His Good Girl

by Dinah McLeod

  His hand came down again, and though I was aware that these smacks weren't as hard as the ones he'd given me in the beginning, they hurt more. I winced, I cried out, I turned my tear-filled eyes on him, and yet the spanking continued. I twisted myself in knots of longing and lust until I could hardly stand it, and the smacks continued to rain down on me until the throbbing in my ass outweighed the one in my sex. By the time he stopped, I was wailing like a little girl, and when he took me in his arms, half-carrying me to the toilet so he could sit down and take me into his lap, I sniffled into his shirt, grateful for the reprieve.

  "Shh, shh," he soothed, patting my back with one hand as the arm he'd looped around my waist tightened. "You're okay. Shh, sweetheart. Don't cry."

  "I thought the wh-whole point was… t-to make m-me cry," I accused between sniffles.

  "Just a little," he murmured, brushing his lips over my cheek. "And it's over now. You took your spanking like such a good girl."

  I preened at the praise, feeling some of the knots in my belly tighten while other parts of my body loosened simultaneously. It wasn't how I'd thought the evening would start, but maybe it was just the beginning. Maybe there was still hope…

  "Stand up."

  I did as he bid, and Kevin stood up right behind me and offered a hand. When I accepted it, to my surprise, he helped me to step out of the puddle of my clothing. Then he gently guided me forward a few steps until I stood directly in front of the mirror once more.

  "Now, let me tell you what I see," he said. "I see a beautiful, sweet woman, and I'm going to do everything I can to help you see yourself the same way."

  "I—"

  "Shh," he chided with a whisper in my ear. "Don't talk." When his hand brushed against my pussy, I nearly jumped out of my skin with surprise and excitement. "Just listen. Every morning, when you come here to get dressed, I want you to look in the mirror and tell yourself that you're beautiful, smart, and very loved. Do you think you can do that, Cara?"

  I could hardly breathe from the gentle yet electrifying touch of his hand across my pussy lips. "I don't know… it seems sort of silly."

  His finger flicked my clit, making me groan. "If you can't do it for yourself, can you do it for me?"

  "Yes, Kevin," I rasped, somewhere between a whisper and a groan.

  "Good girl. That's what I wanted to hear." As a reward, his finger plunged into the pool of my wetness, making me gasp and lunge up on my tiptoes. He pulled me tight against him and began to work his finger in and out, much to my utter delight. "Now, I want to hear you say it."

  "Say what?" I moaned.

  "Repeat after me: say, I'm beautiful…"

  "Oh, Kevin, can't you just—" I stopped abruptly as he pulled his finger out and slapped my ass. It was only once, but it was hard. "Ow!"

  "I thought you'd learned your lesson?" he asked, his eyes stern.

  "This is ridiculous." I pouted. "You can't just hit me every time I say something you don't like."

  "First of all, I didn't hit you, Cara. I spanked you. Secondly, this is for your own good. Now, be a sweetheart and repeat after me, and you'll get your reward."

  With my brow furrowed, I frowned at him, but the promise of the longed for reward was enough to make me swallow my ire and obey. "I'm beautiful."

  "Like you mean it."

  "Ugh!" I groaned, but quickly complied before he could decide to give my ass more of the same attention. "I'm beautiful."

  "And talented."

  "And talented," I parroted.

  "And very loved."

  "And very loved."

  "Again," he suggested, and only once I'd begun to recite the words did his finger find its way back into my dripping pussy. I found myself repeating the words over and over again, my tone softening as my body revved to life as though his finger were the key to the ignition.

  I arched on my tiptoes, groaning as I threw my head back. I could feel my climax building. It had been a long, long time since I'd had an orgasm.

  "No, I want you to look," he murmured.

  With a little moan I opened my eyes and watched my reflection. My eyes were bright, my face flushed from pleasure.

  "Beautiful," he told me, and in that moment, as my muscles clenched around his fingers, I felt beautiful. He began to move faster, in and out, and when I came it felt as though I was flying. When I came back down to Earth I found myself falling gently in the safe haven of his arms.

