Chapter 2
CHAPTER 2
I t’s incredibly too early to be awake. Sean needs a first thing in the morning appointment for Lucky and he’s willing to pay extra to get me there at the butt crack of dawn. I pull the curtain aside and step into the shower, letting the hot water cascade over my shoulders, eyes closed as steam fills my bathroom. It's been three days since my first session with Lucky, and I can't get Sean out of my head. That commanding tone when he spoke to Lucky. The intensity in those blue eyes. The way his jaw flexed when he was irritated.
"Stop it," I mutter to myself, reaching for the shampoo. "He's a client. A client with control issues and perfect forearms and…" I groan, squeezing a generous amount of shampoo into my palm. "This is ridiculous." I’ve never fantasized over clients before. Not ever.
But as I massage the suds into my scalp, my mind wanders back to the moment when Sean's voice dropped an octave, telling Lucky "No" with such authority that even I felt the urge to behave. He wasn’t the first male client I’d ever had. He wasn’t even the first to have a commanding, authoritarian presence when speaking to his dog. What made him different? The combination of gentle plus bossy? The way he tenderly spoke of his sister? I don’t know, but what I do know is I’m attracted to him. Maybe I’ve read too many Daddy Dom books. Maybe I’m reading too many novels. Joining the Naughty Girls Book Club was an impulsive purchase, but I’ve made some of my best friends from the online chat. Women who understand me and don’t think my desires for finding an alpha male boyfriend to be strange. I’ve yet to find a man who could make my… what is it I always read in my books? Oh, yeah. Make my panties wet. Until Sean. I’d literally felt my nipples tighten when he’d scowled at me.
I can’t help but wonder… What would it be like if he used that voice on me? If those strong hands...I gasp, my own fingers freezing in my hair. This fantasy is heading into dangerous territory—the kind of scenario I'd read about in our book club's latest pick, where the stern hero takes the willful heroine in hand when she pushes too far. The thought of Sean spanking my bottom, his hand leaving marks on my skin as he…
Stop!
Get. A. Grip. I quickly rinse my hair and turn the water temperature down a few degrees. Cold reality is what I need right now, not hot fantasies about a man who's paying me to train his dog, for heaven's sake. Not even the colder water could deter my fantasy.
My breathing quickens as the shower spray slides between my breasts, teasing over my hardening nipples. I can almost feel Sean's hands there instead, and I squirm against the wet tiles. Heat pools between my thighs, and I reach down to relieve the ache building there. God, I need this.
Gripping the edge of the shower stall, I let images of Sean take over. In my mind, he steps closer, his deep voice rumbling in my ear.
“You’ve been a very naughty girl,” he says, his tone low and husky. I can practically feel his hands on my hips as he guides me over his knee. His thick cock pressing against my abdomen. His hand comes down hard on my ass before he rubs the sting away. “Naughty girls get their asses spanked.”
After several spanks, Sean stops and I'm left trembling, my backside on fire, but the rest of me is tense with desire. Slowly, he slides his fingers between my legs, coating them with my arousal before returning to my aching, wet entrance. With one finger inside me, he crooks his finger just so, hitting my g-spot and sending me over the edge. I moan loudly as my orgasm washes over me along with the constant pulse of water from the shower head; my orgasm explodes into a cascade of pleasure that leaves me trembling and spent against the shower wall.
By the time I step out of the shower, my skin is flushed—from the hot water, I tell myself, definitely just the hot water—and I'm more determined than ever to keep things strictly professional with Sean Ferguson.
Even if part of me desperately wants to discover just how far I'd have to push to make him pull me over his knee.
"Are you sure you're a dog trainer and not a life coach?" Sean asks as we wrap up our session. Lucky is sprawled out on the floor, exhausted from the training exercises and practically comatose with the satisfaction of all the treats he's earned.
I laugh, packing up my training bag. "Dog training is just as much about training the owners as it is about training the pups."
