Body Politics (7 page)

Located in a downtown high-rise, his unit wasn’t on the penthouse floor, only midway up the tower, but his corner location permitted windows on two sides, an expansive deck, and a dizzying view of the city lights.

Or maybe his stated intention caused her lightheadedness, created the impression that the situation was about to whirl out of her control. She’d picked at her dinner, eating a little of the crusty Italian bread and a few bites of her chicken piccata, forcing it down in hopes it would settle her stomach. She was getting used to Mark’s gentlemanly manners—his insistence on opening doors, pulling out her chair—and his courteous behavior continued throughout dinner despite the fact that she knew she’d disappointed him. By contrast, her behavior with Elizabeth appeared churlish. The woman was one of her strongest allies on the board of directors, and Stephanie had treated her shabbily. She wasn’t proud of herself, but that didn’t give Mark the right to decide what she would or wouldn’t do. To benefit the next woman who dated him, she needed to set him straight.

So she agreed to go to his condo.

As had been annoyingly pointed out to her on a couple of occasions, she didn’t
have
to be here. She could have left at any time during the evening. And maybe she should have for her peace of mind. This man was far too sexy for his own good—and hers. It was far easier to put a man in his place when you weren’t fighting the urge to curl up in his arms and rub yourself against him. Every accidental brush of his body, every rumbling comment only increased the ache. He’d gotten under her skin. There. She’d admitted it. A lesser woman would have taken the safe way out and run for the hills. But feminists didn’t flee; they stood their ground. She was a warrior.
Amazon
. She blinked at the unexpected pressure behind her eyes and straightened her posture.

Mark was going to get a good one if he thought he could boss her around and threaten her with spanking. Who did he think he was dealing with? Just let him try to spank her, and he would find himself prone on the floor, kissing dust bunnies.

She wasn’t some meek Rod and Cane wife who’d been spanked into submission. Like Elizabeth. No, bad example. Nothing about Elizabeth appeared meek, which was why she’d never figured out her friend’s true leaning. Good grief, she was known as “the bitch with balls” because of the way she decimated her opponents in the courtroom. Yet she obviously got something out of spanking. What did Elizabeth know that she didn’t?

Nothing. That was what. Stephanie pressed her palm to her stomach. If she had butterflies, it was because she was bracing to do battle.

She set her purse on a marble console table. Laced and then unlaced her fingers.

“Please, sit down. You and I need to talk.” Mark gestured to one of the sofas.

It couldn’t hurt to sit, so she complied. The couch was firm beneath her bottom, but its leather was supple. What appeared hard had a softer side. Mark sat next to her, his knee touching hers, his face serious. This was a date, for goodness’ sake, and he was treating her like a recalcitrant schoolgirl called to the principal’s office. She felt a tingle between her thighs.

He surprised her by taking her hand. His fingers were warm as he stroked her palm, igniting more shivers up her arm. He kissed her hand, and her heart fluttered. Beneath his stern expression she spied desire, confirmed by his next words.

“I’m very attracted to you,” he said. “You’re a beautiful woman inside and out. I respect your spirit, your drive, your ambition. You turn me on—and you infuriate me. Like your behavior this evening.”

She opened her mouth to tell him she regretted her actions, but he shook his head. “Let me speak. I’ve learned something about myself over the years, in my marriage. I need to be the man in the relationship, the one who leads, who sets the pace, who decides what’s acceptable and what’s not.”

“You want to dominate.”

“I wouldn’t describe it quite that way, but I won’t quibble over your use of the word. I want you to express your feelings. In fact, I insist on it. But the manner in which you do so must be respectful. You were rude tonight. To me, and especially to Liz.”

She already regretted her behavior with Elizabeth. Chalk it up to the potency of the Bottom Burner, the stress of dealing with Bethany’s passive-aggressive shenanigans, and the shock of finding out the truth about Mark— she’d overreacted. But she wasn’t going to admit that to him. Not now.

“I was blindsided,” she said.

“I understand why you see it that way, but the fact is, I deliberately made an effort to be very open and honest with you from the start. I brought you to Rod and Cane so you would know the kind of man I am and what I expect. That’s why I’m going to be very blunt right now. Our relationship will be a domestic discipline one.”

Stephanie snorted. “It astounds me that you would
assume
we would have any relationship, let alone a domestic discipline one!”

