LSF Publications: spanking fiction ebooks

1. The Taste of Him
As Sarah approached the pub, she marvelled at her complete lack of panic. This was her third try, her third attempt to meet someone who might...

Although she wasn't panicked, she still wasn't able to complete that particular thought.

Besides, she wasn't even sure if this would work out. They had written back and forth, and although Mark's writing was intriguing, it was distant and impersonal, almost professional in its feel. It didn't charm her the way some of the others had, and yet she nonetheless had a nagging feeling that it would be worth seeing him in person. Beyond writing, she had also learned that much could be learned about a man by his choice in pubs, and he certainly passed muster on that account. She hadn't even bothered to stop by his chosen meeting place beforehand to scope it out; he had chosen one of her favourite locations.

To his further credit, he had been very understanding thus far. He had sent her a name and a picture. She had sent him an excuse and an apology. She had set rules for herself, and refusal to give either of those things to strangers on the internet were among them. He asked if they were meeting for a drink, or perhaps something else as well. She had said just a drink, this first time. It was another of her rules which she made very clear to him in a patient e-mail, and which she made clear to herself by booking a bunk in a hostel for the night.

Taking a deep breath, she opened the door and peeked in. There he was, alone in the room which would have been cheery when filled with patrons, but now, in the mid-afternoon lull, instead presented a snug sense of privacy.

He stood to greet her. She cautiously offered her hand, which he turned into a hug complete with a quick peck on the cheek that she dutifully turned away from. She blushed, stammering and fumbling her way through a hurried introduction, ardently hoping that he wouldn't judge her too harshly on these first awkward moments.

And then he talked, his lilting accent filling the silence that she was unable to banish on her own: he recounted tales of his own history and asked simple questions on her own, listening attentively as her answers gradually grew from halting, stammering one-word wonders and started to resemble the actual sentences that a sane person might offer in the course of a normal conversation.

He patiently avoided 'the subject' at first ... not so much dancing around it as purposefully turning his back on it. They were each well into their second pint before he casually brought up the reason for their meeting, just a quick reference before returning to more mundane subjects.

"Later," he said when she started to ask. "I don't want to risk scaring you off just yet."