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“We’ve had some incidents,” he said, waiting as the waiter poured a taste. Jameson didn’t bother swirling the liquid before gulping the small amount, nodding his approval.
“What is praise play?” I whispered, fearful the young man handling our table would overhear our conversation.
Jameson leaned forward. “It’s being made to feel appreciated by subtle actions or behavior.”
“That’s why you called me a good girl.” My words sounded accusatory.
“Yes. That’s what you need in your life, a craving you’ve yet to have fulfilled.”
“You think you know so much about me. You don’t.”
“We all have secrets as well as armor we tidily hide behind so as to not allow ourselves to get hurt. Isn’t that the truth?”
There was no reason for me to be annoyed at his words because they were the truth. Maybe I was just so terrified of opening myself up again that I needed to lash out at someone. I’d been hurt enough that I wasn’t certain why I’d agreed to dinner. “I’m an open book. I have nothing to hide.” It was another lie. I had so many plates of armor surrounding me I no longer recognized myself.
“Then why is your lower lip trembling?”
I felt my muscles tightening. I’d felt amazing after he’d complimented me, something I rarely had before in my life. “My father would say praise is for the weak. Up until now, I believed him. Straight A’s. I held down two jobs in high school while taking courses at the community college as well. I helped on the ranch, often getting only a few hours of sleep. All without getting a pat on the back or a thank you.”
“Interesting,” Jameson countered. “I’m sorry to disagree with your father, but everyone needs to hear they’ve done a good job in their lives. Including you.”
“I assume you’re right, but not about me. I was raised to be a strong woman. My father was a tough man, ex-military. He believed in hard work and discipline, but his methods of showing approval consisted of not yelling at his children for something they’d been unable to accomplish. My brother hated it. I learned that it made me tougher.”
“Is that what you want to be? A tough girl, the one I saw almost get herself killed? The five guys you told off have the wealth and standing to get away with waiting for you after work and having their way with you.”
There was admonishment in his tone and I hated it.
“What I don’t want is for anyone to think they need to take care of me. I’m a big girl and I can handle anything life throws my way. Maybe that’s something you should keep in mind.” Where was this coming from? Because he was being so generous, taking me out to dinner? Because he’d offered me a job when no one else in the entire city would?
He remained quiet and I tried to laugh it off, immediately reaching for my wine. I hadn’t realized I’d remained nervous until I almost knocked the glass over, drops spilling on the table. “I’m sorry!”
When he placed his hand on mine, his grip firm, I was almost instantly calm.
“There is nothing to be sorry about and I’m not your father.”
“And I’m not looking for a surrogate.” As soon as the words left my mouth, I was horrified. “I…”
“Shush, Alexandra. What you and I shared together had nothing to do with age play. I’m not looking for a little girl.”
“Little girl?”
“Another form of kink.”
“Oh, as if you’d become my daddy.” My retort was clipped, but the light flutter in my heart had yet to cease. He had that kind of effect on me, and it scared me to death. I’d allowed him to see and experience the most vulnerable side of me and when I did something so stupid, I either turned into a bitch or crawled into my shell.
“Yes. That’s not my thing.” I could tell he was irritated that I was crossing him, acting like an impetuous child.
“What is your thing?” I was afraid to ask.
He sat back in his seat, but his hand never left mine, his thumb brushing aimlessly across my knuckles. “Someone I can enjoy life with, a woman to make feel special. However, I’m a dominant, so that means I will be always in control within the relationship.”
Was he testing whether or that was something I was interested in? I couldn’t tell.
“So you require a woman to remain at your feet? Would that woman eat out of a dog bowl too?”What are you doing?
My little voice pinged me hard. Challenging my boss when he was being so open was a very bad idea.
“Wow. If the woman I adored and trusted wanted to share her meals with me on the floor at certain times, I’d encourage it, but that is a choice between couples.” He narrowed his eyes, the slight shake of his head a reminder of how dominating he truly was. “But yes, I do prefer a woman to submit to my needs.”