“Denial doesn’t make it any less so. We’ve gone out twice. And you came back to my condo with me. We’ve started something, Stephanie. And because the beginning sets the precedent for the rest of the relationship, I’m asking for your permission to spank you tonight.”

His audacity, his unrepentant sexism caused her jaw to drop, while quivery, almost sexual warmth kindled down low and spread. She pictured herself laid out over his lap as he smacked her bottom, and her knees started to shake. Something crazy deep inside whispered for her to submit. It was akin to staring down a precipice and wondering what it would be like to jump. She tried to pull away from him, but he maintained his hold. “Spank me, my ass!” she whipped out.

Amusement lent a slight curve to his lips. “Generally that’s how it occurs, although on occasion I may administer a few smacks to your pussy.”

A strong spasm shuddered through the body part he’d mentioned. “The hell you will.” She yanked hard and freed her hand, but her victory was hollow. She suspected she’d gotten away only because he’d allowed it.

“You should know that swearing will get you spanked—unless, of course, what you’re yelling is, ‘Fuck me, harder.’”

She wondered how he felt about a face slap. No, she didn’t. She knew. Her butt muscles tightened.

“You’re entitled to your emotions and should express your feelings, but I expect respect.”

She ignored the wetness between her legs, the tightness of her beaded nipples. “You’re insane.”
She
was insane. Why was her body reacting to his outrageous pronouncement with arousal instead of anger? She should be charging out of his condo like a cat with its tail on fire. She clapped a hand over her mouth to smother a choke of laughter. That was what he wanted to do to her: set her tail on fire.

“Are you afraid you can’t tolerate a spanking?”

“I can handle anything you mete out.” She glared at him. “I just don’t believe you.”

“What don’t you believe?”

“Your absurd assumption that I would go along with this. What gives you the idea a feminist would allow a man to spank her?”

“I don’t assume anything,” he said. “That’s why we’re discussing this. As for why
you
would allow it, well, whether you like it or not, you’re a natural submissive. I see it in your eyes, in the way you carry yourself, in your body’s responses to me.”

Her hard nipples ached. She resisted the urge to glance at her chest. The vest was wool, thank goodness. “You don’t see anything!” she said, hoping it was true. He did turn her on, but it was in spite of his domineering ways, not because of them. Wasn’t it?

“You protest like being submissive is a bad thing. It’s neither good nor bad; it’s neutral—like being introverted or extroverted, gregarious or serious. Masculine or feminine. But fighting against your nature requires you swim against the current. How long can you maintain that before you deplete your energy?”

Was that why she was so tired all the time? Why some days she felt like the world demanded more than she had to give? Ridiculous. She worked long hours. That was why.

“So you’re saying men are naturally dominant and women are naturally submissive.”

“That wasn’t what I meant, but in general? Yes. It’s not true of all men and women, of course.”

“And that’s why men should spank women?”

“I’m not saying anyone
should
do anything. But for many people, that form of communication keeps the relationship oiled and running smoothly.”

“Communication. That’s an interesting euphemism.”

Mark continued. “The trust a woman gives to a man when she bares her bottom cuts through all the petty relationship strife and strengthens their bond.”

“Why can’t the trust develop by the woman spanking the man? Why don’t you drop
your
pants?” She dared him.

“Would that do it for you?” His gaze was serious, intense. “If I allowed you to spank me, would you trust me enough to lie over my knee?”

“Like you would do that.” She rolled her eyes.

“Don’t roll your eyes at me. It’s not respectful.” His tone filled in the blanks.
Roll your eyes, and I’ll spank you.

She wiped her damp palms on her leggings. Stress had short-circuited her nervous system. Her entire body had gone haywire. Her stomach tumbled, her knees trembled, yet her pussy contracted, and her clit pulsed. Her breasts felt heavy and achy. And she was still here. Because despite his crazy ideas, being with him felt like she’d finally snapped into the right groove. He excited her, and in some strange way, he comforted her.

“Let’s go in the other room.” Mark tugged her to her feet.

Before she could protest, he’d propelled her into his bedroom, flipping on the lights as they passed through the doorway.

Underneath a glowing tray ceiling, a king bed dressed in nubby gray rested atop a platform, requiring two steps to climb into it. Plump pillows in silk a lighter shade than the coverlet leaned against a black headboard. That was all she had time to notice, because she jerked her gaze to Mark as he moved to a sleek black armoire and extracted a leather-covered paddle.

