LoveSexSpumoni Read online

  Love, Sex, Spumoni

  Maggie Montgomery

  Trust isn’t Gabby’s strong suit. She grew up watching a series of men abuse her mother and swore that one day she’d be strong, logical and able to protect herself. Then she met Geoff. Kind and introspective yet oh so male, Geoff fires her blood and libido like no other man ever has, encouraging her to express and explore her fantasies and let loose her inner passions.

  But now Gabby’s faced with a new fantasy that tests everything she believes about strength and everything she fears about vulnerability. She wants Geoff to spank her—and she won’t be satisfied with a simple mid-sex slap to her rear. The mere thought of an intimate spanking is unbearably arousing and she can’t get it out of her head—it’s as scary as it is exciting. For a chance at perfection and intimacy beyond her wildest dreams, Gabby is going to have to overcome her past, face down her inner shame and embrace her deepest desires.

  A Romantica® contemporary erotic romance from Ellora’s Cave

  Love, Sex, Spumoni

  Maggie Montgomery

  Chapter One

  Mental health practitioners of the male persuasion don’t turn up in romance novels very often. Unless, of course, he was the poor schmuck who had to be okay when the heroine traded him in for a dude with a more traditionally heroic profession. Ditto the movies. Actually, a lot of male psychologists got dumped in romantic comedies. And the fairy tales were all about princes and pirates and other miscellaneous sword-wielding types.

  So when I told people I was dating a therapist, two things happened. First they freaked out and I had to explain in detail that he is a therapist, not my therapist. I was not now nor have I ever been in counseling with him. Once they realized they didn’t need to rush off and contact the APA to report that he’d taken advantage of my theoretically fragile mental state, they all did the same thing—they snickered.

  It’s damn annoying, I’ve got to tell you. And yes, I mean you. I can’t hear you snickering, but I know you did. I don’t know what kind of mental image you got when I said he was a therapist, but it was probably the wrong one. Geoff is kind and smart and introspective, true. But he’s also very, very male. He’s got a broad chest, strong arms and lots of wavy dark hair that I love to run my hands through. He reads professional journals in bed sometimes, but only on the nights he isn’t camping with the guys or fixing the sink or going down on me until I scream in ecstasy. He’s been known to forgo a college ball game so he can take a call from a distraught client, but he also likes whispering dirty things in my ear while he drives into me like a fullback on the ten-yard line. The balance is nice—and often highly erotic. Geoff in jeans and an old t-shirt, sporting two days of stubble? Inviting. Geoff clean-shaven in a suit and tie? Devastating.

  I thought about all this as we sat in the overheated ballroom of his uncle’s resort hotel, waiting for the bride and groom to cut the cake. My gaze was fastened to the firm line of his jaw as he chatted with some distant relative’s college-bound son. I wished we were somewhere private so I could kiss my way from the tip of his chin to the tender spot just beneath his ear. I knew exactly how warm and smooth his skin would be and the way he’d groan with pleasure when I nibbled his earlobe. Just imagining his reaction was enough to pebble my nipples and I hoped the slight padding of the bra built into my dress would disguise my arousal. It never ceased to amaze me how just looking at Geoff could kindle such desperate want.

  He laughed at something the teenager said and two very different reactions surged through me. The fire between my legs and the electrical sparks along my inner thighs told me what I already knew—Geoff could make my pulse race like no other. The warm joy that flooded my heart until it felt like it might burst confirmed what I’d been suspecting for weeks—I was hopelessly in love with him. My lips curved in a giddy smile of pure delight. How wonderful to be almost painfully attracted to the man I adored. I shifted closer on the pretense of listening in on the conversation and slipped my hand beneath the table to run my fingers across the soft fabric covering his thigh. He tensed at my touch and the roll of hard muscle beneath my palm sent shivers dancing across my skin. I stroked his leg harder, wondering if I could make him react, but his lips barely twitched and his conversation never faltered.

