Rissa guessed it took a considerable amount of fuel to keep a man his size satisfied, but she realized she would love a chance to try to satisfy him in other, more interesting areas…
"So what does a small town cop do all day, besides rescuing stranded damsels?"
Although there was no one else in the restaurant, they were huddled together as if they were worried about being overheard, each of them leaning in towards the other across the table, occasionally scarfing a still piping hot onion ring or fry.
"Well, I have to confess that I did a lot more as a deputy. Sonny earns every penny he makes. But it's my butt in a sling if someone doesn't follow procedure, etc. So I have a lot more pressure than Sonny. Having been in the military, I'm a pretty routine guy. I'm in the office at nine or so, and I go home when I figure the job's done. Sometimes that's early, especially in the spring and fall when there are fewer tourists and fewer blizzards." He pinned her with his gaze and she had the grace to squirm a bit.
"The rest of the time is signing off on a lot of paperwork, doing some training, and attending council and board meetings, especially during budget talks, so I can make sure they don't have us riding around on tricycles to save money."
That had her giggling, and he realized how much he enjoyed the sound of her laughter. She didn't try to suppress it at all, as some women did, as if it was a crime to have a laugh.
"Do you still patrol at all?"
"Not much."
Rissa snapped her fingers. "Damn. I would love to do a ride along."
His frown told her all she needed to know about his thoughts on that matter. "No."
"No?" she parroted back to him, as if entirely unfamiliar with the word.
"No."
"But I could go with Sonny sometime."
"No, you couldn't."
Rissa frowned. She wasn't much used to being thwarted in getting something she wanted. She was already plotting a way around him.
And he was looking like a thundercloud, which she really didn't like, so she said something outrageous to distract him. "Did you know that my sister thinks you don't really like women?"
He'd gone from thundercloud to thoroughly alarmed, at her statement, which hadn't been her intention at all.
"No, no, no. Not that you don't like them sexually, just that you don't, you know, like women very much." It wasn't much of a clarification, she realized, hoping he got the subtleties.
"Well, although I shudder to think what she might be basing her impression on, I'm glad your sister doesn't think I'm gay."He looked puzzled as he said that to her, then shook his head. "And she's wrong about my attitude towards them. I like women."
Marissa smiled, although she would realize in a split second that it was premature. "I thought she was wrong."
"I think every man should own one or two of them at some point in his life." He had that shit-eating grin on his face again. The one she was rapidly learning to hate.
Her smile evaporated like so much rain in the desert, and then she did the only thing any red blooded American woman could do upon hearing something that patently outrageous. She hauled back her platform-heeled foot as far as was possible under her own chair, then hauled off and kicked him as hard as she could.
Chapter 5
There was a very satisfying thud when several inches of plastic connected quite solidly with his shin.
Rissa figured she'd hit bone.
Good.
He didn't so much as flinch, but impaled her with his gaze, his jaw set, lips in a thin, angry line. Suddenly, he'd become the no nonsense man who rescued her, combined with the one who had already promised her a spanking this evening.
"Lady, you just bought yourself another good tanning, and I don't give a flying fuck whose sister-in-law you are." So much for keeping things vanilla tonight, he thought, then dismissed it immediately. This required swift, strict action.
Dodge stood, dropping a wad of twenties on the table, the size of which distracted Rissa momentarily, at least until he grabbed her arm – not painfully, but in a way that let her know she had no hope of ever extracting it – and practically frog marched her out to his truck.
Instead of putting her in on the passenger's side, as if he knew he shouldn't offer this woman any potential mode of escape, he instead lifted her in on his side, forcing her to scoot over, but not allowing her to get very far away from him once he'd gotten in himself.
Not that she didn't try to move away from him. She wasn't an idiot. She knew she'd gone a bit too far, at least as far as he was concerned. Her errant mind wondered if it would have been better to have slapped him across the face. With a man like this, you could never really tell.
As soon as she'd just begun to lean the slightest bit towards the passenger's side of the bench seat, a strong arm snaked around her waist and was all of the deterrent she needed. She could barely breathe, much less go anywhere.
Rissa figured he was going to take her to his house, and she'd have a chance to escape him there, but she had pegged him dead wrong.
Dodge wasn't about to wait that long. He intended to spank her – and spank her good – just as he preferred – as soon after the little brat made the mistake as possible, so that she connected her misbehavior with the resultant punishment. He believed in delivering discipline that was as immediate as he could manage.
So they found themselves at one of the many boat launch ramps in the area that was completely deserted at this time of night, with the moonlight reflecting off the placid – but frigid – waters of the harbor. But he hadn't brought her here to neck. As soon as he put the truck in park and pulled the emergency brake – not turning the car off so that she would still be somewhat warm – Dodge began to slide towards the middle of the seat, surprising Rissa into obeying without question and scooting more towards the passenger's side door – but not far enough to give her ideas. Just enough so that he knew he had room to tug her over his lap, and he did, before she got a chance to foment any form of rebellion.
