Chapter 4
CHAPTER 4
I 'm on my absolute best behavior when I arrive at Freedom Park for our next session. I'm five minutes early, my phone is locked in my glove compartment, and I've worn my most professional training outfit, a navy blue cargo pants with sensible pockets and a plain black t-shirt that doesn't cling to anything.
Professional.
That's the word of the day. Professional, professional, professional. I’m not going to think about how I masturbated to his image in my mind last night, trying to get him out of my system.
Or, how I’d read RJ’s newest release chalked full of spanking goodness. Nope. I definitely wasn’t going to think about how age play isn’t my thing, but finding a man who would treat me like a princess during the day, spank my ass and make me orgasm at night, was.
Maybe I should put a profile on one of the kinky dating sites like some of my friends have been doing. Because, finding a man from among my clients is not professional. Today, I’m going to be professional.
Professional.
I repeat it like a mantra as I wait by the park entrance, leash and training treats in hand. No more games. No more testing boundaries. No more inappropriate "Daddy" slips. Just good, clean, dog training.
"Jessica."
I nearly jump out of my skin at the sound of Sean's voice behind me. I turn to find him standing there with Lucky, who's straining against his leash, tail wagging furiously at the sight of me. I’ve definitely fallen for this little furball.
"Mr. Ferguson," I say formally, immediately cringing at how stiff it sounds. "Good morning."
One dark eyebrow rises at the formal address. "Mr. Ferguson? That's new."
I clear my throat. "I thought we should... clarify the professional nature of our relationship."
Something flickers across his face. I can’t tell what it is… amusement? Disappointment? He nods. "Of course. Shall we begin?"
"Yes. I thought we'd start with basic leash manners." I gesture to the walking path that winds through the park. "Lucky needs to learn to walk beside you without pulling."
Sean nods, and we set off along the path. Lucky, predictably, lunges ahead, dragging Sean along like he's water skiing on land.
"The key is consistency," I explain, demonstrating how to hold the leash. "When he pulls, you stop walking. Only move forward when there's slack in the leash."
Sean follows my instructions with the same precision he's shown in our previous sessions. Stop when Lucky pulls, wait for him to come back, reward the good behavior with a small treat. It's slow going, but by the third lap around the small duck pond, Lucky is starting to get the idea.
"He's smart," I say, watching as Lucky trots happily beside Sean, glancing up at him every few steps for approval. "He wants to please you."
"He just needs to know the rules," Sean replies, and there's something in his tone that makes me glance up at him. He's looking at me, not Lucky, with an expression I can't quite decipher.
I look away quickly. "Most dogs do well with clear expectations."
"Most people too," he says mildly.
We’ve had this conversation before and it’s led to hot steamy showers, my hand squeezing my nipples in my bed and behavior unlike me. I feel heat rise to my cheeks but refuse to take the bait.
Professional, I remind myself.
Professional, professional, professional.
We continue our lap around the pond, and Lucky continues to improve. When Sean praises him, his voice holds genuine warmth and pride. It's the most relaxed I've seen him, out here in the sunshine with his dog. He’s kind of tightly wound otherwise.
"You're doing great with him," I say, meaning it. "I know this isn't what you signed up for, but you've really risen to the occasion."
Sean's expression softens. "Thank you. That... means a lot, actually. I’ve always liked dogs, and my family had them growing up but I never intended to get one. At least not now. I’m kind of a lone wolf. My ex-wife was a cat person, and well, I’m definitely not. My sister meant the world to me and I can’t imagine breaking a promise I made to her while she was dying. For better or worse, Lucky is stuck with me. Taking care of him makes me feel closer to her."
For a moment, we're just looking at each other, and there's none of the tension or game-playing from before. Just two people who care about a dog.
The moment stretches, warm and unexpectedly sweet, until Lucky spots a squirrel and lunges, nearly yanking Sean off his feet.
"Whoa, easy there," I laugh, helping Sean regain his balance. "Let's practice the 'look at me' command to help with distractions."
We spend another half hour working on getting Lucky to maintain focus despite the many temptations of the park. And there are many. Squirrels, other dogs, picnicking families with all sorts of food, teenagers playing ball. He's making progress, but it's clear this will take more practice.
"I think that's enough for today," I say finally. "He's starting to get tired, and training is most effective in short sessions anyway."
Sean nods, giving Lucky a pat of approval. "Same time at my place?"
"Actually, I was thinking we might try somewhere different. Maybe the pet store? It's a more challenging environment with lots of distractions, and they have a training area we could use."
"That sounds reasonable."
We're walking back toward the parking lot when I spot a family with a toddler heading our way. The little girl is running ahead of her parents, arms outstretched, making a beeline straight for Lucky.