Her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth.
Oh Gloria.

He shoved the paddle at her. “Here.”

After stepping to the platform, he undid his belt buckle and unzipped his trousers. He lowered his pants and briefs to his knees, exposing a tight, round ass, and leaned over the bed, resting his weight on his elbows. Stephanie was riveted on his behind, her face on fire. She’d fucked him in the car, but it had been her choice—not to mention dark—and this was so unexpected, she could only clutch the paddle in shock.

He peered at her. “I’m going to allow this only once, so do your worst. Have you ever spanked anyone before?”

“Of course not.”

He touched his back. “Stick to my butt. Don’t hit the lower spine. And please, avoid the family jewels. I’d like to have children someday.” He faced forward again.

She gawked. His balls were visible between his slightly spread legs. Dark hair was sprinkled over his muscled thighs, but his ass was as smooth as a baby’s. And taut. Buns of steel.

Stephanie swallowed. Several times during the evening she’d itched to hit him, but now the urge had vanished. But shouldn’t she take a whack anyway? He had no qualms about paddling her. This was her opportunity to settle a score for womankind. To show him she was dominant, not submissive like he claimed. To reassure herself.

She tested the paddle with a smack against her thigh. She flinched at the crack, but he didn’t so much as twitch. That clinched it. “All right!”

Right-handed, she stood to his left to get a good swing. She brought the paddle down in the center of his left cheek. His skin turned pink on contact but then faded to his normal tone. He uttered not a sound. Her stomach felt a little sick. She struck his other cheek harder. She winced, but he didn’t.

Wasn’t he supposed to yell
ow
or something?

Two quick smacks on the first cheek. Another hard one to the right.

No sound.

No reason. What was the point of paddling him? Because he’d called her bluff? She didn’t endorse copying what men did if it made no sense. That wasn’t liberation. She threw the paddle on the bed. “I can’t do it.”

He rolled onto his back and rested on his elbows. Even flaccid, his penis was big, well shaped, and surrounded by dark curly hair that disappeared under his shirt. “Are you sure?” he asked. “This is your last chance.”

He should have appeared ridiculous lying there, his pants scrunched around his ankles, but he didn’t. He seemed at ease, a man comfortable in his own skin. She feared looking him in the face, but she couldn’t keep staring at his penis, so reluctantly she met his gaze. “I’m sure.”

He stood and pulled up his pants. “We have an agreement, then. I’m going to spank you now.”

Technically she hadn’t
verbally
said yes, but her consent had been implicit. She could inform him thanks but no thanks, she had no wish to proceed further, but her conscience wouldn’t permit it. She sensed he stood by his word. He would never lie, never cheat. And though his domineering attitude set her teeth on edge, he’d gone out of his way to attend to her comfort and her needs even after she’d angered him. He’d noticed immediately she didn’t like bourbon and got her something she did like. She didn’t like him, but she trusted him. No, that wasn’t true. Despite his arrogance, she
did
like him. Too much. That was the problem. He was all wrong for her, and she needed to get him out of her system. And what better way to do that but with a good, hard spanking? That would get it through her thick head and pulsing body once and for all that Mark was not the man for her. Then she could sail away undistracted.

Her knees knocked together. “Yes,” she said, wishing her voice sounded stronger, wishing the little pang in her heart would go away.

The leap of approval in his gaze zinged to her core, further weakening her legs. Never had a man looked at her with such pride. Oddly it kindled a desire to please him.

Chapter Six

At Stephanie’s quiet “yes,” lust and relief rocketed through Mark’s body. He had figured it was a long shot that she would allow him to paddle her. Logic told him he needed to give her more time to get to know him and to accept the notion of discipline. Except that he
needed
to get this woman over his knee. Needed it in a way he never had. With Ronnie and other women he’d been with, discipline, dominance, and spanking had been more of a concept. With Stephanie it was substantive, concrete. Her responses to him had revealed her submissive nature; his overwhelming attraction to her had demonstrated his dominant one. Heat curled in his stomach as he regarded her. She stood there, quaking yet courageous in her boots. Her willingness to bare her bottom represented no small act for her and for them, and he vowed to protect that trust. Though she didn’t realize it yet, she was taking the first step toward acceptance of her submissive nature. As he’d told her, the start of a relationship predicted its future.