  ***

  "How was it?"

  I wasn't all that surprised to see Janie waiting for me when I came in to work the next morning. My face was aglow, and she saw it instantly.

  "I knew it!" she crowed, squealing as she jumped up and down. "Tell me everything!"

  "Janie," I said, rolling my eyes and giggling at her antics. "There's nothing to tell."

  "No!" she gasped, drawing closer. "You're kidding!"

  I just gave her a small, secret smile and shook my head. She narrowed her eyes, scrutinizing me. I knew she wanted to call me a liar, but I didn't care. I didn't need to tell her about my evening in order to feel validated. "Excuse me," I said, then picked up the pile of folders in front of me and walked past her.

  "Wait! Cara! Do you want to do lunch?"

  "Can't," I told her, smothering my desire to laugh. "Kevin and I have plans."

  Chapter Three

  I'd dreamt of meeting my Prince Charming practically ever since I could remember. It was a normal topic of conversation among the girls I went to preschool with. By second grade, we'd advanced to discussing what kind of flowers we'd have at our weddings—Gardenias, of course, were a given. It was normal for girls in the South to be thinking about that big white dress; even though by the time we'd graduated high school, those poofy layers had somehow transformed into sleek, sleeveless mermaid gowns. I was just like any of the other girls from my small town—except that they began, one by one, to get married after graduation, and I went off to college.

  My dream of getting married had never faded—it wasn't that. It had simply evolved to include a career, as well as the requisite two-point-five kids. And yes, I'd had moments when I'd come home after a bad date and wondered when—or if—I'd ever come across Mr. Right. I'd begun to give up on the idea that Mr. Right even existed, until I met Kevin. Granted, he didn't look the way I'd expected my Prince Charming to. There was no dazzling, perfect smile—although his grin was certainly cute, and made my tummy flip. He wasn't tuxedo-clad, with a voice that could make birds sing, but all it took was one look at him, and he made me melt. He was my Prince Charming, even if he didn't fit the picture I'd had in my head since I was a little girl.

  I'd worked through lunch that day because Kevin had told me he would be coming over. He wanted to cook for me, he'd said in his message. I'd been holding in my squeals of glee all day long, until I got to my car to leave. Then, I finally let my giddy, excited smile out and hopped in my seat. I didn't know how he was able to make me feel so special, like the luckiest girl alive, but I could only hope he never stopped.

  My excitement stayed with me all the way home, until I got to my closet. I really am going to go shopping for new clothes soon, I told myself with firm determination as I surveyed the nearly non-existent contents of my wardrobe. It never changed and yet, each time I came up empty-handed, I found myself inexplicably surprised. There was a dress hanging up right at the back; brand new with the price tag still attached. It was a black, sparkly number I'd bought for a wedding that I'd chickened out of attending. I'd meant to return the dress, but had never gotten around to it. Besides, he'd said he'd be cooking dinner—that was a pretty casual date, right?

  "I bet no one else has this problem," I muttered, plopping back on my bed in frustration. I was beginning to get desperate. So desperate, in fact, that if I'd had the time, I might have given into the urge to call my mom and invite her to raid my closet for me. She would have agreed to come over in a heartbeat, and then shown up with an armload of her own clothes. As a woman who'd been married three
times and was working on marriage number four, Mom undoubtedly knew how to dress to impress. She just couldn't seem to stop doing it after she'd said her vows; which had ultimately led to stepdads two and three.

  By the time the doorbell rang, I felt like a frazzled mess. Fortunately, the mirror I passed on my way to the door told me I looked better than I felt. I'd wound my thick, golden-blonde hair up into a bun on top of my head, leaving a few strands free to frame my face. I'd settled on a pair of short-shorts—after all, there's hardly anything more casual than denim—and a red spaghetti strap top that gave a hint of cleavage, but was modest enough to leave plenty to the imagination. Not one for wearing a lot of make-up—another reason I hadn't called Mom, because she always managed to talk me into it anyway—I'd put on a coat of black mascara to bring out my green eyes and a hint of lip gloss. A spritz of intoxicating perfume was all that was needed to complete the ensemble, and all I had time for, because as soon as I'd done it, I'd heard Kevin arrive.

