Chapter 5
CHAPTER 5
I 'm nervous as I pull up to Sean's house for our next session, a week after the park incident. I've thought about nothing else for seven straight days but the feel of Sean's hand, the authority in his voice, the way my body responded to his discipline.
The Naughty Girls are suspicious about my sudden reluctance to share details. I've been vague, saying only that training is "going well" and Sean is "warming up to Lucky." They don't need to know I'm warming up to something else entirely. I need to do this on my own. Figure out what we both want without their interference.
I check my appearance in the rearview mirror one last time. I've kept my makeup minimal, my pink hair pulled back in a simple ponytail, but I couldn't resist wearing the fitted black training pants that make my ass look fantastic. If Sean is going to be looking at it anyway, might as well give him something to appreciate.
Professional, but with potential. That's the vibe I'm going for.
Taking a deep breath, I grab my training bag and head to the door. I'm precisely on time. I’m not early, not late. Following the rules, as instructed.
Sean opens the door before I can knock, as if he's been waiting. Lucky bounds up behind him, tail wagging furiously.
"Jessica." The way he says my name sends a little shiver down my spine. No one else calls me by my full name. I’m simply Jess. But not to Sean. To Sean, I’m Jessica and it sends a shiver up my spine. "Right on time."
"I can follow instructions when they matter," I reply, meeting his gaze steadily.
His lips quirk in the ghost of a smile. "We'll see about that. Come in."
The house is exactly the same as it was the last time I was there, two weeks ago. It’s pristine, organized, everything in its place, but something feels different. The air is charged, like the static electricity before a storm. I'm acutely aware of Sean as he closes the door behind me, the soft click of the latch sounding strangely final.
I set my training bag down and crouch to greet Lucky, grateful for the distraction. "Hey, buddy! Ready for some training today?"
"We both are," Sean says, and the double meaning isn't lost on me.
I straighten up, facing him. "So... about last week."
"What about it?" His expression is neutral, but his eyes are watchful, assessing.
"I just wanted to make sure we're on the same page. About... boundaries. And expectations."
Sean considers this for a moment, then nods. "Fair enough. Let's clarify, shall we?" He gestures toward the living room. "Have a seat."
I perch on the edge of the sofa while he takes the armchair opposite, legs slightly spread, hands resting on his knees in a posture of easy authority. Lucky flops down between us, apparently sensing this is a human conversation.
"I crossed a line last week," Sean begins, his voice measured. "I should have maintained professional boundaries, and instead, I... didn't."
My heart sinks. Is he regretting what happened? I don’t let him finish. "Do you want to go back to just being client and trainer?" Was this a one time fetish thing? Spank the woman half his age in a public park? Did I read him completely wrong? I swallow hard.
"No." The word is immediate, definitive. "That's not what I'm saying. I'm acknowledging that what happened changes our dynamic. I want to make sure you're comfortable with that change."
Relief washes over me. "I am. Very comfortable."
"Good." His eyes hold mine. "Then let's establish some parameters."
Of course he wants parameters, I’m not surprised one bit. I bite back a smile. "Like what?"
"During our sessions, we focus primarily on Lucky's training. That remains the priority." His tone is all business now. "However, if you choose to... test boundaries again, there will be consequences. Like last time."
A thrill runs through me at his words. "And if I'm good?"
Something darkens in his eyes. "Then you'll be rewarded appropriately."
The implications hang in the air between us, charged and heavy with promise.
“Are you… I mean…” I look down at my hands.
“Serious?” He asked me.
I shake my head no. “Are you a dominant?”
“Like a BDSM dominant?”
“Yes,” I manage.
“I am. I have been for my entire adult life. I knew the second I met you, that you’re submissive. Not a stereotypical submissive, but one who will make her Dom work for it. I don’t do age play, but I have been known to be on the softer side of the dynamic. I can’t tell you what you calling me Daddy did to me the other night.”
“Oh.” That's all I can manage to say. I don’t know what to say. My instincts were correct. He is a Daddy Dom and he wants me.
"Does that arrangement work for you, Jessica?" he asks, watching me carefully.
