Answering to Him (Old-Fashioned Husband) (6 page)

“O
K,” he said slowly.

I felt my heart sink. I could tell he didn’t get it. I didn’t think I had the words to explain it to him, when I barely understood it myself. Something inside me knew that I needed his guidance, I needed his punishment. But how could I ever make him see that
? How could I put what I felt into words that wouldn’t make me sound like a crazy person?

“You know what? Forget it.”

“No, I am not just going to forget about it, Alicia,” he objected. “We’ve been married too long to start acting like this, OK? If something’s bothering you, I want to know.”

He was right, but I didn’t know how to bridge the gap I felt opening up between us. “I’m tired.”

“Fine, you can go to bed.” Nodding, I tried to pull away from him, but he tightened his hold on me, adding, “
After
we talk about those tickets.”

Uh-oh. That didn’t sound good. Since my outburst, I’d forgotten all about the tickets. “I will figure out a way to pay for them,” I said.

To my surprise, Oliver hauled me over his lap. I reached my hands out to prop myself up on the comforter, turning my head to look at him. Before I could open my mouth to protest, he’d already slid my sweat pants down to my knees and swept my panties down with them. “It’s not about the money.”

“Then what—”

My protest was cut off with two resounding smacks to my bare bottom, one to each quivering cheek. “This is about having more regard for your safety.” As soon as he’d finished speaking, he began warming my bottom in earnest.

“Stop it!” I cried out. “Jonah will hear you!”

“Then I’d suggest you keep it down.” His cool remark made me insanely angry, but I bit back my retort and tried to get into the rhythm of the spanking.

I felt my temper rise with each and every biting spank that landed on my tender flesh. My eyes filled with tears, but they were hot, angry ones, not repentant at all. Just when I thought I was about to boil over with frustration, he stopped. I could have slapped him, I was so pissed.

“Remember that every time you get the urge to have a lead foot,” he said, and I scowled at him. If he noticed my mutinous face, he didn’t comment.

With a huff, I turned away from him, crawling into bed and burying myself under the blankets. I was seething
with rage. Who did he think he
was
? He hadn’t even listened to me, or given me a chance to defend myself! He’d just started spanking, like some… some… some hot-shot that thought he got the final say!

I fumed all night long, long after Oliver set his book down and turned off the light. Then I stared into the darkness, too wound up to sleep.

Oliver had gotten pretty handsy in his sleep, and even though I’d kept shrugging him off, his hand still found an intimate spot to caress no matter which way I turned. By the time his alarm went off, I’d had little to no sleep, and I knew my face reflected it. The way my husband drew back when he saw me confirmed it.

“How’d you sleep?” he asked, as though nothing of any importance had happened between us. Maybe to him, it hadn’t, but I was still angry.

“Not well,” I replied shortly, throwing off the covers and getting out of bed.

“I was thinking about taking off for lunch today.”

I ignored the olive branch he was trying to offer me, and reached for my robe. I slid it over my arms and pulled the sash tight around my waist, tying it into a bow.

“Did you hear me, Alicia?”

Of course I heard you, I thought to myself. I’m not deaf. Aloud I said only, “Yes, Oliver.”

“I was thinking it’d be nice to go to
Fredicks’.”

I closed my eyes
at the mention of our favorite Italian restaurant. Just that one word alone conjured mouth-watering aromas of meat sauce, and cannoli that was to die for. He knew he was fighting dirty even bringing it up. “It’s expensive,” I replied brusquely.

“We can spring it,” he decided
.

I opened my mouth to remind him that he’d spanked me for getting two tickets, which assured that we most certainly could
not
afford it, but I decided not to remind him of my wrongdoing. “There’s no way you’re going to get in and out of there in an hour.”

“I’ll take an extended lunch.” He said it with a shrug. “They owe me.”

The finality in his voice decided it. I knew he wasn’t going to take no for an answer. “OK. I have to run out and get a few things for the house today.” I let that sink in, waiting. I knew what was coming, what always came after I got a ticket. The inevitable long-suffering sigh, the warning to be careful, the look that said he didn’t trust me to obey traffic laws.

“Alright.” He smiled widely, much to my surprise. “How’s eleven-thirty for lunch?”

“That’s it?” I asked dubiously.

Oliver paused, his brown eyes quizzical. “Does that not work for you?”

“No ‘keep it under sixty’, no ‘remember, it’s not a race’, no ‘looks like we won’t be having a very merry Christmas this year’?”

He chuckled at my attempt to
mimic his deep, even voice. “I don’t think I’ve ever said that last one.”

