After Dinner
Wiping his hands on the dish towel, he turned to watch her as she stretched to put a glass on a high shelf. The sleekness of her body had always excited him. But as they’d spent more time together, something more had developed, a tug at his heart when he looked at her, that he had not expected.
He reached for another plate to dry, and thought of how they made love. The first time, he’d wanted her so badly he could hardly resist handling her roughly. The memory of her unexpectedly joyful response made him smile.
They wanted the same thing. A friendly pat could become a full-fledged spanking in no time. When it didn’t occur to him to treat her that way, she’d find some playful way to give him cause. They had fun together.
A gentle nudge jolted him from his reverie, as she took the plate from his hand. Were she not now been holding something fragile, he’d have…
Well, it wasn’t that easy any more. To see her in pain affected him far more than it had at first, and in a more confusing way. Their games were becoming harder to play, because he could not keep the tenderness from his voice when he scolded her.
What if he became unable to give her what she wanted? He loved the contact, he loved the fierce intensity of it. But every instance of mock anger at her teasing was followed by tender stroking and effusive praise, lest she imagine that he was not delighted with her. Sometimes he found his mind skipping ahead to that part, and it became hard to raise his hand.
“Hey.” Her voice, soft, but with her teasing inflection. “You gonna stand there, or hand me another dish? What good are you, huh?”
Adrenaline. What good was he, indeed. After the enraptured way they looked at each other over dinner, she talks to him like this? Didn’t she know it was her own seductive ways that made him so confused? How dare she. He put the plate back in the sink.
Digging his fingers into the hair behind her neck, he at once held her as firmly as he could, and kissed her lips as gently as he knew how. She stayed there with her eyes closed and her lips slightly parted, and he thought perhaps she had forgotten to keep breathing. He shook her a little, and she moaned.
“Upstairs,” he said.
“I’m sorry,” she exhaled. “I’ll be good.”
“Of course you will be, little one. You always are. Very good. The best.” He held her wrists tightly behind her and marched her out of the kitchen.
–end–
by Hound Dog