  Challenged now, I rubbed my fingers up his thigh in firm little circles, easing ever inward until I brushed oh-so-slightly against his cock. How long, I wondered, before the trained listener gave way to the natural man? How long before he rose to the occasion? Even as I thought it, the fabric tightened and he shifted slightly, no doubt easing the strain of his pants against his rapidly growing member. But nothing in his tone or words gave him away, and the only clue on his face was a sign nobody but me was likely to recognize—the telltale way his eyes darkened when he wanted to fuck me. Well, that much was mutual. I wanted to fuck him too. Wanted it so badly that I thought seriously about sliding my hand beneath his waistband and stroking him until he whisked me off to a bathroom somewhere and bent me over the counter, plunging his cock into me until I saw stars and felt the world tremble beneath us. Hardly an appropriate action at a wedding, much less one where I had met most of his family for the first time. But it sure was tempting.

  The teenager’s mother rescued us both from my insanity, rushing up to the table in a slightly weepy flap and insisting her boy come dance with his mother “one last time.” The kid grinned and let her drag him off to the dance floor, shooting us a friendly wave over his shoulder. Then Geoff turned to me, his eyes full of such undisguised passion that my breath caught and my heart skipped a beat. He leaned close and, for one lust-drenched, incoherent moment, I thought he was going to take me right there in front of family, friends and rabbi. I’d never been to a Jewish marriage ceremony before, but I was fairly certain guest copulation was not part of the tradition. A mental picture of us going at it fast and wild amid a hailstorm of matzo balls and mazel tovs flashed across my brain, jacking up my arousal another full notch. God I had it bad.

  “You keep teasing me like that and you’re going to get a spanking when we get home,” Geoff whispered in my ear, his voice low and rich and tinged with an enticing sternness I’d never heard before.

  Fire shot up my spine, spreading rapidly through my limbs, my brain, my core. I should be horrified by such a statement, given the number of times I’d seen a man turn my mother bloody and bruised. At the very least, I should have been annoyed that Geoff would presume to make such a threat, given all he knew all about my mother. But my stomach quivered with anticipation and my clit swelled with longing made even more powerful by the fact that, repulsive as it should have been to someone with my background, the fantasy had been dancing through my head for weeks, teasing my body with its undeniable appeal while torturing my mind with doubt and insecurity. Panic warred with desire. Physical need fought with mental anguish. Exhibitionist fantasies were one thing—we’d even talked about those—but my nearly overwhelming urge to climb over his knees and let him shower my ass with firm, stinging blows? That was positively unacceptable. I’d worked so hard to escape my childhood, sworn no child of mine would never have to watch her mom beaten to a bloody pulp every weekend. I’d built a career that was structured and rational and allowed me to remain in control. I’d learned to respect and value myself—and to require the people I let into my life to do the same. It seemed so wrong for me to want to submit to any man, even one as kind and trustworthy as Geoff. But oh God, how I longed to do it anyway.

  Geoff slipped his arm around my rigid shoulders, his touch both protective and reassuring. Desire still lingered in his eyes, but his face had filled with concern, as though he could read every conflicted thought racing through my brain. That was both the joy and the curse of dating a therap
ist—he seemed to perceive my every emotion, hesitation and fear and he was always ready to explore the many ramifications. It was always reassuring and brought our relationship a depth of intimacy I’d never experienced before, but sometimes, like at that moment, the intensity overwhelmed me a bit.

  “Don’t look like that. I was only kidding.” His voice was tender and patient, and I suddenly remembered the way we’d made quiet, passionate love a few nights before, the way he’d whispered sweetly and held me as though I was the most precious thing in his world. I’d never felt so completely adored and I was still processing the power of our connection. I’d almost admitted to loving him that night, and I’d been thinking seriously about a permanent commitment ever since. How could I consider forever with a man like Geoff if I couldn’t be completely honest with him, couldn’t tell him the things that made me feel foolish and ashamed and scared of my own desires, made me run right up against my most persistent fear—turning into my mother?