I nod, not trusting my voice.
"Words," he prompts softly. "I need to hear you say it."
"Yes," I manage. "That works for me."
"Good girl."
The praise sends an unexpected wave of warmth through me. Two simple words, but from Sean's mouth, they feel like so much more.
He stands abruptly. "Now, let's get to training. Lucky's been working on his 'stay' command with distractions. I want to show you his progress."
Just like that, we're back to dog training. But something has shifted between us, an agreement that makes every glance, every accidental touch, charged with new meaning.
We work with Lucky for the full hour, and as always, I'm genuinely impressed with his progress. Sean has clearly been diligent with their practice sessions, and Lucky responds to his commands with enthusiastic obedience.
"He's doing amazingly well," I say as Lucky successfully completes a three-minute "stay" despite a squeaky toy being tossed near him. "You're a natural."
Sean's expression softens with pride. "He's a smart dog. Just needed the right guidance."
"And consistency," I add. "You're very consistent with him."
"I believe in clear expectations," Sean says, his eyes finding mine. "When someone knows exactly what's expected and what the consequences are for not meeting those expectations, they tend to thrive."
The double meaning makes my cheeks warm. "Some people might find that... restrictive."
"Some might," he acknowledges. "Others find it freeing."
I think about that as we wrap up the session, putting away training tools and giving Lucky his well-earned treats. There's something to what Sean says about knowing the rules, understanding the boundaries. It does create a certain freedom. When everything is clear, there's no anxiety about what might happen if you step over an invisible line.
"Same time next week?" I ask as I gather my things.
Sean hesitates. "Actually, I was hoping we might try something different. Lucky's ready for more advanced socialization. There's a dog-friendly café downtown called The Barking Bean. Maybe we could meet there? Tomorrow morning instead of our usual time?"
"A café date?" I tease before I can stop myself. "That sounds almost personal, Mr. Ferguson."
He doesn't smile, but his eyes warm. "Consider it a field trip. For Lucky's benefit."
"Right. For Lucky." I nod solemnly, playing along. "Tomorrow works for me. Ten o'clock?"
"Perfect."
At the door, he places a hand on my arm, stopping me before I can leave. "One more thing, Jessica."
I look up at him, breath catching at his proximity. "Yes?"
"You were good today." His voice drops lower. "I noticed."
Pride blooms in my chest at his approval. "Thank you."
Sean's hand slides up my arm, sending delicious tingles along my skin. He brushes his fingertips lightly across my cheek, tilting my chin upward. "I think you deserve a reward for being such a good girl." His breath ghosts over my lips, making them tingle with anticipation.
My heart hammers in my chest, both fearful and excited by the look in his eyes. He leans in and presses his lips to mine in a searing kiss. His mouth is firm but insistent, coaxing me to respond with equal fervor. I melt into his arms, all previous reservations were swept away on a tide of desire. This is insane, I tell myself vaguely, but this is Sean Ferguson kissing me, and I've fantasized about this moment for far too long to stop now.
His tongue traces my lower lip, seeking entrance, and with a moan of surrender, I grant it. Our tongues dance together in a kiss that leaves me breathless and aching for more. An electric shock shoots through me as his hand slips beneath my shirt to skim over my bare stomach, leaving a trail of fire in its wake.
Finally, reluctantly, he pulls away but not before whispering huskily in my ear, “See you tomorrow.” He brushes a strand of pink hair from my face, the touch so light it might have been imaginary. "Don't be late."
"I wouldn't dream of it," I promise, and I mean it.
The Barking Bean is crowded when I arrive, exactly three minutes early. The café has a large patio area with special hooks for leashes and water bowls for canine visitors. I scan the tables but don't see Sean or Lucky yet.
I'm about to find a table when a low, familiar voice speaks directly behind me.
"Right on time. I'm impressed. You must have liked the reward for being a good girl."
I turn to find Sean standing there, Lucky sitting obediently at his side. He looks different today. He’s more relaxed in dark jeans and a light blue button-down with the sleeves rolled up to reveal those muscular forearms I can't stop thinking about. His usual stern expression is softened by the hint of a smile.
