybe she hadn't said anything.
Perhaps past hurts and disappointments were clouding her judgment. She'd had too many first dates that ended after a single evening. But she and Dan shared an emotional connection deeper than simple attraction. Didn't they? Yes, of course they did. She scolded herself.
Don't sabotage this.
Chapter Six
Dan wound his car down the mountain, a quiet Emma at his side. He knew his behavior had confused her, and she'd expected more of their date. So had he. And if he only desired a quick fuck, the evening's outcome would have been different. But he liked Emma. She seemed like the kind of woman with whom he could spend the rest of his life, and because of that, he would not see her again.
No man had ever laid a hand to Emma's ass, and in a covetous way, he itched to paddle her all the more. He longed to be the first lover to bring her ass to a full blush, to awaken her to the stinging pleasure of a good spanking and the resulting intimate afterglow. That she'd never been spanked didn't break the deal—that she never wanted to be did.
Silhouetted in the darkness, Emma sat ramrod straight on her perfect bottom, the alignment of her posture accentuating her full breasts. As they approached a streetlight, he stole a glimpse of her face, but she intercepted his glance, and the tentative smile she sent his way delivered a hard kick to his groin and his heart. Who was he kidding? He didn't want to be the
first
man to spank her—he wanted to be
only
one. Her ass belonged to him. Emma was his. Or should have been.
Instead he would deposit her unspanked on her doorstep, kiss her good-bye, and walk away.
Sayonara, sweetheart.
He shifted in his seat. His hard-on had worsened. Apparently his cock hadn't communicated with his brain to learn the relationship had ended. But his heart had, and it ached more fiercely every mile he drew closer to Emma's house. Only his common sense, which reminded him of past failures, insisted he was doing the right thing.
He handled the car efficiently, smoothly, but automatically as his warring emotions occupied his attention. Too soon, he arrived at Emma's cute little bungalow.
He switched off the engine. His stomach soured, and he swallowed. It was better to cut his losses now than to get more deeply involved and then break up. “I'll walk you to your door,” he said and exited the vehicle before she could ask any questions and undermine his resolve.
He curved his hand around her waist as they strolled up the sidewalk, and gritted his teeth as he silently cursed his weakness. He couldn't forget how smooth and silky her skin had felt in the shower, and he tightened his grip to draw her closer to his side.
"Nice night,” Emma commented.
Stars winked and glinted over the warm autumn evening. The scent of freshly mowed grass perfumed the air, while a silent stillness added a cloak of intimacy.
"Nice,” he answered. It sucked.
Desperately he grappled for an excuse to see her again as they neared her door and the end of their brief relationship. How could Emma really know if she liked or disliked spanking if she'd never gotten one? Maybe he could get her to read some erotic romances involving spanking. Her disapproval of the practice stemmed from a lack of experience, a dearth of knowledge. Once Emma warmed to the
concept
, he could smack her bottom lightly. Then—
Then nothing. She'd made it clear where she stood when she said she wasn't “wired” to enjoy spanking. One either did or didn't, and dating another woman who'd only go through the motions just to please him would leave them both unsatisfied.
They reached her front step, illuminated by the porch light, and Emma fished her keys from her purse, unlocked her door, and pushed it open. “Would you like to come in?” From behind her glasses, her eyes glowed with hope.
Fuck, yeah.
“No, I'd better not. I have an early-morning meeting.” He settled his hands on her shoulders one last time.
"It was a wonderful evening. Thank you so much for dinner,” she said.
If he were a better man, he'd tell her outright he wouldn't call her, they wouldn't see each other again. Coward that he was, he remained silent, lowered his head, and brushed his lips over hers.
She pressed her body to his, and when she stroked his mouth with her tongue, he lost it. Groaning, he crushed her in his arms and devoured her the way he'd been longing to. She sighed her pleasure, and the soft moan made his body throb. He hugged her tight and kissed her hungrily, hoping to fill himself with enough of her sweetness to last a lifetime.
Something bumped against their legs, and Emma jumped, then tore her mouth away. “Oh no! Jinx!” she cried.