  I ignored my shaking hands and pulled away slightly so I could look him straight in the eye. “I kind of wish you weren’t.”

  Interest flared in his face and my cheeks—the ones he wasn’t talking about spanking—flamed in response.

  “You want to take a walk?” he asked softly.

  I nodded and he turned to the table at large. “It’s awfully warm in here. I think we’re going to get some air. See y’all in a bit.”

  The group around us nodded politely and we headed for the french doors into the courtyard. Other couples strolled the moonlit paths through the property, but the ample acreage allowed each pair to pretend they were in their own little world and made private conversation completely possible. We meandered in silence for a minute or two, just enjoying the cool night air. Geoff stayed close, but didn’t make contact, giving me space to breathe and relax, waiting for me to be ready. I wasn’t sure where to start, but then I realized that was as good a place as any.

  “I’m not sure what to say,” I admitted. “I have mixed feelings and I’m kind of freaking out a little.”

  “Just talk to me. Trust me.”

  Yes. Sure. I could do that. I swallowed hard and brought up my least favorite topic in the world. “Well, you know about my mother.”

  He nodded. “I do. That’s why I was so hesitant a couple of months ago. You told me you were okay.”

  I knew exactly what he was referring to. We’d been having sex doggie style and things had been getting hot. Out of nowhere, he’d slapped my ass tentatively. I’d encouraged him and he’d slapped a little harder and we’d both ended up coming with mind-blowing intensity. Afterward, he’d wanted to make sure I was okay, particularly in light of my upbringing, wanted to talk it through in that caring, mature way he had. I’d told him honestly that I was, told him exactly how much he’d turned me on. He’d done it a couple of times since and it had only added to the arousal. But that was completely different—unplanned, unasked-for and lasting only a moment. And God knew I’d balanced it out with a few back-scratches and earlobe-nips of my own. Suddenly we were talking about a full-blown fantasy event, one neither of us would dare jump into without a serious in-advance conversation, one we couldn’t brush off as not our thing if it didn’t sit well.

  At least, I couldn’t. I knew myself pretty well. I didn’t trust easily or well, even after long years of therapy, and I’d never developed the ability to be comfortable showing vulnerability. The way I grew up, vulnerability meant weakness and weakness was an invitation to get pounded to a pulp. If I let down my guard and he made a wrong move, or if I realized mid-experience that I couldn’t go through with it, if I felt the least bit humiliated or ashamed I’d shut right straight down. Sure I’d try to fight it and we’d talk and Geoff would be patient and understanding. We could probably find our comfort zone again eventually, but the rock-solid trust that made our relationship so strong would be seriously shaken. Was it really worth the risk? Especially when I could get a taste of the fantasy with the sex-play we’d already tried and succeeded with?

  “Geoff, that honestly is okay,” I assured him. “I just thought you were talking about something a little…different back there.”

  “I was. I don’t want to scare you, but I have to admit that it’s something I’ve fantasized about. You have such a beautiful, perfect ass.” He shook his head. “Sorry.”

  My heart skipped a beat and I took a deep breath. “There’s nothing to be sorry about. The thing is that I’ve fantasized about it too.”

  He glanced at me, eyebrows raised. “Why haven’t you told me?” Before I could respond, he shook his head and apologized. “Wow. That came out really possessive,” he said. “It’s just that we’ve had some pretty interesting fantasy discussions, so I’m surprised this hasn’t come up.”

  Scenes from our past danced across my brain and I couldn’t help but smile. “More than discussions as I recall.”

  He glanced down at my face and I blushed a little, knowing the dimple he loved to kiss had probably emerged. He grinned back, and his eyes lit with conspiratorial glee. “Hey, you remember that time in the back seat of the car?”

  “At the far end of the Six Flags parking lot? Heck yeah I do. I let you get to third base. Twice.”

  “Yeah you did.”