"Careful," I call out, but it's too late. The child's sudden movement triggers Lucky's play response, and he lunges forward, barking excitedly.
Sean, caught off guard, loses his grip on the leash.
And just like that, Lucky is free.
"Lucky, no!" Sean shouts, but the puppy is already racing toward the little girl, who shrieks with delight.
"Stay calm," I tell Sean, immediately shifting into crisis mode. "Don't chase him, that'll just make it a game."
But Sean isn't listening. He's already sprinting after Lucky, calling his name with increasing desperation.
I roll my eyes and follow at a more measured pace. This is exactly what not to do when a dog gets loose, but Sean's protective instinct has clearly overridden his training.
Thankfully, Lucky isn't aggressive, just overexcited. He reaches the little girl and begins jumping up and licking her face while she giggles. Her parents arrive seconds later, looking more amused than concerned.
"Friendly dog," the father says as Sean reaches them, breathless and panicked.
"I'm so sorry," Sean apologizes, grabbing for Lucky's leash. "He's still in training."
"No problem," the mother assures him, though she does pull her daughter back. "Angie loves dogs."
“I teach the children I work with to always ask a dog owner before petting their dog. Some dogs are super sweet like Lucky here, but some of them… well, looks can be deceiving,” I tell the mother.
“Great advice!” the father says. “We will start working with her on it. Have a great afternoon!”
Sean secures the leash, his face flushed with exertion and embarrassment and turns to me. "I'm really sorry about that," he says to me, voice tight. "I lost my grip."
"It happens," I say with a shrug. "No harm done."
The family moves on, the little girl waving goodbye to Lucky over her shoulder. Once they're out of earshot, Sean rounds on me.
"No harm done? He could have hurt that child, knocked her down and her head could have hit the sidewalk. He could have run into the street. He could have?—"
"But he didn't," I interrupt. "He played with a kid who was clearly delighted to see him, and now he's back on leash. Crisis averted."
Sean's jaw tightens. "You're not taking this seriously enough."
"And you're taking it too seriously. Lighten up, Sean. Lucky didn't do anything wrong. He was just being a dog." I suspect there is something more going on here. It doesn’t feel like normal Sean behavior. I wonder why he’s overreacting this way. Does this have anything to do with Lucky or is it because we’ve been ignoring the tension between us for the last two sessions? Have the roles reversed? Is he now pushing my buttons?
"A poorly trained dog."
I feel a flash of indignation. "Excuse me? We've been training for all of three weeks. He's making incredible progress. You're the one who dropped the leash."
"Because you said to practice in a public park with distractions before he was ready!"
"That's how dogs learn! By being exposed to real-world situations!"
We're facing off in the middle of the path now, both of us angry, both of us too stubborn to back down. Lucky sits between us, looking from one to the other like he's watching a tennis match.
"Your methods are too chaotic," Sean says, his voice low and controlled despite his obvious anger. "Too unstructured. You're setting him up to fail."
That stings, professionally and personally. "My methods work. They've worked for hundreds of dogs. Just because they don't fit into your neat little control-freak boxes doesn't mean they're wrong."
"I hired you to train my dog, not to turn him into a public menace."
"He's not a menace! He's a puppy who played with a kid for thirty seconds! God, do you hear yourself? You sound like?—"
"Like what?" His eyes narrow dangerously.
"Like someone who needs to get the stick out of his ass and learn to go with the flow once in a while," I snap, too angry to filter myself.
Something shifts in Sean's expression, a darkening, a hardening. "Go with the flow," he repeats, each word precise and clipped. "Is that your professional advice, Ms. Wright? Just... let chaos reign? No rules, no structure, no consequences?"
"There's a difference between rules and rigidity," I say, taking a step toward him. "Structure doesn't have to mean control."
"Doesn't it?" He takes a step closer too, his voice dropping lower. "Tell me, what happens in your training methods when a dog doesn't listen? When he breaks the rules repeatedly? Is there no correction? No consequence?"
We're standing too close now, close enough that I can see the flecks of darker blue in his irises, can smell the clean, masculine scent of his cologne.
"Of course there are consequences," I say, my voice softer now but no less intense. "But they're proportional. They're fair. They're about teaching, not punishing."
"And who decides what's proportional? What's fair? You?" His eyes search mine, challenging. "The same person who's been deliberately pushing my buttons for weeks? Who called me 'Daddy' just to see how I'd react?"
Heat floods my face. "That was an accident..."
"Don't deny it," he cuts me off. "We both know exactly what you've been doing."
I should apologize.
I should back away, maintain professional distance, and reestablish boundaries. But something in his tone, in the intensity of his gaze, makes me reckless.