Finding herself with her head next to the steering wheel, laid out over his lap like all of the women she'd read about online who actually lived this lifestyle she'd coveted for so long, was like having a pail of cold sea water thrown over most of her body. Although portions of her anatomy were so achingly hot that they wouldn't even flinch at that right now, she had the sobering thought.
Son of a bitch! He really was going to spank her!
Rissa felt one heavy arm come to rest across her back, almost in warning, while big fingers were busy trying to divest her of her skirt.
And it was not cooperating. As much as he loved seeing her in it, getting her out of it wasn't anywhere near as easy as it should be.
Finally, he used both hands to shinny it up over her hips, leaving what little fabric that comprised the garment around her waist, like a belt. A very expensive belt at that, he imagined. It was then that he realized – with a bolt of lightning to his groin – that she wasn't wearing any panties, but rather old-fashioned stockings, held up by an obscenely sexy lace garter.
"God in Heaven," he whispered reverently, already reaching for the tabs to release the garters in the back, so that he would have unimpeded access to her wonderfully – and startlingly – bare bottom.
He was completely unable, however, once that little deed had been done, to stop himself from cupping each of those luscious mounds in his hand. They were, he realized his mouth watering, absolutely perfect. Rounder and fuller than he would have thought, considering her size. He longed to nip – then lick – every glorious inch of them, and just barely managed to corral his libido enough to remind himself that he had a higher purpose here, and that such things could wait.
Not long, he knew, but long enough to educate a certain miscreant that kicking him – or hitting him in anything other than a very playful manner – was entirely unacceptable, and that if she disobeyed that rule, she was going to earn herself a trip over his knee faster than almost anything else she could do.
; Almost, he amended silently. He didn't think there was much he could put past Rissa, so that was more open ended than he'd ever needed it to be before.
Her skin was a creamy, milky white in the moonlight, and he was glad to see that she didn't seem to go for the tanning craze. Her ethereal paleness suited her, somehow, what with her strawberry blonde hair and bright green eyes.
Not that Rissa was taking all of this lying down…well, she wasn't going to let him do this to her without a struggle, anyway, despite the fact that she already was lying down, in the quintessentially vulnerable position for a spankee.
As much as she had fantasized about this happening, she found herself surprisingly unprepared for the reality of it. The cab of the truck was roomier than a car's might have been, but she was still in danger of rearing her head up and whacking it on the steering wheel. At least his truck was an automatic, so she didn't have to worry about unexpectedly straddling the gearshift knob.
But it was still unbelievably intimate, especially since they didn't know each other that well, and Rissa found herself trying – futilely – to twist and turn and wiggle and squirm her way back to some semblance of safety, although she began to realize with disheartening speed that she wasn't going to go anywhere until he allowed it.
And that thought, along with pretty much everything else about what was happening, only fed the fire in her traitorous crotch. If he didn't stop cupping her cheeks like that shortly, she wasn't going to be able to be responsible for her hips, which were desperate for him to move those big fingers of his just a few inches south, to where they would be doing her a whole lot more good.
Before she could coax him, wordlessly, into obeying her, though, he delivered the first swat, his open palm crashing down onto her tender nates with a crack that resounded terribly around her, especially since it wasn't alone for long.
Marissa had wanted to scream at that first slap, but was unable to. Instead she found herself – much to her embarrassment – immediately thrown into one of those cycles where she expelled every bit of breath in her lungs, only to draw it in again before she was able to yowl her unhappiness, which her brain was quite sure would cause him to see the error of his ways immediately.
It had to. This friggin' hurt entirely too much for it to go on much longer, surely. Right?
Wrong.
Marissa hated to be wrong, but in this, it was devastating. She didn't know what it was that she had thought her first real spanking would be like, but it wasn't this hot mess. Gone from her mind was every thought of sexual titillation, visions of getting him so hot that he had to turn her over and take her right then and there, and even, really, escaping. He had reduced her, in the space of about the first six swats, to a sobbing, yelping, flailing young lady who was learning, the hard way, that it didn't pay to kick some men. Especially, when the one she was on a date with had a hand like a redwood paddle and the will and skill to use it as such.
Somehow, in all of those fantasies she'd had, she'd conveniently skipped right over the dreadful pain and complete embarrassment and gone right to how just the idea of being taken over a man's lap made her lady parts clench in deeply aching pleasure.
Then he began to lecture, and she just about wanted to crawl under the hood. He had that chastising tone down perfectly, and she had, never in her life, felt quite that thoroughly taken to task, through nearly every one of her senses. It seemed as if he had gotten right into her brain, and touched on every one of the triggers that had always gotten her well more than halfway to ecstasy, when she was reading about it.
But in real life, it was much more devastating than she could ever have imagined, especially since, although certain parts of her were surely appreciative of everything he was saying and doing, her mind could concentrate on only one thing—each searing connection of his flesh with hers.
"You should know better than to do that, Marissa Jean Hamilton. What if I wasn't as nice a guy as I am, and I took offense at you hauling off and laying into me with that shoe of yours?"
If she hadn't been so out of her mind, Rissa might have taken umbrage at him portraying himself as nice, considering what he was doing to her backside, but she was incapable of calling him on it at the present.