  He pulled me to him and dropped a smooch at the corner of my mouth, then planted his lips on mine in a kiss filled with all the things I loved about being with him. It was passion mixed with contentment, adventure blended with everyday comfort, and the kind of honest, open affection that set my mind at ease and filled my soul with joy. It felt exactly like screwing around that day in the car and exactly like riding the roller coasters after. My heart skipped a beat and my insides fluttered with excitement and my mind filled with sheer, unadulterated bliss. Small bits of tension and embarrassment drained out of me like magic, and by the time our lips parted and we continued down the path, I felt like I could talk sense, even though discomfort continued to thrum through my limbs and my nerve endings felt raw and exposed.

  “I didn’t tell you for two reasons,” I said. “First of all, don’t you think it’s beyond weird for someone with my background to get off on being hit?” My stomach roiled even as I said it, scenes from the past slipping through my mental walls to haunt me.

  “Well, when you say it that way, of course it sounds weird. But this is not at all the same scenario as your mom. She let men hurt her because she thought she was worthless.”

  “And because she was willing to do anything for their drugs and their money.” I heard the hardness in my voice, but I couldn’t help it. I’d slowly come to understand my mother, but forgiveness remained out of reach.

  “That too,” he conceded. “That’s not you.” He took my hand and squeezed, and I glanced up to find him staring at me intently. I nodded, hoping he was right. As always he read my heart through my eyes.

  “I’m serious, Gabby,” he insisted. “That. Isn’t. You. You’re a confident, well-adjusted woman who knows who she is and what she’s worth and you don’t take shit from anybody.”

  I nodded again, this time with more assurance. There were those two black belts hanging on my wall, after all. And the .9mm Ladyhawk in my nightstand drawer. And my biomedical engineering degree. The last thing I needed was his money.

  “Anyway,” he continued, “I suspect what turns you on is the idea of being able to safely give up control. There’s nothing wrong with that. If you felt like you needed to be punished for something or if you couldn’t have an orgasm without experiencing physical pain, I’d be concerned. But we’ve never had a problem with you coming and if I tried to punish you in any way, you’d kick my ass into next week. So I don’t think there’s anything problematic about it from a psychological perspective. Then again, you’re my girlfriend, not my patient. If it’s something that worries you, you should consider asking Barb about it.”

  Barb, the one person I could talk to about literally anything—and had. I’d been fifteen when one of mother’s b
oyfriends finally took it too far and she ended up six feet under. That was when I met Barb. When I first went to see her, I was a mess. Barb got me through high school and college and into a normal, functioning adulthood. I hadn’t really needed her since my early twenties, but I’d continued to see her a couple of times a year anyway. It was good to check in, run things by her. But then, I believed wholeheartedly in therapy for just about everyone. People didn’t have to be mentally ill to benefit from having an impartial and nonjudgmental party to bounce ideas and feelings off of. Feelings, I’d discovered, never really went away. Geoff, being my boyfriend, not my therapist, knew the highlights about my life with my mother. Barb knew the gory details. If anyone could tell me why I was fantasizing about something I’d spent my life fearing, it would be Barb. Which was why, after Geoff had slapped my ass in bed that first time, I’d gone to talk to her about it. I cleared my throat.

  “Actually, I already did. After that first time. I wanted to be sure it was okay that I liked it. I also told her about the other fantasies.”

  He nodded and continued walking. Geoff was very good at his job and he took confidentiality seriously. He would never demand to know what Barb had said in a professional session, even though the conversation was about him. But he was always willing to listen when I wanted to share.

  “Do you feel like telling me what she had to say?”

  Did I? I’d started this whole thing. I fought off a vague sense of nausea and focused on parroting Barb. Using her words was somehow safer than coming up with my own. “She said that the act, in and of itself, wasn’t a concern. She said the important part is why a person does something. She said exactly what you said—that the attraction, for me, had to do with trust and control and safety, not punishment, and that as long as I didn’t need it to get turned on, there wasn’t anything wrong with being turned on by it. She also said it was important that it be with someone I can trust completely, who respects me in the bedroom and out of it, someone who will stop if I want to stop.”