"So, I'm being trained too? That's what you're saying?" One eyebrow arches in a way that makes my stomach do a little flip. It's unfair how attractive he is when he's being sarcastic.
"Absolutely." I zip up my bag and throw it over my shoulder. "And I've got to say, you're both doing great. Lucky has tons of potential. He's smart, eager to please. He just needs consistent boundaries."
“Boundaries,” Sean repeats. “Right.” He shoots a skeptical glance at the golden retriever, who chooses that exact moment to roll onto his back, paws in the air, tongue lolling out in the most undignified way possible. “I’m normally the one in charge.” He tells me.
I hold back a laugh and then, because I can’t help myself, I say, "Maybe you could color-code a chart for him. Create a spreadsheet of acceptable versus unacceptable behaviors."
The look he gives me could freeze water. "You think you're very funny, don't you?"
"I think I'm hilarious," I confirm, grinning. "But seriously, you're overthinking. Dogs are simple. They want structure, praise, and consistency. Not so different from people, really."
His eyes narrow slightly. "And what makes you such an expert on what people want?"
There's something in his tone that makes me pause, a deeper question lurking beneath the surface. For a brief second, I consider deflecting with another joke, but something about the intensity of his gaze makes me answer honestly.
“Maybe not all people. Before becoming a dog trainer, I was a kindergarten teacher. Children I found definitely thrived with structure, praise, and consistency. I've always been good at reading others, both animals and people. It's like... seeing the patterns beneath the chaos." I shrug. "Dogs are just more honest about their needs, which is why I like them more than most people.”
His expression softens slightly, almost imperceptibly. "And what do you need, Jessica Wright?"
The question catches me off guard, too personal for someone I just met. But before I can formulate an answer, his phone rings. The moment shatters as he checks the screen, his professional mask sliding back into place.
"I need to take this," he says, all business again.
"No problem. Same time Wednesday?"
He nods, already answering the call. "Ferguson speaking."
I scratch Lucky behind his ears once more. He barely lifts his head in acknowledgment, and I see myself out. It's not until I'm in my car that I realize my heart is beating just a little too fast.
"Wait, back up. You're telling me this guy is fifty-one, looks like he walked out of a silver fox GQ photoshoot, and commands an entire government cybersecurity team?" Jackie leans forward across our booth at The Watering Hole, our local pub and the unofficial headquarters of our local chapter of the Naughty Girls Book Club, when we meet in person. There’s only five of us in Charlotte, but we get together in person at least once a month. "And he has a golden retriever puppy he doesn't know how to handle? This is literal romance novel material."
I take a long sip of my margarita. "I know, right? It's like the universe is testing me."
"Testing you? Girl, the universe is gift-wrapping him for you." Maya, our resident romance expert who's read more books than our local library contains, wags her eyebrows suggestively. "Didn't we just finish that book last month? The one with the uptight CEO who gets saddled with his niece's puppy?"
" Unleashed Passion ," Christine supplies helpfully. "Though that guy was only forty-three and owned a tech company, not some super-secret government cybersecurity operation."
"My point," Maya continues, "is that this is practically fate. Life imitating art."
I roll my eyes. "It's a professional relationship. I'm training his dog, not seducing him."
"But you want to," Jackie says, not a question but a statement of fact.
I groan, dropping my head to the table. "He's a client. He's twenty years older than me. He probably thinks I'm an unprofessional mess with my pink hair and?—"
"Pink hair that I did a damn good job coloring, if I do say so myself. And, I’m sure he totally checked it out," Christine interjects. "You said he specifically mentioned it."
"He didn’t exactly compliment it!"
"In romance novel world, it means everything," Maya says solemnly. "The stuffy hero always notices the quirky heroine's unusual hair. It's, like, a rule."
I lift my head just enough to glare at her. "This isn't a romance novel."
"But it could be," Jackie sing-songs, finishing her drink. "So, what's your plan of attack?"
"My plan is to train his dog and collect my fee." I sit up straight, trying to sound professional despite the margarita buzz starting to take effect. "That's it."