“Maybe not,” I admitted.

“Look.” He grabbed for my hand, and this time I let him take it. “We talked about it last night. As far as I’m concerned, it’s done.”

“Talked?” I echoed. “You mean you spanked me.”

He nailed me down with his stern stare. “It’s done.”

I nodded
and allowed myself to be kissed before he headed for the shower. I sank down on the bed, exhausted, but wide awake. He’d certainly given me a lot to think about.

* * * * *

I was more than a little bit awed when we walked into Fredricks’. It was the first restaurant he’d ever brought me to, desperate to impress me on our first date. What he hadn’t expected was that after three courses, a bottle of wine and a dessert, our bill would be almost three hundred dollars. Oliver had barely brought seventy, and as an unemployed college student, I didn’t have much to chip in.

Luckily for us, the owners had taken pity on us, and let us wash dishes in the back. It had been an odd date, but somehow still romantic. We’d stood side by side, our elbows touching as we’d scrubbed plates and silverware.
At one point, he’d splashed the water deliberately, sending a spray of water shooting toward me, soap suds and all. When the water hit me, I spluttered, looking down at my dress in disbelief. A big, sudsy bubble was on my dress, but when Oliver grinned at me, all I could do was laugh.

We’d come a long way from the kids we had been back then. As the fondness of the memory washed over me, I reached for Oliver’s hand and took it in mine, giving
it an affectionate squeeze. He turned a tender smile on me and looked like he would say something, but the hostess stepped up and announced that our table was ready. We followed her to our table, and Oliver pulled out my chair and motioned for me to sit down.

“Guess our usual was taken,” I mused, looking at the window seat that overlooked the bay.

“Oh, well,” he shrugged.

I took a look around, surveying all of the small, built for two tables. Every table had a crisp, linen tablecloth and an array of beautiful, expensive fresh flowers that permeated
the air. Candelabras lined the wall, their candles flickering and lending a romantic ambiance to the restaurant. This place held a lot of memories for us. We had celebrated a lot of anniversaries here, and we often came for Valentine’s Day or my birthday. Which led me to my next thought— what was the special occasion today?

“Thank you for bringing me,” I said to my husband.

He looked up from the menu he’d been studying—I didn’t know why he bothered. He always ordered the Veal Parmesan. “You’re welcome.”

“Any particular reason?”

“Hmm?”

“I mean, is there a special reason you brought me here today?”

“Can’t I take out the most beautiful woman in the world?”

I was taken aback by the flattery, and I couldn’t help but smile. “Thank you.” I was surprised by the warmth, the kindness in his smile. How did he forget that he’d had me over his knee, smacking my butt
just last night? How could he sit across from me, ordering a bottle of sparkling water like everything was normal? Didn’t he see how different things were now? I didn’t know if we would ever be “normal” again.

“I mean it. I love you.” He leaned across the table and stared at me meaningfully. I wanted to give in and gaze adoringly back at him, but I just couldn’t.

“Do you?”

Now it was his turn to look surprised. “Excuse me?”

“
Do
you?” I insisted. “Do you love me?”

“Of course, Alicia. How could you even ask me that?”

“I don’t know,” I shrugged, taking a sip of water. “Maybe because you had me bare-assed over your lap last night right before you spanked me!” I flushed, mortified, when I heard our waiter clear his throat. Damn it, how long had he been standing there, listening?

“Are you two ready to order?”

“We’ll need a few more minutes,” Oliver said without taking his eyes off of me.

I smacked my menu down on the table. “But I knew what I wanted!”

“Alicia, you throw that menu down again, or anything for that matter, and instead of Italian I will take you home and we can have a repeat performance of last night.”

My eyes widened. Geez, he sounded so serious. What was going on with him? When had he become so sure of himself, so certain that I would obey him?
Why
did I find it so damn sexy? The way his eyes pinned me down right now had my pulse beating so hard I thought it might break the skin.

And the real question was, if I found it so sexy, why was I acting like such a bitch? Why couldn’t I just admit that I liked it when he was in charge? I liked it all; I liked the way it transformed him, I liked how it made me feel safe. I wasn’t sure why it did, but it did. Hearing that authority in his voice soothed me as much as it aroused me. So
why
couldn’t I tell him? Why couldn’t I, at the very least, admit it to myself and behave?

But no, something inside of me, some frightened, unsure part of me kept thinking that if I gave in, if I let him think it was OK to boss me around that he would go
from being my loving husband to a dictator. It was almost comical; I’d been so afraid of telling him I liked sexy spankings, and when I’d finally come clean I’d ended up with so much more than I bargained for.