  I had to control myself so that I didn't skip singing to the door. I didn't want to look too eager. Guys don't like that, do they? Even when it happens to be the case?

  "Cara." His husky, deep voice made me tingle before he'd even stepped over the threshold. "You look beautiful."

  "Thank you," I said, wondering if he'd ever know how much it meant to me to hear him say it. "Come on in." I swung the door open wide and stepped back to let him in. He obliged, carrying in three grocery bags. "Wow, when you say 'cook dinner' you really mean business, don't you?"

  "Yes Ma'am." He leaned over to kiss me briefly on the lips and then walked toward the kitchen.

  I took my time following behind, choosing instead to drink my fill of him. He had strong, muscular shoulders and a tight ass I'd never fully appreciated before. I nearly laughed out loud at myself—I'd never checked out a guy before, not even my dates! What was this man turning me into?

  By the time I'd recovered myself and finally followed him into the kitchen, he'd already unpacked his bags and begun assembling ingredients on the counter. It was easy to be impressed; he'd brought fresh chicken breasts, onions and a rainbow array of bell peppers. Since I normally ate dinner from a carton of some sort, and hardly knew how to boil water, he easily made me feel like a novice. Not that I minded.

  Kevin looked up briefly to smile at me, and even that second of eye contact made my heart flutter. Maybe it was because of what had happened between us the night before, but I couldn't help but feel a bit shy around him—nor could I stop looking at him and admiring everything about him. How could I not have noticed the dimple in his cheek before? The way his hair curled when it got a bit longer in the back? Everything about him seemed erotic.

  Trying to hide my thoughts, I took a seat at the bar and took pleasure in watching him work. He was very efficient, using a knife in ways that the chefs on The Food Network could only dream of. Was it weird that I found it arousing to watch the way he handled the sharp blade? Weird or not, the heat gathering between my thighs told me that I did.

  "So, how was your day?"

  I'd grown so distracted watching him dice onions that I almost didn't hear him. "Hmm?"

  "How was work?"

  "Oh." I gave him a coy smile. "Fine, I guess. Just work."

  "Something on your mind, Cara?"

  "What? Oh, no. Not really. Why do you ask?" I ended with an embarrassed laugh. Was I that easy to see through, or did it just come easily to Kevin?

  "You seem distracted, that's all."

  You're a pretty good distraction, I thought. "No, I'm fine. How was your day? I bet you're glad to be off early."

  "You bet," he said and winked. "Especially since it means I get to spend more time with you."

  "Smooth talker," I accused, giggling.

  "Hey, I mean every word. Want a taste?"

  I leaned forward, more eager to sample his fingers than the piece of red bell pepper he held out to me. "Mmm. What did you do to it?"

  "These beauties have been soaking in wine."

  "Fancy."

  "I appreciate the sentiment, but it's a bit hard to take it seriously, knowing that you only get decent food when we're together."

  "What?" I asked with a laugh.

  "Before you got in here, I needed to find a saucepan. I couldn't help but notice that the only thing that seems to grace your cabinets is spaghetti and ramen noodles. And your fridge is stocked with nothing but bottled water and a jar of mayonnaise that went bad three months ago."

  "You went through my cabinets?" I demanded in mock-outrage. "I don't think we've known each other long enough for that."

  "But you'll let me put you over my knee and spank your naughty bottom?" he asked, with a smile that was deliciously devious.

  I blushed at the memory. "I work a lot. I don't have a lot of time for cooking."

  "Well, at least you know how to boil water," he quipped.

  I laughed and looked away. "Sort of."

  "What do you mean, sort of? Ramen, spaghetti? You have to boil water for that!"

  "Not if you eat it raw, you don't." I heard the sound of the knife dropping on the stone countertop. When I looked over, I saw that his mouth had literally dropped open. He made a funny sight; his eyes wide with his mouth ajar, and I got a case of the giggles.

