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“The spanking. It added so much.” She touches my cheek. “I never knew, Hunter. I never knew.”
“Is your favorite flavor still vanilla?” I ask.
She giggles softly. “In ice cream? Yeah. In sex? Not so much.”
I take her in my arms, my jeans still around my thighs, and we simply embrace. Capture the moment of our afterglow.
A few minutes later, she pulls away. “I’m thirsty.”
“Me too.”
“Want some water? Or more wine?”
“Just water. Thanks.”
I adjust my jeans while she gets us two glasses of water. She gestures for me to follow her to the couch. “Is it okay if I get dressed now?”
“You mean I can’t keep you naked?” I waggle my eyebrows. “Like a concubine?”
She gives me a good-natured punch. “That’s a hard no.”
“You may get dressed. But you may be getting undressed later.”
“Fair enough.” Instead of donning her dress, she walks behind a door, presumably her bedroom, and then emerges wearing a short, satiny robe.
Damn.
“I don’t want to screw up the moment, but something’s been bugging me, and I need to bring it up.”
She raises her eyebrows. “What?”
“About that article you’re writing,” I begin.
“I know how you feel about it, Hunter.”
“I don’t want to be a part of any article. I won’t be a part of any article.”
“You’ve made that clear.”
“Frankie, what people do in the privacy of the bedroom, or club, or even an exhibition room, is no one else’s business.”
“That’s why I’ll be changing all the names of my sources. And if someone feels the same way you do—that it’s none of anyone’s business—then that someone doesn’t have to talk to me at all.”
“I’m still not happy about it,” I admit. “How can you guarantee that anything between us won’t turn up in what you write?”
“You’ll just have to trust me, Hunter. Trust that I’m a professional and I’d never use anyone as a source who specifically tells me not to. I’m writing the article. Frankly, I’m a little pissed that you’d insinuate otherwise.”
“I’m not insinuating anything. I’m just voicing my concerns.”
“And I’m telling you there’s no reason to be concerned. I’m writing it, whether you like it or not.”
“I know you are.”
“I won’t put you in it. But I’m writing it.” She gives me an adorable sneer.
“Did you expect me to physically stop you from writing it? That’s not what being a Dominant is all about.”
She sighs. “The fact is that I don’t know what being a Dominant is about. Or what being a submissive is about. Or how Doms and subs differ from each other. Maybe you should educate me. I was going to go to a class over at Treasure’s Chest—”
“A class?”
“Yeah. They have classes, and I can go to their introductory one for free. I thought it would be a great chance to learn something for my article.”
“Okay.”
I know one of the women who teaches those classes, and she’s a good submissive. Her name is Mary, but her submissive name is Blossom. She understands all the nuances, and she’s probably good at conveying the lifestyle to others in a classroom setting.
I shouldn’t have any problem with this.
But I don’t want Frankie attending the class.
I also know I can’t prevent her from attending, just like I can’t prevent her from writing the article.
“I can teach you all you need to know about being a submissive,” I tell her.
“Can you?”
“Of course. I’ve been a Dominant for most of my adult life.”
“So I shouldn’t attend the class?”
“You can if you want to, but wouldn’t you rather learn from me?”
She smiles then, and I know I’ve got her. Not that Mary would teach her anything inaccurate, but if she’s willing to learn from me, that’s better. We can grow together in this relationship.
Yes. Our relationship.
I’m going to have—I want to have—a relationship with this woman.
“Okay… But you still don’t want me using you at all for the article.”
“No, I do not.”
“Then I have to take the class, Hunter, if I can’t put what you teach me in it.”
“Why do you need the class for the article?”
“Because I want to be as educated as I can be. That’s what research is. You know this. You’re a scholar.”
She’s right, and I don’t have an argument.
My lifestyle is just so private to me.
I feel it should be private to everyone.
In fact, anyone in the lifestyle wouldn’t read the article because we understand the need for privacy. Even the exhibitionists need a safe place to display themselves, and they find that at the club, where everyone signs nondisclosures but they can still give the voyeurs something to look at.
“Think about your audience,” I say. “People in this lifestyle aren’t the ones who’ll be reading the work.”
“So you’re saying I’m writing this for the people not in the lifestyle.”
“Of course you are.”
She doesn’t reply. Of course she knows that. No one in the lifestyle needs this information. They all know it.
