Page 37 of Jackson
Jackson ducked his head to make eye contact, and Paula nodded to show her understanding. “So you want us to sit down at the dining table for every meal?”
A boyish grin flashed over his face. “Follow me.” He took her hand and guided her to the kitchen which held a smaller table. “This is the place for preparing meals and eating them.”
Paula looked at the oak table with only one chair. “Do you expect me to sit in your lap?”
Jackson’s face scrunched up in a cute ‘I’m thinking hard’ face. “That’s actually an appealing thought, but you’ll be sittingbeside me.” Jackson indicated a wide cushion on the floor next to the chair.
What the hell?
“You want me beside you like a dog begging for scraps from the table.” Her voice rose in pitch.
“Tone,” he admonished. “I’m not into puppy play, Paula. When you’re sitting beside me on the ground I can monitor your reactions much better than when you’re across from me at the table. By kneeling, you will be getting into your submissive headspace. On the floor beside me, you don’t have to worry about a thing. I will be taking care of your every need.”
Paula’s anger vanished as rapidly as it had come. “I remember Lincoln and how he let go of everything around him, while on his knees beside Henry. Okay, I believe you, Sir.” No, he deserved more. “I’m sorry I snapped at you and assumed the worst.”
Jackson pressed a kiss on her cheek and squeezed her hand. “Apology accepted. I realize this is all very new to you, and most people don’t understand the lifestyle.”
“Is that the reason lifestylers get so irritated when I bring up the Fifty Shades movie?” She couldn’t contain her curiosity.
“The books and movies paint a very distorted picture of the lifestyle. It feeds the common misunderstanding that people who are into BDSM are mentally ill and need to be ‘cured’ of the disorder.” Jackson scowled, and after a brief pause, his face relaxed. “It did make the topic more socially acceptable, though, so that might be a plus.” He shrugged and gestured to the pillow. “When we come into the kitchen I want you to go to the pillow and kneel. Do you remember how you’re supposed to kneel?”
Paula nodded. “With my hands at the small of my back and my knees parted.”
He looked pleased that she’d remembered.
“There’s another pose I want to teach you. When I say ‘Present.’ I want you to stand upright like you’re at attention, but with your hands behind your back and your legs at least shoulder wide apart. Can you do it now?”
Paula obeyed and easily took the pose. Jackson looked her over. “Now clasp your arms by the elbows. Can you manage that or is it too uncomfortable?”
Paula tried, and although it felt somewhat awkward, she answered. “It’s okay.”
“Great, you can relax.”
Paula let out a sigh of relief when she let go of her arms and let them hang beside her body.
“There are a lot more poses we can do, but for now I think these two will do just fine. Do you have any more questions?”
Paula shook her head.
“In that case, our hour of show and tell is over, and now you belong to me.” His hot gaze made liquid gather between her legs. “Kneel, Melda.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The first two weeks of their new relationship flew by for Paula. The rhythm of texting Jackson during the day comforted her, and she felt special that he cared enough to want to hear from her; he was always prompt with his morning and evening responses. Sometimes, the evening text turned into a phone conversation that would leave her either excited or so relaxed she could almost fall asleep before she disconnected the call. If she was aroused by the call, she was stuck, because she had agreed to allow him to control her orgasms. Unless he gave her permission, she wasn’t allowed to masturbate.
She found she liked having a schedule and was slowly making a dent in her cluttered home. She had started in the kitchen, and after putting in extra time, she was all caught up with the dishes and had healthy food in her cabinets and refrigerator. Now, she was working on her bedroom. She’d taken a monster load of clothes to the dry cleaners, and today she was catching up on laundry. She’d even started a load of washing before she went for her run that morning. She hadn’t figured out how or when she was going to be able to tackle the main disaster area, but she hoped to start it soon. She had finished vacuuming her bedroomand was heading downstairs to check on the laundry when her doorbell rang.
Who could that be? People didn’t simply drop by. She hoped it wasn’t the neighborhood kids selling more stuff she didn’t need. She hated to turn them down, but she had all the wrapping paper she could ever use, she’d sworn off Girl Scout cookies, and was popcorned out. The schools and other groups needed the money, and she wanted to help, but the kids weren’t allowed to take direct contributions.
She looked through the peephole and realized it was way worse than unwanted underage solicitors. Jackson stood there, all lean muscle and confidence in worn jeans and a forest green long-sleeved shirt, looking infuriatingly good.
As he reached toward the doorbell to try again, she plastered on a smile and offered a prayer to the goddess of cleanliness to make her mess disappear as she opened the door.
“Sir,” she said. “I wasn’t expecting you.” She stepped out onto the porch and pulled the door closed behind her. She kissed him aggressively, hoping, for once, that he’d be the weak-kneed one. Of course, that was not to be, and she was ready to strip by the time he finished with her.
If Jackson was surprised by her sudden ardor, he hid it well. “What a lovely greeting, Melda. Perhaps we should take this inside before we have to arrest each other for public indecency.” His lips twitched, and she wanted to kiss him again.
Instead of opening the door and inviting him in, Paula tried to stall by asking, “What brings you by, Sir?”