  "Seriously? No wonder you're so skinny! I'm sure glad I came along when I did! Another month and you might have blown away!"

  "It's not that bad," I protested, still giggling.

  "Well, you don't have to worry about that anymore. I'll cook for you."

  Those words alone had the power to weaken my knees. Who knew that being thoughtful could also be so damn sexy?

  "You know what you should really do?" I said.

  "What's that?" he asked, picking up the knife and resuming his dicing.

  "You should open your own place."

  "Why don't you wait until you've at least tried my cooking before saying that?" He chuckled. "To be honest, I don't think I'm experienced enough for that just yet."

  "I'd say being head chef at a prestigious restaurant is plenty of reason to give it a shot."

  "That's very sweet, Cara." His eyes were glittering at me warmly, and I basked in the glow. "Thanks for the vote of confidence. Maybe in a couple of years or so. We'll see."

  I shrugged. "Or you could give private cooking lessons. I know I'd shell out the bucks to learn how to cook like you." That wasn't entirely true; but I would pay to watch him do it.

  "Well, it's your lucky day then. I'll give you a quick lesson and it won't cost you more than a kiss."

  When he flashed that sexy grin of his and winked, I practically leapt to his side. After all, who could turn down an offer like that?

  Kevin took a step back and positioned me in front of him until I was standing facing the cutting board. "Take the knife. Hold it—right, straight like that. You don't want to grip it too hard, relax your hand a little. You want your knife to be an extension of your arm."

  "Right," I said, even though I didn't have the faintest clue what he was talking about.

  "Now, you're going to press down, like this, and use your other hand, up on top of the blade here…" He moved behind me and slid his arms around me as though it was the most natural thing in the world. Then he put his hands on top of my own and guided me as I began to cut.

  The feel of his hands on mine, his body at my back, pressing into me, made my entire body shivery and sensitive, longing to be touched by him. All I could think about as we chopped onions in companionable silence was my skin. It burned with the warmth of his touch, and the sensation spread throughout the rest of my body, but it wasn't enough. I was hungry for something, and it sure wasn't chicken.

  "You see?"

  My stomach clenched with regret when he released his hold and backed away. The loss of his warmth made my sex clench in a way that was almost painful. "Yep. I think I've got it." I turned to face him and swiped at my eyes.

  "Onions," he told me knowingly.

 
"Really?" I asked, sniffling. "I always thought that was just in the movies."

  His laugh rang out heartily and I couldn't help smiling back, even knowing that I was the source of it. "Tell you what," he began, "I've got the chicken in the oven—"

  "Mmm, I know, it smells delicious," I purred, even as I thought that that wasn't the only thing.

  "How about we sit and talk for a few minutes?" He offered me his hand and I took it, feeling like a shy, never-been-kissed preteen as he led me to my couch. "You really do look beautiful," he said as we sat.

  "Thank you."

  "You always look beautiful." With that, he leaned forward and caught my lips with his. Eagerly, I returned the kiss, hoping it would deepen into something more than an innocent peck. "That was for the cooking lesson," he told me, grinning. "And this one, I'm gonna steal," he added, gently cupping my face in his hands.

  "You can't take what's freely given," I murmured, moments before his lips met mine. I scooted closer to him, laying my palms on his shirt as I slipped my tongue inside his mouth.

  He responded by sliding his arm around my back and pulling me closer to him. The kiss was slow and sensual as we allowed our tongues and hands to explore. Part of me wanted to dive right in—and by dive, I am of course referring to ripping off his pants—but the other part was enjoying the thrill of taking things slow as we began to learn one another's bodies.

  Kevin broke away and leaned his forehead against mine, whispering, "God, I love the way you taste."

  "Ditto," I replied in a sexy murmur that would have sounded fake had I been talking to anyone else.

  "I can't even begin to tell you how lucky I feel to have met you, Cara."

  I smiled, feeling my heart flutter. "I know what you mean."

  "Seriously. I mean, how crazy is it that both of us just happened to have blind dates at the same restaurant? And that both of us got stood up?" He laughed incredulously. "It's like a one-in-a-million chance."