“Are you really describing yourself as nondescript, Ella?”
“Well, I know I’m unique to people who know me, Ian, but back then you didn’t know me from a hole in the wall…” I gasp. “Is that expression dirty?”
Ian laughs heartily. “I don’t think so but it sure sounds like it right now.”
My face heats up so quickly. Of course it’s an expression that Mariah favors, enough said. I regroup, swallowing a sip of my champagne. “To you, I was a young salesgirl. Right? I mean, there was nothing dramatically eye-catching about me that night, was there?”
“As a matter of fact, there was, baby. You looked up at me with those impossibly blue eyes and called me sir. That’s all the eye-catching I required.”
My mouth drops open—I have to work on that habit. “Because I called you sir, you wanted to get to know me?”
Grinning like a fool, he nods. “To some extent, yes. Look, Ella, here’s what I saw and now that we’re married, I don’t have to mince words.”
He leans in, a devilish gleam in his eyes. “I saw a hot, young brunette with a beautiful face and eyes to get lost in. I saw an innocent angel who was ripe for defrocking.” His voice drops to a deeper register. “I saw a girl with gorgeous fucking tits and a smokin’ ass on killer legs with long, silky dark hair, and lips that could inspire dreams so wet you could backstroke out of them.
“And… perhaps most significantly… a woman who called me sir. You brought out the Dominant in me, Ella. Big time. You still do.”
“A kitten can bring out the Dominant in you,” I grumble good-naturedly.
“Exactly. You’re my kitten. Now come here and sit on my lap.”
We still have on our wedding clothes, since neither of us wanted to wait to start our trip. I would have had to do the whole traditional thing with my mother and Mariah helping me change, and I wanted to avoid all of the sentimental crap as much as possible. I’m not the emotional type who cries at weddings or things of that nature, though my mom assures me that will change after I have children. Mom swears that maternal hormones can ruin a good bitch in no time. Something to look forward to, I guess.
So now I obey my new husband and crawl onto his lap—I’m nothing if not obedient. I can feel the heated steel under my butt and I wiggle around to torture him further. Since he used naughty words, I suppose it’s my turn. Let’s see if I can up the ante and shock him. I wrap my arms around his neck, leaning in enthusiastically to whisper in his ear, “How’s about I trip the trigger on that giant, hard cock you’ve got locked and loaded in those trousers? I have a special place to do it. Hot… wet… tight…”
Lazily, I rear back to look at his expression and yes, he looks somewhat startled but then he tosses his head back and laughs. And right there, right in the cabin where Nanette can possibly see us, he flips me over his knee, pulls up my wedding dress, and spanks me—hard. As promised.
I’m sputtering and gasping. “Ian, stop this moment or I’ll bite your leg!”
“Do it and I’ll spank you harder and then gag you once I’m done.”
“You wouldn’t…”
“Of course I would,” he says, his breathing getting labored. He’s hitting me damn hard. But now, after every slap, he rubs away the sting… to the extent possible. I’m so horrified that Nanette might come in from the galley or wherever she is and see us that the pain barely registers. Of course, I’ll feel it later when I can’t sit down.
“Ian, can we please go into the bedroom? Pleeeease?”
He laughs again and sets me on my feet. “I’ve wanted to do that for hours now, Mrs. Blackmon. Your dirty mouth pushed me over the edge, you know. And now I might just have to take out some of the toys I packed for our destination and use them right… this… minute.”
“Promises, promises.”
Standing up forcefully, he grips me by the wrist and tugging me behind him, leads us to the tiny bedroom… where he has a bed with narrow wood posts of a sort capped by finials, perfect for clipping cuffs to each corner. Ahh, how am I going to suffer this sexual torment on a plane? I can never be quiet, no matter the incentive or how high the ante is. I might just have to ask for that gag.
He strips me slowly, taking his time with each piece of clothing. When I’m standing in nothing but my garter belt, stockings, and very skimpy panties, he steps back to appraise me.
“Very nice, Ella. Even nicer,” he says, looking around on the floor and picking up my shoes, “would be if you were still wearing these.” He hands them to me and though my sore feet silently scream in protest, I force them back into the heels.