"Boring," Christine declares. "At least find out if he's got the whole Daddy Dom vibe going on under that uptight exterior."
I nearly choke on my drink. "I am not asking my client if he's a Daddy Dom!"
"You don't have to ask," Maya says with a wicked grin. "Just... test him a little. See how he reacts when you push his buttons."
"That's completely inappropriate and unprofessional," I protest, but I can't deny the idea sends a little thrill through me. The truth is, Sean Ferguson has Daddy written all over him—the commanding presence, the controlled exterior, those moments when his voice goes deep and authoritative.
"Your face says inappropriate, but your eyes say 'tell me more,'" Jackie teases.
"I hate all of you," I mutter, but there's no heat in it.
"Just be late to your next session," Christine suggests. "See how he reacts when his precious schedule is disrupted."
“Again, unprofessional,” I retort.
"Or text while he's talking," Maya adds. "That would drive a control freak nuts."
"Or just wear something cute," Jackie says reasonably. "Nothing wrong with looking good while being professional. Maybe something a bit shorter than you would normally wear."
I shake my head, but I can't help smiling. "You're all terrible influences."
"That's why you love us," Christine says, raising her glass. "To terrible influences and hot daddy dog owners!"
"He's not a daddy—" I start to protest, but they're already clinking glasses, and I give up, joining in the toast instead.
By the end of the night, I've promised them absolutely nothing, but in my head? I'm already planning what to wear to our next session.
I'm purposely seven minutes late to our next appointment. Not late enough to be unprofessional, but just enough to see if it rattles him. I've also swapped my usual training outfit for the tight TikTok leggings that do amazing things for my ass and a fitted tank top under a zip-up hoodie. Last night, I drank wine with Christine as she colored my hair an ombre hot pink. It’s a brighter pink than before, and I left it down in waves.
When Sean opens the door, his eyes do a quick sweep from my hair to my shoes before returning to my face, his expression unreadable.
"You're late," he says, stepping aside to let me in.
"Traffic," I lie smoothly, even though there's never traffic in our small town. "Sorry about that."
His only response is a noncommittal "Hmm," but I catch the slight tightening around his eyes.
Score one for the girls. He definitely noticed.
Lucky, at least, is thrilled to see me, bounding over with such enthusiasm that I have to brace myself to avoid being bowled over.
"Someone's excited for training," I laugh, scratching behind his ears.
"He hasn't stopped watching the door," Sean admits, and there's a warmth in his voice when he talks about Lucky that wasn't there last week. Progress.
"Aww, did you miss me, buddy?" I coo, letting Lucky lick my chin before gently directing him to sit. He obeys instantly, his tail still wagging a mile a minute. "Look at you! Someone's been practicing."
I notice the corner of Sean’s mouth turn up just slightly. "We've been working on the basics every day, like you suggested. Consistency and all that."
"I'm impressed." And I genuinely am. Most owners half-ass the homework I give them, but it's clear Sean has taken it seriously. "Let's see what else he's learned."
We go through the basic commands I’d taught him. Only three. Sit, stay and come. Lucky nails every one of them. Sean stands a little straighter with each success, that control-freak energy channeling into something productive. It's actually... kind of hot.
"You've done really well with him," I say as Lucky holds a perfect stay despite the treat I've placed on the floor in front of him. "He's picked this up way faster than I expected."
"We've been practicing for twenty minutes every morning and every evening, precisely at 7:15." Of course, he has a precise schedule. As physically attractive as he is, his control over every single detail is a turnoff. I’m more wild and free. Impulsive. I don’t like to be micromanaged. Maybe I have this all wrong.
"Well, it's paying off. Let's try something a little harder today.”
I pull out my phone to check the training plan I've made for Lucky, but truth be told, I'm also testing out Maya's suggestion. I deliberately take longer than necessary, scrolling through notifications from the group chat that's been buzzing with questions about "Mr. Daddy Dom Security Expert" all week.