"Fine," I say, lifting my chin defiantly. "I have been pushing your buttons. And you know why? Because you're wound so tight it's a miracle you don't snap in half. Because you need someone to challenge you, to shake up your perfect little ordered world."
"What I need," he says, his voice dangerously soft, "is not your concern."
"No? Then why do you keep rising to the bait? Why not just fire me and find another trainer? One who'll follow your rules and stroke your ego and never, ever call you Daddy?"
Lucky whines, sensing the tension between us. Sean glances down at him, then back at me, something shifting in his expression.
"Let's move somewhere more private," he says abruptly, gesturing toward a stand of trees off the main path. "This isn't a conversation to be had in the middle of a public park."
My heart speeds up, but I follow him, curiosity overriding caution. The secluded area he leads us to is still visible from the main path but far enough away that our conversation won't be overheard. Dappled sunlight filters through the leaves overhead, creating a strangely intimate setting for what's clearly about to be a dressing-down.
Sean secures Lucky's leash to a nearby bench, ensuring he can't get loose again, then turns to face me.
"You think I don't know what you've been doing?" he says quietly. "You think I can't tell when someone's deliberately provoking me?"
I cross my arms defensively. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Yes, you do. Lying is a punishable offense.” He steps closer, and suddenly my back is against a tree trunk. "You know exactly what you’ve been doing. The lateness. The phone. The constant challenge of my authority. The 'Daddy' comment. You're testing me, pushing to see how far you can go before I snap."
My breathing quickens, but I refuse to look away. "And what if I am? Are you not attracted to me? What are you going to do about it?" Is he going to fire me now? Tell me I’m a young, stupid girl playing dangerous games? Is he going to kiss me? Spank me? Reject me? I hold my breath, waiting to see what happens next.
His eyes darken. "That's the question, isn't it? What do you want me to do about it, Jessica?"
The air between us crackles with tension. I should back down. I should laugh it off. I should maintain professional boundaries.
Instead, I hear myself say, "Maybe I want to see what happens when Mr. Perfect Control Freak finally loses it."
"Is that what you want?" His voice is dangerously soft. "To see me lose control?"
"Maybe." My voice is barely a whisper now.
"You have no idea what you're asking for."
"Try me."
He studies me for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then, with deliberate slowness, he places one hand on the tree beside my head, leaning in until his lips are near my ear.
"Last chance to walk away, Jessica," he murmurs, his breath warm against my skin. "Tell me to stop, and we go back to being trainer and client. Nothing more."
My heart is hammering so hard I'm sure he can hear it. "And if I don't want to stop?"
His other hand comes up to cup my chin, tilting my face up to meet his gaze. "Then you accept the consequences of your actions. All of them."
There it is…the line in the sand. Cross it, and everything changes. Stay on this side, and we can pretend this never happened.
I've spent weeks pushing his buttons, testing his limits, trying to crack that perfect control. And now that I'm on the verge of succeeding, I should be terrified. I should walk away. What if my gut is wrong? What if he’s dangerous? Instead of the loving brother, dedicated dog owner, security clearance holding man I’ve gotten to know? He could be a serial killer. He could be abusive. He could be… a lot of things. But, I know, and I can’t explain how I know, I just know, he’s not. He’s a good man. Sexy as fuck. With a great job, love for animals and a deep vocal growl in the back of his throat that makes me cream my underwear. My nipples are tight enough in my bra they could cut glass. My breath is coming in short, little pants. All I feel is exhilaration and a bone-deep certainty that this is exactly where I want to be.
"I'm not walking away," I say, holding his gaze steadily despite the tremor in my voice.
Something flashes in his eyes; triumph, hunger, relief, I can't tell. "Have it your way."
In one swift motion, he pulls away from the tree, takes my wrist, and leads me deeper into the secluded area. Lucky watches curiously from his spot on the bench, head tilted to one side.
"What are you doing?" I ask, my voice breathless.
Sean finds what he's looking for; a fallen log, solid and at perfect sitting height. He sits down and fixes me with a look that makes my knees weak.
"Naughty girls who don't listen get punished. You want to test me, princess?"
The endearment sends a shiver down my spine. I'm frozen in place, unable to move, unable to speak. This isn’t happening. We are in the woods. At a public park. There are people a few hundred feet away. This isn’t happening. But, it is. And oh, God. I want it to.
"Answer me." His voice is pure command now. "Is this what you want? What you've been pushing for?"
I manage a jerky nod.
"Words, Jessica. I need to hear you say it. I need you to consent."
"Yes," I whisper. "This is what I want."
"Come here."
I move toward him as if in a trance. When I'm standing directly in front of him, he takes my hand, his touch surprisingly gentle.
"Last chance to change your mind," he says softly, all hint of anger gone from his voice. "Say the word, and we forget this happened."
