Ready for Love

by Carolyn Faulkner

  "Hmm."

  "So, how was your day off?"

  I proceeded to inform him of all the slothful things I'd been doing all day, but he was very supportive.

  "Good. I'm glad you're taking a mental health weekend. You deserve it. You work very hard. Where are you right now, by the way?" he asked casually.

  "On my couch, sitting in front of the evidence of just how low I have sunk in my quest to indulge myself. There's an open box of the crack that is Crunch 'N' Munch on the coffee table, a bag of Humpty Dumpty salt and vinegar chips next to me, and a frozen carrot cake in the freezer. The pizza and Chinese places that deliver are already in my contacts. I also bought an enormous bottle of wine, and I intend to drink and eat myself into oblivion for the next three days."

  "Well, that sounds like it's going to be a total blowout. I wish I was going to be there with you."

  I hesitated, just a second, thinking of Andre and experiencing a twinge in my heart, then I said, "I do, too!" And I meant it. I knew Andre wouldn't have wanted me to live like a nun after his passing. He probably would have been horrified at how long it had taken me to find a mate.

  "You sure?"

  "Yes." Not an ounce of hesitation this time.

  "Good."

  No sooner had he said that than there was a loud rap at the door. I couldn't imagine who it was. If there was a problem at work, someone would have called or emailed me. I hadn't ordered anything from Amazon, so it wouldn't be UPS, and I had yet to decide between pizza and Chinese—which were the only kinds of places around here that would deliver to the hinterlands.

  "Who is it?" I asked before opening the door.

  "Flower delivery," came the strangely high pitched reply.

  Oh, what a sweetheart he was to send me flowers, I thought. But when I opened it, he was standing there with his arms wide open. "Surprise!"

  I was so startled that I didn't even worry about the fact that I was in sweats and a t-shirt, but I ran into his arms anyway, and he picked me up, my body naturally conforming to the contours of his as I hung there in his arms.

  He was trying to kiss me, but I was trying to get him to tell me what he was doing there.

  I lost.

  Deck walked with me into my house, my legs wrapped around his waist, his hands supporting my bottom, his mouth on mine the entire time, walking over to the very couch I was just speaking to him from.

  And he didn't put me down until I was safely ensconced on his lap.

  Chapter 4

  As he used both hands to brush the hair—that I had barely bothered to brush this morning—out of my face, he explained, "When I heard what you were going to do, I rearranged everything about my trip around so I could be here with you for almost all of it. I would have loved to have been here from last night, for your first night of your mini-vacation, but I couldn't quite pull that off, so I had to settle for surprising you this evening."

  I was still in shock that he was there. Happy that he was, but still amazed that he'd gone to all of that trouble for me.

  But I couldn't stop myself from asking, "You're not blowing off something important at work, are you?"

  Deck shook his head and held up his hand. "I do solemnly swear that I got everything done that I needed to and that work will never even notice that I'm gone."

  I highly doubted that, since he was a very hands-on boss, but I accepted it anyway, because I wanted him to be here with me. "Thank you," I said, snuggling closer to him. It felt quite wonderful to have a man to cuddle up to again.

  "I thought that this weekend might be a good beginning for us—a good way to try out the new directions our relationship is taking."

  "That sounds lovely," I said, stretching myself out on top of him as he stretched himself out on the couch.

  "And the first thing I want to get out of the way is to ask you if you've decided about whether or not you want me to be your Dom, or do you need more time?"

  "And if I did, that would be okay?"

  He cupped my jaw and stared soulfully into my eyes. "Of course, it would be. We are not on anyone else's timeline here but our own—mostly yours. If you decide against it now but come to me fifteen years from now and tell me you want to explore it, it'll still be there. Take your time. I don't want you feeling pressured at all."

  "Thank you, I want to be your submissive, but what if I get into it and I don't like it?" That was my biggest concern. I'd never been spanked before—what if I hated it? What if I couldn't take it? What if I chafed—as I suspected I was going to—at the idea of being told what to do, which had never been one of my favorite aspects of being a kid—or an employee.