"I told you I can follow instructions when they matter," I remind him.
"So you did." He gestures toward a corner table. "I reserved us a spot."
Of course he did.
Sean Ferguson wouldn't leave something like table availability to chance. I didn’t even know you could reserve a table at a cafe.
Lucky walks perfectly at Sean's heel as we make our way to the table, drawing admiring glances from other patrons. When we reach our seats, Sean clips Lucky's leash to the hook provided and gives him the command to lie down, which he does immediately.
"Show-off," I mutter, before I bend down and pet Lucky on the head. I’m really fond of this dog… and maybe his owner, too.
"He responds well to consistency," Sean says, pulling out my chair for me. The gesture is old-fashioned, courtly even, and it catches me off guard. I’ve been on a multitude of dates with men my age and none of them have ever pulled my seat out before.
"Thank you," I say, settling into the seat.
Sean takes the chair opposite me, and for a moment, we just look at each other. Outside the context of his living room or a training session, this feels different. More intimate somehow, despite the public setting.
"This is nice," I say finally, breaking the silence. "Lucky seems comfortable in this environment."
"He is. We've been working on public behavior since he tackled the toddler at the park." Sean's eyes don't leave mine. "I take him for a walk downtown every morning at six-thirty. He's getting used to different surroundings."
"Six-thirty? Every morning?"
"Consistency," he reminds me with the hint of a smile. “I’ve also stopped every child who approaches him and tell them to always ask an owner before they pet the dog. For the most part, the kids have all been agreeable and asked and then I let them. Occasionally, they run off. I don’t understand it. I don’t think I’m scary looking.”
We both laugh. “You can be a bit intimidating,” I tell him.
A server approaches to take our order. Sean gets black coffee; I choose a caramel latte. When the server leaves, the silence returns, slightly awkward now.
"So," I say, fidgeting with a sugar packet, "do you always bring your dog trainers to cafés, or am I special?"
“You are the only dog trainer I’ve met in my entire life.” There's that almost-smile again. "You tell me, Jessica. Are you special?"
The question catches me off guard. "I... I'm good at what I do."
"That's not what I asked."
I look up, meeting his gaze. There's something in his eyes, a challenge, an invitation, that makes my pulse quicken.
"Yes," I say finally, my voice steady despite the butterflies in my stomach. "I think I am. Special."
His eyes darken slightly. "I think so too."
Our drinks arrive, saving me from having to respond to that loaded statement. I wrap my hands around my mug, grateful for something to do.
"Tell me something about yourself," Sean says, stirring his coffee. "Something not related to dog training."
I blink, surprised by the request. "Like what?"
"Anything. Whatever you want to share."
I consider what to tell him. "I have a teaching license. I actually taught kindergarten before I went back to school for a degree in animal behavior, but I minored in creative writing. I still write sometimes. Mostly short stories."
"What kind of stories?"
Heat rises to my cheeks. I can hardly tell him I write steamy romantic fantasies inspired by the books from the Naughty Girls Book Club. "Fiction. Character studies, mostly."
His eyes narrow slightly, as if he senses there's more to it. "I'd like to read them sometime."
"They're not very good," I deflect.
"I'll be the judge of that." He takes a sip of his coffee. "What else?"
And somehow, just like that, we're having a real conversation. I tell him about growing up with parents who fostered rescue dogs, about my tiny apartment with its postage-stamp yard, about my dreams of eventually opening my own training center. He listens with genuine interest, asking thoughtful questions.
In turn, he tells me about his work, as much as he can, given the classified nature of some of it, about growing up as the serious older brother to fun-loving Diane, about his preference for order and structure.
"I made the best Marine, you know. The Marine Corps thrives on order. For me, it's not about control for its own sake," he explains. "It's about creating an environment where I can focus on what matters."
"And what matters to you, Sean Ferguson?" I ask, leaning forward slightly.
