Body Politics by Cara Bristol Page B

glued to the final seconds of the Super Bowl. She had the most amazing mouth. Luscious. Soft. Rosy after going down on his cock, which was rigid again. A perpetual state these days.
    He cleared his throat. “The Rod and Cane benefit auction is next week. The grant requests have been processed, so I wasn’t able to retract WAN’s name. Are you sure you can’t accept?”
    She stuck her left hand out palm up. “A feminist organization.” She flipped up her right. “A men’s society that promotes the physical punishment of women. Gasoline and lit match.” Regret flickered in her eyes. “I’d love to accept the money, but one thing I’ve learned is that reality doesn’t matter as much as perception. Even if donations are given under RCS Enterprises, I can’t risk someone finding out. Dating you is chancy enough.”
    “No one knows I’m a member of Rod and Cane.”
    “Because?” She raised her eyebrows.
    “Because I’d probably lose my job.” He sighed. “I do understand your position.”
    “I’ll have to intercept the check when it comes in and return it. I have to admit, I would not have expected Rod and Cane to be as open as it is.”
    “That’s a new development.”
    “Since the Sentinel article?”
    “Yep. Security is still pretty tight. Only members of a certain standing are permitted to bring guests to the mansion.”
    “So you’re a member of certain standing.” She grinned.
    “You could say that.” He smiled. “So does your prohibition against accepting an auction donation prevent you from attending?”
    “No.”
    “Then it’s a date.”
    She expelled a huff of air. “Are you ever going to ask me on a date instead of tell me?”
    He leaned forward. “You don’t want me to ask you. You like it when I take control.”
    “I do not!” She glared at him.
    He rose, grabbed her wrist, and pulled her to a standing position. Bracing his foot against the chair seat, he motioned, and she obediently bent over his knee. He administered four swats to her naked behind. She emitted the cutest little squeak with each one.
    He allowed her to sit and returned to his place. “I rest my case.”
    * * * *
    As they cleaned up the dinner dishes, working comfortably and efficiently, they chatted about everything and nothing, proving to Mark the rightness of their relationship and how far Stephanie had progressed. The woman he’d met at Bottom’s Up a few weeks ago would have decked him before he could have delivered more than one swat to her curvy rear. While he’d meted out only one real spanking, punishment didn’t define a domestic discipline relationship but evolved out of it. That he accepted responsibility for leading and she acquiesced to following was the determining factor.
    Their connection was deep and intimate, and he was curious to know all about her, how she came to be the person she was. He’d learned she and her husband divorced after his infidelity, but knew little of her early family history.
    “Tell me about your father,” he said. It seemed like a good place to start.
    “Well,” she said, drying the fragile items that couldn’t go in the dishwasher, “he’s male. Mom says he was tall. And he was married—but not to my mother.”
    He filled in the blanks with everything she didn’t say. “So you never knew your father. Never had a relationship with him.”
    She shook her head. “No. My mother didn’t know he was married until she got pregnant, and then she discovered he had a wife and a real family. He didn’t want another child. He offered my mother money to go away.”
    Fuck!
    Stephanie continued. “She took it and opened my college fund.”
    Mark rubbed his whiskered chin. Her father had abandoned her, the moron asshole in high school used her, and her ex-husband had cheated. He leaned against the spotless counter as she folded the dish towel with creases the military would be proud of and slipped it through the handle on the dishwasher, which doubled as a towel