  "Then you tell me you don't and we stop. Dominance and submission will be a part of our relationship, but it's not the only part of it. And, above all else, you're driving this train, not me. You are the one who decides whether I am allowed to discipline you. Everyone thinks the Dom's the one in control in a D/s relationship, but it's the sub. All good things stem from you, Gem."

  His kiss, then, was truly one of the most tender I'd ever received in my life.

  "And what about sex?"

  Settling himself more firmly beneath me after kicking off his shoes and putting his stockinged feet up on my couch, he rubbed my back lazily, as if we had all the time in the world. "What about it?"

  "Is D/s a part of that, too?"

  "Do you want it to be?"

  I shrugged. "Honestly, I don't know. I've done a reasonable amount of stuff, but nothing really in that vein."

  "Well, then," Deck said, reaching down to cup my bottom and press me against his rising desire. "Perhaps we should try it out this weekend and see how you feel about it." Then he hesitated a bit before going on. "I think these next few days, when we're alone and neither of us need worry about work, should be a sort of trial period for us. If, at the end of it, there's something that doesn't work for us—which we'll probably already know—but we'll have a debriefing of sorts afterwards, and decide, first of all, whether we want to continue the relationship at all, then in what areas." He wrapped a strand of my hair around his finger as he spoke. "So, for this weekend, you're my submissive, and I'm your Dom. If you do something I don't like, I'll speak to you about it. If you do it again, you're going to be spanked."

  Thinking I must have been crazy to agree to this, I nonetheless nodded my head.

  "And we're going to make love. As soon and as often as possible. I've been thinking about having you beneath me since we met."

  I was agog. "That long?"

  "It was just a kind of tingle at first, and I ignored it. I've continued ignoring it because I didn't want to lose you as a friend, and because you didn't seem to be ready to consider someone else, and I was loathe to push you to do so. But, yes, since that far back."

  "Wow. I guess I'm behind the curve here. I've been bumbling along obliviously, thinking you were fine being just friends."

  I guess that came out sounding somewhat miffed or resentful, because he tightened his arms around me, saying, "And I have been. I didn't want to confront you with something you weren't ready to address yet. And Lord knows I understand the struggle of dealing with loving someone who isn't around anymore and having to make that heartbreaking adjustment to consider that another person might fit the bill just as well—someone who's alive and wants you just as badly."

  I couldn't help it when tears filled my eyes and threatened to overflow.

  "It's okay, baby. It's okay."

  They did slip down my cheeks, but his thumbs caught them on their downward slide, brushing the sides of his thumbs against my skin to clear them away.

  "Andre was a very lucky man, Gemma. And I know I have a lot to live up to, but I'll happily do my best to, if it means I get to have you on my arm."

  What a gentlemanly, old fashioned way to put it! The man was such a throwback in some ways and a progressive in others. The combination was like a potent drug that had seeped into my brain.

  "You're not the only one with a ghost
to live up to, Deck. I've listened to you talk about Jane for a long time now, and she seems damn close to perfect to me, which I most certainly am not."

  He laughed softly. "Well, she was pretty close, at least for me, anyway. Although I'm sure I'm only remembering the good things about her. She had some annoying habits but I can't really remember any, but then, I'm sure I do, too." He pressed his lips to mine quickly, then moved a bit away. "Don't you worry about having to measure up to her. When I look at you, I don't see her—I don't make comparisons. You are you, and there's nothing you have to change about you to make me want you—I already do."

  With that, he took my hand and put it between us, over his very impressive erection, then he put his hand behind his head, the other stroking slowly up and down my back as he thrust lazily against my hand, which I was amazed to find could barely contain him.

  "Do you want me to unzip you?" I asked.

  "I want you to do whatever you would like to do."

  "What happened to you being dominant?"

