“Haven’t we gone on a few dates?” he retorted. “And tomorrow will be two weeks since we met.”
“Well, yeah…” I couldn’t come up with any other excuses, and I didn’t really know why I was arguing. I didn’t want to see other people, and if Dixon wanted to apply the girlfriend label after only a few weeks of knowing each other, then I should be happy. “I just don’t want to rush into anything. I wasn’t even looking for a date two weeks ago. Now I’ve got a boyfriend?”
He considered what I said for a moment, then nodded. “You’re right. It’s fast for you. But I still consider you my girlfriend, in my mind. We can wait until you’re comfortable with the idea to tell anyone else.”
“Dixon, I want to get to know you, too. But my position on getting married and settling down hasn’t changed. My store is still my priority. I’m nowhere near ready for kids. So if you think you’re going to change my mind on those things, I have to tell you that you’re not. The store is my dream and I’m not giving it up.” I picked up the knife and started chopping an onion to hide the tears welling in my eyes. I was stupid for thinking he could accept me for who I was and not try to change me. I shouldn’t have agreed to go on that date with him. I should never have sat and talked with him the first time we met.
“Hey, hey”—he laid a hand on my wrist to get me to stop—“you’re destroying that onion.”
I looked down and found a pile of minced onion better suited for a sauce than a stir-fry.
“You should probably go,” I suggested as I scraped the mess off the cutting board into the garbage.
“No. I’m not going.” He stood from the stool and came around the counter to stand next to me. “We’re going to sit down and talk.”
“You’re crazy. Get out.” I slammed down the cutting board, pointed my knife toward the door, and stomped my foot to emphasize my point, but my loudly voiced demands had no effect on Dixon.
“Stop pointing that knife at me, Melody,” he instructed, pushing my hand down to the counter. “Put that down and come with me.”
“Dixon, this isn’t going to work,” I argued, but I let go of the knife and let him pull me through the kitchen and into the family room. “We want two different things. And you’re intimidated by my family’s money, and that’s not something that will go away.”
He sat down on the couch and pulled me down next to him, cocking us so we were sitting at an angle, facing each other.
“Stop telling me what I’m thinking and what I want. I’m an adult and know my own mind.” His words came out as commands, the stern tone getting my attention. “I’m sorry that I’m rushing you, but I’m not trying to push you to the altar so I can knock you up and make you give up your dream. That’s not what a man does. A real man supports his woman in all her dreams, and that’s what I want to do for you. Do I think you’d have to cut back if you have kids? Yes. But I’m no hurry for that either. I’m still waiting for my grandfather to turn over the hardware store to me fully. I need that to happen before I can think about having a family. You’re convincing yourself that we’re over before we’ve begun, and I want to know why.”
He wasn’t asking a question; he was demanding an answer. One that I didn’t really have.
“I don’t know. I’m sorry. I see what you’re saying.” I slumped back into the couch, aggravated with myself for ruining today. The poor man just wanted to get to know me, and I’d made up all sorts of stories and wild accusations in my head to push him away.
“I think you need a spanking.” He announced it like it was the most normal thing in the world, but my head whipped around so fast I might have injured my neck.
“What?” The thought of Dixon spanking me created a whirlwind of emotions—embarrassment, trepidation, lust. And relief.
“You heard me. You rolled your eyes at me. You tried to break up with me for no reason, after accusing me of trying to change you and being such a wimp that I can’t handle the fact that your family has money. And then you started waving a knife around and stomping your foot like a child.” He paused and I sucked in a breath at the intensity of his look. “That was unfair and disrespectful, and from the look of guilt and worry on your face a minute ago, I think you feel pretty bad about the way you treated me. Am I right?”
I didn’t even attempt to lie; he would have seen right through me.
“Yes, I feel bad,” I admitted.
“You’ll feel better after we deal with your punishment. But first you have to agree you deserve a spanking, Melody. You need to consent. I don’t want any misunderstandings here.”
This was it. The moment where I could accept that Dixon was my boyfriend, and that he was in charge with the authority to punish me when he saw fit. Or I could refuse and he’d walk away. Despite being afraid that my life would become too much for him, I was more afraid of not seeing where this relationship could go.
“I agree.” I said the words and felt my acceptance down to my toes. I wanted this.
He smiled and nodded.
“Stand up.”
I complied.
“Undo your jeans and pull them down to your knees.”
My hands shook a little, but I followed his instructions.
“Now, lie down over my lap. Put your head on this pillow here and keep your feet on the floor.”
This part was scary, but Dixon was so calm, so in control, that I wasn’t really afraid of him. Just nervous about what I’d agreed to. Hopefully it wouldn’t hurt too much.
I got into position and buried my face in the pillow, embarrassment at the fact that I was about to get a spanking at age twenty-six heating my skin.
“I want you to tell me why you’re about to get a spanking. It’s something I’m going to expect every time, so get used to it.” He draped one arm over my waist and the other lay casually on my thighs. Like this was no big deal to him.
“Um, I rolled my eyes and was disrespectful to you,” I said. “And I put words into your mouth and threw a tantrum.”
“That’s right. Thank you.” He shifted underneath me, and I felt him relax slightly.
I smiled, relieved that I’d passed that test, but my relief vanished as his hand cracked down on my ass, catching me completely off guard.
“Ow,” I yelped, not that it did any good. His hand came down on the other cheek and he quickly started alternating sides; back and forth, back and forth. He spanked swiftly and firmly, and it was nothing like in my books.
“Ouch, that hurts,” I protested.
“That’s the point,” he replied. “Stop clenching your bottom.”
I didn’t think he was serious, but a hard smack in the center of my ass told me differently.
“I said, stop clenching.”