I Married a Master(55)
Author: Melanie Marchande

"Okay, fine," I said. "I’m sure you’ll have plenty of time to present all sorts of facts over the weekend."

He was trying to hide a smile, a little secretive grin, but he wasn’t quite succeeding.

"What?" I demanded, sidling up to him. The air still sparked with the flirtation between us, and I was reluctant to let it go. The alcohol made me just clumsy enough that I went too far, and bumped my hip against his.

It was an accident…right?

"Nothing," he insisted, his smile only growing. If he noticed my little slip-up, he didn’t react – at least, not outwardly. But I was pretty sure I felt the tension in the room grow thicker. "I’m not gonna say it."

"Come on," I wheedled, stopping just short of fluttering my eyelashes at him. But I was shameless enough to purposefully reach past him for the bottle of wine, turning sideways so that we faced each other. I knew this dress was doing all kinds of favors for my cleavage, and it just seemed wasted if I didn’t show it off a little.

And yeah, he noticed. His eyes flickered down a little bit, just like any human being would when confronted with a faceful of boobs. His tongue flicked out to wet his lips slightly, and he took a deep breath before his eyes returned to my face.

The smile came back.

"Nah," he said. "Not unless you tell me something."

I cleared my throat. For some reason, it was suddenly hard to remember words. "Okay," I said, grasping the corkscrew in my fist. "Go ahead, I’m an open book."

He turned slightly, his hip leaning against the counter, so we were face to face, just inches apart. "Then why is your face the same color as your lipstick?" he asked, showing off that ridiculously adorable snaggletooth. Warmth pooled in my belly. "A lovely shade, by the way."

My throat was very dry. "Matches the blood of my enemies," I quipped. "Wine makes me flush. That’s all. Don’t flatter yourself."

It wasn’t exactly a lie, but that certainly wasn’t why I was blushing. Oh well. He didn’t need to know.

Judging by the look on his face, he already did.

Smug prick.

"Okay," He shoved his hands in his pockets, looking me up and down. I managed to suppress my little shiver – just barely. But the weight of his gaze really felt like a caress, as ridiculous as that sounded. "I know I said I wouldn’t bring it up again, unless you wanted to talk. But I gotta ask…"

Instantly, my heart started racing. I was so not ready to discuss this again. Not with him. Especially not after the out-of-control fantasies I’d been having lately.

"…have you thought about it since?" he finished, his eyes glinting slightly.

He didn’t have to say anything else, and he knew it. We both understood.

My fist tightened around the…wine…opener…thingy.

Holy shit, he makes you stupid.

"Yes," I said, my voice coming out just barely above a whisper.

Ben’s eyes widened, softened, and then his smile grew a little bit. "Yes?" he repeated. "A one-word answer? That’s all I get?"

I nodded.

"Fine." He shrugged. "Your turn."

"You know what I wanted to ask you." I took a deep breath, trying to calm my heartbeat. "I wanted to know what you were thinking. What made you smile."

"I was just thinking," he said, slowly, his eyes dragging across my body again. "If we were really a couple, and you touched my tattoos after I specifically told you not to, I’d have to give you one hell of a spanking."

I almost dropped the thingy.

With a sudden movement, I turned back to the counter, grabbing the wine and trying to stab the…fucking…whatever it was called into the cork. I couldn’t deal with this. I absolutely could not –

"Ow," I hissed, when the sharpest part of the implement slipped and scraped down the side of the bottle, catching my hand in the process.

Ben intervened. "Here," he said, grasping both items and smoothly removing them from my grip.

Corkscrew. Right.

Screw.

Damn it, I was losing my mind. My pulse was thudding so loudly in my head, it was a wonder I could still hear anything else.

"Are you okay?" he glanced at me.

"Yeah," I said, staring down at my hand, blushing furiously. It was just a superficial scrape. Just a stupid, clumsy slip-up, because all I could think about was Ben’s hand resting firmly on my back, pushing me down onto the kitchen table so he could deal out the spanking that I deserved.

Bullshit, I don’t…

But it didn’t matter if I deserved it. I wanted it.

The question came out in a rush, before I could stop myself. "Is that really how it works? I thought they got to decide when they get spanked."

"It depends." He set the bottle down, and I could feel him looking at me, even though I refused to meet his eyes. "I don’t think you should have anything else to drink right now, do you?"

Yes. No. I don’t know.

"Maybe not," I conceded.

"Jenna, look at me."

I did, swallowing hard.

"Is it the wine that’s making you act like this, or is it something else?" He smiled a little. "I’ve seen you drink a lot more than this before, and you never acted so…"

It’s because of you. I’m drunk on you.

Damn it, if I said that out loud, I’d never live it down.

"It’s just weird," I said, a little too loudly. "Us. Alone together. I barely know you, and pretty much all I know about you is what kind of sex you like. That’s kind of strange, isn’t it? I mean, it’s hard not to think about it."

I wasn’t sure if I was making any sense, but he seemed to accept that. "Jenna, if there’s anything else you want to know about it, feel free to ask me. That offer always stands. I’ll tell you anything you need to know, to feel comfortable with me."

Well, I was certainly never going to be comfortable. But I appreciated the gesture, nonetheless.

I had so many questions, still. After that long conversation at his apartment, I still felt like I had no idea what it was like, being his lover. How could I possibly hope to play the role if I didn’t even understand something so basic?

"I guess I do still have questions," I admitted. "I didn’t really want to ask, it seems…awkward…I don’t know." I twisted my hands together, wishing I was still holding the stupid corkscrew so I’d have something to do with them. "But if I’m supposed to pretend like we’re a couple, I need to know what it’s really like."

He raised his eyebrows. "You want details? You might have to dial it down to something more specific. I’m not much of a raconteur."