“Alicia? Did you hear me?” His voice held a warning, and I snapped out of my jumbled thoughts.

“Yes, I heard you,” I replied softly. At his arched eyebrow, I felt a giggle escape me, even though I didn’t find it funny. “Yes,
sir
,” I corrected.

With a snap of his fingers, Oliver summoned our waiter, who was standing at a discreet yard away. He surprised me by ordering for us both—lasagna for him, and shrimp Alfredo for me. Before it could even occur to me to mind, he turned those warm chocolate eyes of his on me. “Is that OK?”

Mutely, I nodded, handing my menu over to the waiter. To my surprise, when I thought about it I found that it was. I’d never understood why women fought for the right to open their own door or pull their own chair out. I’d always found those things romantic and chivalrous, and I thought him ordering for me was sweet, though surprising since he’d never done it before.

But I didn’t say any of those things. What I said was, “You didn’t get the veal
parmesan.”

“I like yours better.
”

He was
being quite the charmer today, wasn’t he? Happiness bubbled inside me at the compliment.

“Besides…I have to admit it’s exciting, trying new things.”

I reached across the table for his hand. I heard what he was saying, loud and clear. “I find it scary sometimes,” I admitted.

“Don’t be scared, your shrimp will be cooked and covered in Alfredo. They can’t bite.”

I stared at him, agape, before throwing my head back and laughing. It wasn’t long before his hearty chuckle joined my giggles.

“I love the sound of your laugh,” he said when we’d settled down.

“You know what I love?” I asked, my voice as sweet as honey.

“What’s that?”

I paused dramatically, batting my eyelashes at him. “Shrimp Alfredo.”

“Tsk, tsk,” Oliver clucked his tongue, slapping my hand lightly. “Such a tease.”

We fell into easy conversation after that, talking and laughing together until our meals arrived. I’d finally started to relax—it helped that I’d pushed the spanking incident to the back of my mind.

The same could not be said for my husband, however. I’d just taken my first bite when he said, “Is that how you really feel, Alicia? That I don’t love you?”

I set my fork down and chewed slowly, giving myself some time to think before I answered, since all I seemed to be doing lately was putting my foot in my mouth every time I opened it. “I’m not sure.”

“Come on,” he scoffed. “You either know or you don’t.”

“I always thought you did,” I offered. “I mean, I do. It’s just…last night really confused me.”

“In what way?”

“You really made me mad,” I admitted, forcing a laugh.

“I got that memo,” Oliver said wryly. “I didn’t mean to make you mad, honey. I just didn’t know what else to do. When it comes to your speeding, I have tried everything. We’ve talked it out, we’ve agreed that you’d be more careful, and you’re not. I’ve yelled at you, I’ve given you the silent treatment, neither of which I liked.”

“So you
liked
—” I glanced around and lowered my voice to be sure no one heard me this time around, “you liked spanking me?”

He grinned at my apparent embarrassment. “No, I didn’t like it. Well, not like that,” he specified. “
But you brought it up, after all, and if it works…”

His casual air about the whole thing made me want to go get a speeding ticket, just to prove that he couldn’t tell me what to do. After taking another bite of my pasta, I said as much.

“After sixteen years of marriage, don’t you think I know that I can’t tell you what to do?” he replied, raising an eyebrow.

“Then what’s this about?”

“I’m not trying to tell what to do, Alicia. I’m showing you what will happen when you get a speeding ticket. And I will say this—”

“
Shh!” I hissed, seeing our waiter approaching out of the corner of my eye. Oliver smirked at me, but dutifully fell silent.

“How is everything?” he asked pleasantly, avoiding eye contact with me.

“Fine, thank you,” I replied stiffly. He refilled our water glasses before making a hasty exit. “We might have to stop coming here,” I said with a sigh.

“Oh, come on,” he laughed. “You just made this place more exciting.”

I rolled my eyes and tried to go back to my food, hoping that he’d let the matter drop.

“What I was telling you, honey, is that I’ve been thinking about it, and I think I went too easy on you last night.”

I promptly dropped my fork. It clattered on the table, and landed in my lap, smearing Alfredo sauce on my skirt. “Fuck!” I swore under my breath.

“Alicia!”

The sharp tone in his voice made my heart leap into my throat; yet, I could still feel butterflies in my tummy. “It’s an expensive skirt,” I said by way of apology.

“Like I was saying,” he repeated, an edge to his voice. “If we’re going to do this, I think we need to set expectations.”

I eyed him balefully before saying, “You mean
you
will set expectations?”