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CHAPTER TWO
Peter
“That’s an infantile thing to say,” I reply. “Which shouldn’t surprise me.”
Her eyes grow wide with shock and anger and I try not to notice how incredibly beautiful that makes her, how the sight of her makes me want her more than I can express. “How dare you!” she says. “Marilyn Monroe said that!”
I chuckle and shake my head. “No, she didn’t. It’s apocryphal. Somebody else came up with it and didn’t have the guts to admit the thought was her own or maybe his own, who knows, when he or she put it on a stupid picture they could post on Facebook. Marilyn Monroe never said that but even if she did, it’s infantile.”
Her belligerent glare now is ten times more withering than the first one. I want to bend her over my knee and spank her so badly I have to resist the urge to call her little girl and command her to drop her pants. Of course, the people in the restaurant would likely have issues with that. “You’re just an asshole,” she hisses.
“Oh yes,” I say, “I know that. It doesn’t change that what you said is childish.” She looks like she’ll explode. I say, “Let’s just say Marilyn Monroe did say it. Her life was plagued with emotional problems and illness and she killed herself. Marilyn Monroe couldn’t handle herself at her worst. She didn’t say it though. The words themselves are infantile. Who in the world would ever want to earn somebody’s best by putting up with them? Your best makes someone willing to try. It’s not a prize for suffering through your worst.”
“You only say that because you couldn’t handle it.”
“You’ve got nothing at all I can’t handle, little girl,” I growl. That gives her pause.
“Fuck you,” she says bitterly.
“Would that be you at your best? Fucking you, I mean. Or would that be you at your worst. I’m trying to gather information here to understand what I’m supposed to handle and what’s the reward.”
“I can’t believe I gave you a second chance, you asshole,” she replies.
I laugh and say, “I gave you a second chance, little girl.” I notice how she perks up when I call her little girl. I don’t intend to call her that, it just comes out naturally. I wonder if she is one. I suppose, just like Daddy, little girl is something a number of people tend to use whether or not there is a DDlg element to the relationship.
“Asshole,” she says again.
Dear God, if she’s a little girl, she’s perfect.
I’m a Daddy. I’m part of the DD/lg community. After almost five years being a Daddy, one thing I know for certain is I don’t like the cute, submissive and sweet little girls nearly as much as I like brat play. Of all the brats in the world, there can’t be any brattier than Serafina. She’s fucking perfect and suddenly I’m not just having fun.
“We can end the date if you like,” I say.
“No way,” she replies. “My car is in the shop. I had to take a cab here. I’ll be damned if I don’t at least get dinner and then a ride home.”
“Fair enough,” I say.
“Damned right it is,” she sulks.
I smile and when the waiter arrives, I order for both of us while she stares in shock. I expect her to snap at me again, and she surprises me by saying, “Thank you,” in a tone of voice that actually suggests she’s thankful.
“I’ll order for you from now on when we’re out together,” I say. Sure, at this point I’m trying to provoke her. In this case, I imagine taking control will provoke her as well as just making the assumption that we’ll go out again.
She glares at me but the waiter, very efficient, arrives with our drinks and precludes any response she might want to make. I love watching the frustration at that bubble in her eyes but I love just as much how quickly she recovers her composure to smile at the waiter and say, “Thank you,” when he sets down her wine glass.
When he leaves, she takes a sip and says, almost reluctantly, “This wine is very good.”
I smile and say, “This is a great restaurant. If I want a nice restaurant, I go here. I mean, a nice restaurant but not necessarily a special occasion restaurant. I’d take an old friend here but, you know, Valentine’s Day or that sort of thing, I’d probably go to La Stoan or Pierre’s.”
I’ve just named the two most expensive restaurants in town. Sure, I want to impress her. Instead, I’m impressed with her as she says, “I’m surprised you stay with a girl long enough to have Valentine’s Day.”
“So, you’re a lawyer, then?”
That gives her pause. “Paralegal,” she says. “Tabitha told you?”
“I would imagine you’d be better at crafting arguments.”
She rolls her eyes and says, “I should have just sprung for the damned cab ride home.”