"Didn't your parents teach you better than to go around kicking people, especially those you don't know very well? And I haven't even started on the fact that you shouldn't have been wearing heels like that in Maine in the winter, as you've been told at least once before, that I know of."
She wanted to bite back – since kicking didn't seem to be the thing to do – and remind him that he was the one who had been offensive. Making a remark like that to her was inflammatory at the best, and if he couldn't deal with the heat, he should have stayed the hell out of the kitchen.
But there was no hope for it. Rissa just wasn't coherent enough to think at all, much less actually organize her thoughts and put them into sentences. At this point, all she was trying to do was to live through the constant whack, whack, whacking of that two by four of a hand of his as it marched all the way up and down every inch of her exposed, defenseless flesh. She was bawling uncontrollably, yelping sharply each time he swatted her, eyes swollen, nose running, and appendages flailing uselessly.
Until he stopped, placing his hand, palm down, over the flesh it had just singed. "So, Marissa, are you ever going to kick me again?"
It surprised her, just how quickly she shook her head, in the hopes that he wouldn't start to spank her again. "N-no," she whispered, sounding like a very sore – and sorry – little girl, indeed.
"That's good. You're going to think of this moment, aren't you, whenever that impulse comes to you, and you're going to decide not to, because you don't want another session – which will be much worse, I promise you – over my knee?"
Worse? How could it possibly be any worse, she wondered, then realized she really didn't want to know the answer to that question. "Yeeeesssssss," she wailed from the depths of her humiliation.
He patted her bottom possessively. "I don't know. Maybe you need a bit more to make the right impression." Dodge had already decided to stop, but he loved the way her head whipped around as she did her best to convince him that she had learned her lesson.
"No, no, please! I won't do it again, I promise."
His smile was small, and didn't quite make it to his voice, so she thought he was serious, especially since he was continuing to pat her bottom. "I don't know…"
"I won't kick you, I promise – no more, no more! Pleeeeeaaaase!" Horrified to hear the naked pleading of her own tone and words, Rissa, nonetheless, couldn't seem to stop herself from begging him not to continue to spank her. It was just impossible to think he might start again, and she realized she would have done pretty much anything to convince him not to.
To her surprise, he leaned down and kissed each of her sore, swollen cheeks, then helped her up off his lap, not allowing her to pull her skirt down or re-hitch her garters. Instead, she had to sit right next to him as he drove, her ravaged bottom in constant contact with the cracked leather seat, while he maintained an impossibly strong arm around her waist, keeping her in place.
She groaned at every bump and every pothole they hit, and he murmured something that sounded surprisingly sympathetic, but at the same time, she noticed that he really wasn't doing anything to avoid them, either.
It soon became apparent that he wasn't taking her back to her sister's. They ended up, instead, at his place, where he hauled her out of the truck gently but insistently, not giving her a chance to protest as he swung her off the seat and into his arms. And, luckily for him, Rissa didn't find herself in much of a mood to put up a fight. In fact, she felt much like he had spanked all of the fight out of her, which was an odd state of affairs for her to be in, mentally, physically, and emotionally.
She hadn't taken much notice of her surroundings until he turned on the light in his foyer and closed the front door behind him. She found herself in an absolutely huge, utterly gorg
eous house, as she immediately yanked her skirt down over her butt, hissing loudly and realizing that that had been a mistake, but continuing to do so, regardless.
Marissa didn't want to continue to be that vulnerable to him.
Well, okay. She didn't want to like how being nearly naked with him made her feel when she was trying to be angry with him, not deeply and irrevocably attracted to him.
She tried to concentrate on her surroundings, rather than him or the throbbing in her butt. The first thought she'd had when he flipped on the lights was that she wondered exactly how it was that he afforded a place like this on his salary.
But that was only for a few stolen moments, until she finally allowed herself to become incensed at what he had done to her, and she whirled around to poke her finger into the bottom of his chest, which was all she could really reach and make any impact at all. Not that she thought she was going to make him start to back away from her and apologize, but she definitely intended to get her point across.
"I ought to call the cops on you!" she threatened, suddenly shaking uncontrollably, but not for the reason she wanted to be, not that he needed to know that. "But I can't imagine it would do me any good, considering who the boss is over there."
He put his hands on his hips and stared down at her, looking formidable and not just a little angry. "Watch it, little girl. You're coming very close to calling me a dirty cop, and that would be a mistake." It was the controlled calmness with which he spoke that had her hackles up.
She stopped poking immediately, continuing to glare up at him.
But before she could truly let fly with how angry and embarrassed she felt, he closed the slight distance between them, looking down at her from an even more imposing height as he pressed their bodies together in a very casual, natural manner, then put something in her hand – and not what she might have expected, either.
It was his cell phone.
"The nine and one are already punched – press the one and the green call button, then tell whoever answers that you were assaulted and kidnapped and want to press charges. I think Abel's on desk tonight. He'll send Ralph out immediately."
Her Knight In Faded Denim Page 6