  "Nothing at all. But I know it's been a while for you, and I know that it was a while even before Andre died. I just want to take it as slowly as you want to." Then he leaned up to whisper into my ear, "I think I just might explode the moment your hand touches me. I want you that much."

  My entire body contracted at his words, and I'm pretty sure I whimpered, too, just catching the sight of his eyes widening at the sound.

  Was that a growl I heard?

  Despite his warning, I found that I couldn't contain my curiosity, although I did so long enough to sit up, with a knee on either side of him, to get rid of his hoodie and tug his t-shirt over his head, and for a moment there, when I'd deliberately made him naked from the waist up, I found myself totally mesmerized by the sight of him bare like that.

  He was gorgeous—lightly tanned, nicely defined muscles but not grossly so, with a dusting of chest hair that was just perfect.

  My mouth literally watered as I stared down at him, and I could tell that he was amused by the way I was checking him out, but I couldn't help myself.

  And he didn't reveal his own insecurities—or ego—by asking me if I liked what I saw, either. Instead, he seemed to enjoy watching me watch him.

  Impulse control was never really my thing—delayed gratification, either, for that matter—so when I did finally move, it was to shimmy down him just a bit and bend my head to one of those tiny nipples, flicking it with my tongue and biting gently while I used my other hand to pluck at the other one.

  A huge sense of satisfaction washed through me at his gasped, "Jesus—holy mother—" and the way his hands came up immediately to hold my head to him, to keep me there.

  I nibbled and licked and kissed my way back and forth between his nipples, concentrating all of my attention on him and them, listening attentively for non-verbal clues as to what he liked best, so I missed it when one hand moved away from my head and made its way to the loose waistband of my sweats and panties all at once.

  Before I could even begin to think about stopping him, his big hand was cupping me there, and I thought I was going to faint as his middle finger delved between my folds, moving up to find my clit after being drenched in my juices.

  It was almost too much—I couldn't cope with the strong sensations that were rushing through me, making me feel a little light headed, so I began to move down him, which had the added effect of removing his hand. He might have wanted to keep it there, but my cheek was now right on his hip, staring at the bulge in his pants, my hand trying to cup it and not succeeding very well.

  That same hand worked the button loose, then reached for the zipper pull and tugged it down very slowly.

  I wasn't expecting to set him loose quite yet, necessarily, but I did—the man had gone commando.

  But I couldn't even call him on it, because I was beholding the magnificence that was his truly gorgeous cock.

  He wasn't freakishly huge—which was fine with me. But he was nowhere near small, either. He was probably about eight to nine inches, with a girth that made me wonder if I could take him.

  Andre was a wonderful husband, but he was not hung anything like Decker was. It had not only been a while since I'd been with a man, but it had been even longer since I'd been with a man who was as well equipped as he was.

  I wanted him in my mouth. Yesterday. And I arranged myself to make it so.

  Deck was tall, and I slipped easily into a very nice spot—lying almost between his legs, but they were closed, so I was lying on top of them. Considering their muscularity—he was a runner—they were surprisingly comfortable, and his interesting bits ended up at just the right place. Directly in front of my mouth, where I wanted them to be.

  Just as I slid my cupped fingers down him for the first time, in preparation for bringing him to my lips, he put his hand on my head. "You don't have to do this now if you don't want to, you know."

  I looked up at him and licked my lips. "Oh, I want to, honey." Then, in the spirit of the new aspects of our relationship, I kept my eyes on his as I asked, "Please?"

  His cock jumped in my hand. "Of course, sweetie. Good girl for asking."

  It had been a very long time since anyone had called me a good girl, and I'm not sure why it made me feel so good for him to do it. My whole body flushed with accomplishment, as if I'd done something extraordinary that I could be proud of.

  It was a challenge to take him in my mouth, but one I relished, wetting him all the way down that long, thick column first, then hovering over the very tip, keeping my lips tight as I pressed them down over him, giving him the sensation that he was thrusting into a tight pussy.