But I don't want to forget. I don't want to pretend. I want this—have wanted it since the moment I laid eyes on him. I want what I read in my romance novels. I was right. Sean Ferguson is every bit a Daddy Dom, even if he doesn't know it.
"I'm sure," I say, my voice stronger now.
“This is going to change everything between us,” he tells me. “I’m going to want more…”
“I know. I’m sure.”
Without further warning, Sean tugs me forward and across his lap in one smooth motion. I gasp, finding myself in the most vulnerable position imaginable, face down over his knees, bottom raised, hands braced against the soft earth.
"Since the day we met," he says conversationally, one large hand resting at the small of my back to hold me in place, "you've been deliberately disobedient. Challenging my authority. Breaking rules. Pushing boundaries."
I squirm slightly, heat flooding my face at the truth of his words.
"Be still," he commands, and I freeze. "Every action has consequences, Jessica. You wanted to see what happens when I lose my cool? When I stop playing by the rules? This is it."
His hand leaves my back, and for a breathless moment, nothing happens. Then?—
Smack!
The first spank lands with unerring precision, the sting radiating through the thin material of my silky cargo pants. I gasp, more from shock than pain.
"That's one," Sean says, his voice deep and controlled. "We'll do ten. Count them for me."
"One," I manage, my voice embarrassingly breathy. I worried about people seeing me lying here. I wondered what was going on inside of Sean’s mind. I knew he’d seen the text message thread. He’d seen my friends ask if he’d spanked me yet… is that where he got the idea from? Or is he really…
Smack! "Two," I gasp, that one hurt a bit.
Another two land, and my behind starts to burn a bit. It doesn’t hurt, not badly. More of a sting and then a burning sensation. My clit starts to throb.
"Three, four," I count, squirming against his lap, unsure if I'm trying to escape his falling hand or get closer.
By the time we reach ten, I'm breathing hard, my bottom stinging pleasantly, my body buzzing with a heady mixture of endorphins and arousal. When Sean helps me to my feet, I feel almost drunk, swaying slightly.
"You okay?" he asks, his voice gentler now, one hand steadying me at the waist.
I nod, unable to form words yet. My mind is spinning, trying to process what just happened. Sean Ferguson, uptight cybersecurity expert, just spanked me in a public park. And I loved every second of it. But did he?
"Look at me, Jessica," he says softly.
I raise my eyes to his, expecting to see triumph or smugness. Instead, I find concern, warmth, and something else… Something that looks remarkably like desire.
"Was that what you wanted?" he asks, his hand still at my waist, steadying me.
"Yes," I admit, my voice barely audible. "How did you know?"
A small smile touches his lips. "I pay attention. And despite what you might think, I'm quite good at reading people." His thumb traces a small circle at my waist. "Including dog trainers with pink hair who think I need to loosen up. And, I saw what your friends texted."
I laugh shakily. "Maybe I was right."
"Maybe you were." His smile fades, replaced by a more serious expression. "But this changes things between us. You understand that?"
I nod. "I know."
"Professional boundaries have been crossed. If you want to stop here, find Lucky a different trainer, I'll understand."
The thought of not seeing Sean again makes my chest tighten unexpectedly. "Is that what you want?"
His eyes search mine. "No," he says finally. "It's not."
Relief floods me. "Me neither."
For a moment, we just look at each other, then Lucky barks, reminding us we're not alone.
Sean steps back, putting a respectable distance between us. "We should head back."
I nod, trying to compose myself. My bottom still stings pleasantly, a persistent reminder of what just happened. "What now?"
"Now we continue Lucky's training," Sean says, his professional mask sliding back into place as he retrieves Lucky from the bench. "And perhaps..." His eyes meet mine, a hint of that commanding energy returning. "Perhaps we continue what we started here."
A thrill runs through me at his words. It’s a promise of more to come. "I'd like that."
Sean nods, the barest hint of a smile tugging at his lips. "Next session, be on time. No phone. And we'll see where things go from there."
"Yes, Sir," I say, the honorific slipping out naturally.
His eyes darken at the term, but he says nothing, simply gesturing for me to lead the way back to the main path.
As we walk, a comfortable silence between us, I can't stop thinking about what just happened—or what might happen next. Professional boundaries have indeed been crossed, and there's no going back.
But, as I glance at Sean, watching him manage Lucky with that perfect blend of firmness and affection, I know I don't want to go back. I want to move forward, to explore this unexpected connection, to see just how far this new dynamic between us can go.
Lucky trots happily beside us, oblivious to the seismic shift that's just occurred in his humans' relationship. And I can't help but smile at the irony. I came to train the dog, but it seems Sean Ferguson has plans to train me as well.
And I can't wait for my next lesson.