His eyes hold mine. "Honor, courage, commitment. The core values of the Corp. After the military, I continued to serve, hoping to make America more secure. I do everything with as much excellence as I can. Everything. Interpersonal relationships included. I’m also incredibly loyal. I demand loyalty from those in my life. I only demand what I also give,” he pauses. "And lately, my interests have included a certain pink-haired dog trainer who can't seem to follow simple instructions."
I laugh, delighted by the unexpected teasing. "I followed your instructions today!"
"Today, yes." His voice drops lower. "But your track record isn't exactly spotless, is it, princess?"
The endearment, spoken so casually in public, sends a thrill through me. "Maybe I just needed the right... motivation."
"And do you have that now?" His eyes are intense, searching.
"I think I might," I admit.
“And what is the motivation? The fact that you know I will pull you over my knee and spank your pretty ass if you misbehave?”
“Something like that.”
Lucky chooses that moment to let out a pitiful whine, reminding us of his presence. We both laugh, the tension breaking.
"Someone's feeling neglected," I say, reaching down to scratch behind Lucky's ears.
"He'll have to get used to sharing my attention," Sean says, and the implication that I'll be continuing to receive his attention makes my heart skip.
We finish our coffee and take Lucky for a walk around the small park adjacent to the café. The conversation flows easily now, punctuated by training moments as we work with Lucky on leash manners and recall in the new environment.
It's the most relaxed I've seen Sean, and I find myself watching him when he isn't looking; the way his face softens when he praises Lucky, the confident set of his shoulders, the hint of gray at his temples that only enhances his attractiveness.
When it's time to leave, we linger by my car, neither quite ready to end the morning.
"This was nice," I say finally. "Lucky did really well."
"He did." Sean steps closer, just inside my personal space. "And so did you."
"Does that mean I get a reward?" The words slip out before I can censor them.
Sean's eyes darken with lust. "Is that what you want, princess? A reward?"
I nod, suddenly breathless.
"Ask me," he instructs softly.
My cheeks burn, but something deeper burns hotter. "May I have a reward... please?"
“Please, who?”
“Please, Daddy?”
"Good girl." His approval washes over me like warm honey. "Close your eyes."
I obey without hesitation, heart racing in anticipation. For a moment, nothing happens. Then I feel him step closer, his presence enveloping me without touching. His cologne, that now familiar subtle blend of cedar and bergamot, fills my senses.
When his lips finally touch mine, it's gentle at first, sweet and restrained. But then my lips part under his, and something shifts. The kiss deepens, turns hungry, his hand coming up to cup the back of my neck, holding me in place as he claims my mouth with unmistakable authority.
I melt into him, my hands finding his chest, feeling the steady thud of his heart beneath his shirt. He kisses like he does everything else, with precision, attention to detail, and absolute control. It's intoxicating.
I want more. I wrap my arms around his neck and hold him close. When he finally pulls back, we're both breathing harder. His eyes are dark, pupils dilated, a flush high on his cheekbones.
"Saturday mornings," he says, his voice rough. "Same time, same place. From now on. Unless you have something else planned, and then you clear it with me."
It's not a question, but I nod anyway. "Yes, Sir."
His eyes flash at the honorific. "And our regular training sessions continue as scheduled."
"Of course."
He brushes his thumb across my lower lip, the touch sending shivers through me. "This doesn't mean you get special treatment during training. If anything, I'll expect more from you now." His words are cryptic. He’s not talking about how I train Lucky.
"I wouldn't want it any other way," I assure him.
He steps back, putting a respectable distance between us again. "Good. Then we understand each other. Text me when you get home."
As I drive home, my lips still tingling from his kiss, I can't help smiling. Dog training sessions on Wednesdays, coffee dates on Saturdays. Rules and expectations clearly defined. Rewards for good behavior. Consequences for bad.
Me: I made it home.
Him: Good girl. What’s your plan for the rest of the day?
After we text for a few minutes, Sean commands me to call him after hanging out with the girls. I look forward to it. I wonder how much I should tell my local Naughty Girls Book Club. Will they gloat about being right?
Sean Ferguson might be the most structured, controlling man I've ever met. But for the first time in my life, I find myself eagerly looking forward to following the rules.
At least, most of them.