  A guttural groan was the ample reward for my efforts.

  I took as much as I could of him, swirling my tongue up and down him as I rode him with my mouth, enjoying the way his hips rose to meet my every downward plunge.

  He was so big that I could wrap my fingers around him—as an extension of my mouth—and still not cover all of him—in fact, my fingers never came together around him, either.

  But he didn't seem to be complaining.

  Deck did reach down and brush my hair away from his view of what I was doing, his hand continuing to caress my head and face as I did it, which was an unusually soft counterpoint to how he was eagerly thrusting himself past my still tightly pursed lips, even as he panted heavily, and I could hear that he was probably getting pretty close.

  But then, all of a sudden, when I would have sworn that he wouldn't have wanted to, he stopped me. I looked up and saw him close his eyes and grit his teeth, still pumping a little within my hand until he shot out and captured it, pulling it off and holding it away from him.

  "Stop." The command was issued through a locked jaw, and I released my hold on him immediately.

  It was several more minutes before he sat up all of a sudden, and I ended up neatly tugged over his lap.

  "Wait!"

  In the act of curling his fingers under the waistband of my pants, he stopped immediately. "Yes?"

  "Why are you spanking me?"

  "Because I can."

  "But—" I didn't want to push him and get into even more trouble than I already seemed to be, but I did have a question I wanted—needed—to know the answer to.

  "Tell me. You can ask or say anything to me, as long as it's not, you know, fuck off or something like that."

  I was almost in tears at the thought of getting my first spanking—from him—or ever in my life—without knowing what I'd done to prompt it, not knowing what I could do in the future to avoid ending up here.

  "W-why are you spanking me?"

  Seconds later, I was tucked in his arms, held very tightly against him, his mouth on my hair. "I'm sorry, baby. I was just trying to be funny and I wasn't. I should have thought that you might interpret it that way, but I didn't. I'm very sorry. No, you're not in trouble, you haven't done anything wrong." He held me for a long time, even though I knew he must've been uncomfortable—he stopped me when I wou
ld have thought he was quite close. I could still feel that iron spike presence throbbing beneath my butt.

  "Sometimes a good girl spanking feels pretty good before sex."

  I had never heard of that concept. As far as I knew, all spankings hurt, and that's essentially what I told him.

  "Well, I think that's what most people think, but that's not true. If given correctly, it can be a very sensual experience."

  I pushed away from his chest and gave him a very doubtful look.

  "Do you trust me?"

  Biting my lip, I nodded, and I was immediately—although slowly—put back into place over his lap, my pants and panties carefully lowered to my ankles.

  I was trembling—not with fear, necessarily, but with an acute case of nerves. But he didn't start smacking away at me, as I had expected he might. Instead, he massaged my back and my upper arms, even my bottom, then down my legs, and by the time he was through, although my mind was still full of anxiety, my body was completely limp.

  The man knew how to give a massage, I had to give him that.

  Then he straightened a bit and put his palm on my bottom, and I flinched a little.

  "Remember, Gem, you control this. If you want me to stop at any time, I will."

  I wondered how he would feel if I yelled stop now, but I couldn't quite do it. I was really curious how it would feel, and, despite my misgivings, I did trust him.

  He didn't tell me to relax, he didn't ridicule me for being tense. He just set about showing me that I had nothing at all to worry about.

  A yelp escaped me at the first swat, but it hadn't warranted it. It hadn't hurt at all. Then he gave me another of the same caliber, and another, until he'd covered all of my bottom and set it to glowing warmly. It was a feeling that translated very easily to other areas of me that had already been clamoring for his touch and were doing so much more loudly now. Every surprisingly gentle swat only made me that much more aware of both areas—sensitizing my bottom to his touch as well as my more hidden treasures.

  When I'd probably taken fifteen light slaps, he whispered huskily, "Open your legs for me, baby."