Sean clears his throat. "Is there something important on your phone?"
"Just checking my notes," I say airily, swiping away a particularly explicit message from Jackie about what she thinks Sean might be like in bed. I feel heat rise to my cheeks and hope he doesn't notice.
But Sean notices everything. His eyes narrow slightly. "Your notes about dog training have you blushing?"
Busted.
I lock my phone quickly. "Just a text from a friend. Nothing important."
"If it's nothing important, perhaps we could focus on the training?" There's an edge to his voice now, something that makes my pulse quicken. "I am paying for your undivided attention, after all."
The word "undivided" somehow sounds like both a reprimand and a promise in his mouth. I slip my phone into my side pocket. "You're absolutely right. Sorry about that."
He holds my gaze a beat longer than necessary, and for a wild second I imagine him taking the phone away from me, telling me I can have it back when I've learned to pay attention.
I force the thought away. "Let's work on 'leave it' today. It's a crucial command for puppies who like to put everything in their mouths."
For the next hour, we work together seamlessly. I show the techniques, Sean follows my instructions precisely, and Lucky proves himself to be a quick learner. By the end of the session, Lucky can reliably ignore a treat placed right in front of him until Sean gives the release command.
"That's fantastic progress," I tell them both as I pack up my training gear. "Next week we can start working on leash manners."
Sean nods, hands in his pockets. "I've been meaning to ask. I have a work thing Monday. A retirement brunch across town that I can't miss. Would it be possible to move our session to another day?"
"I think I can make that work," I say, pulling out my phone again to check my calendar. "How's 10 AM Tuesday?"
"Perfect."
As I'm entering the new time into my schedule, my phone buzzes with another group text. I try to ignore it, but curiosity gets the better of me, and I sneak a peek.
Maya: UPDATE REQUIRED! Has daddy laid down the law yet??
I feel my cheeks warm again and quickly lock the screen, but not before catching Sean's raised eyebrow.
"Friend again?" he asks, his tone casual but his eyes sharp.
"Something like that," I mutter, shoving the phone back in my pocket.
"You know," he says, stepping closer, "where I’m from, it’s considered rude to check your phone in the middle of a conversation."
I lift my chin. "Good thing we're done with our session then."
His lips twitch, almost a smile, but not quite. "Are we?"
There's a loaded quality to the question that makes my heart beat faster. We're standing too close now, close enough that I can smell his cologne. Something expensive and subtle, with notes of cedar and bergamot. His eyes hold mine, challenging me to look away first.
I don't.
"Tell me, Jessica," he says, my full name rolling off his tongue in a way that makes me shiver, "do you make a habit of testing boundaries with all your clients, or am I special?"
My mouth goes dry. "I don't know what you mean."
"I think you do." His voice drops lower, a rumble that I feel in my chest. "The lateness. The phone. The..." his eyes do another quick sweep, "outfit."
Heat floods my face. "I always dress like this for training."
His smile is slow, knowing. "No, you don't."
I'm caught, and we both know it. I could apologize, could backpedal, could play dumb. Instead, I’m absolutely shocked to hear myself say, "And what if I am testing boundaries? What would you do about it?"
The air between us crackles with tension. For a wild moment, I think he might actually answer the question. Might show me exactly what he'd do.
Instead, Lucky chooses that exact moment to race between us, a sock stolen from somewhere dangling from his mouth.
The tension breaks. Sean sighs, stepping back. "Lucky, drop it."
Lucky, delighted to have attention again, does not drop it. Instead, he dashes away, initiating a game of chase that has Sean muttering curse words under his breath.
I can't help but laugh. "Looks like someone else is testing boundaries."
Sean glances back at me, and there's something in his eyes, something hot and promising, that makes me catch my breath.
"Some boundaries," he says quietly, "are more dangerous to test than others."
With that cryptic warning, he turns to chase after Lucky, leaving me standing there with my heart racing and a thrill of anticipation curling in my stomach.
Next week can't come fast enough.