Page 31 of His Naughty Girl

“We’ll have to see how Andrea is feeling at the end of the date,” he said softly, giving my hand a gentle squeeze. His voice was warm but firm, making it clear he wouldn’t be pressured into anything, and meant to make certain I wouldn’t either.

The drive to the Trattoria was short but really quite pretty. Unlike Ethan’s, Dylan’s truck seemed clean and well-maintained. As we drove down Main Street, the setting sun painted the sky in brilliant hues of orange and pink, casting a warm glow over the quaint storefronts. Cato seemed like it might be a place where even a normal person would want to settle down.

Dylan sauntered around the front of the truck to open my door for me. The scent of garlic and herbs wafted from the Trattoria, making my mouth water. The restaurant’s facade had a red and white striped awning and window boxes overflowing with colorful flowers.

Inside, the atmosphere felt cozy and intimate. Soft Italian music played in the background, and the walls bore vintage posters and black-and-white photographs of the Italian countryside. Candles flickered on each table.

The hostess, a petite woman with a welcoming smile, led us to a secluded corner table. Dylan pulled out my chair for me, his hand brushing lightly against my back as I sat down. The touch, though brief, sent a thrill down my spine.

As we settled into our seats, I couldn’t help but feel a bit overwhelmed. The intimate setting, the soft candlelight, Dylan’s attentive gaze—it was all so different from my date with Ethan. I fiddled nervously with my napkin, unsure of what to say.

Dylan seemed to sense my discomfort. He cleared his throat, his own fingers tapping a restless rhythm on the table. “So, um,” he began, then paused, as if searching for the right words. “How are you finding Cato so far?”

I gave a small, noncommittal shrug. “It’s… different,” I said carefully, not wanting to offend. “Very quiet compared to the city.”

Dylan nodded, a wry smile tugging at his lips. “I can imagine. Must be quite an adjustment.”

An awkward silence fell between us. I took a sip of water, desperately trying to think of something to say. Dylan seemed equally at a loss, his eyes darting around the restaurant as if seeking inspiration.

Finally, he turned back to me, his expression softening. “Andrea,” he said gently, “what do you like to do? Or, I guess I should ask, what did you like to do in the city? I’m sure you don’t get to do it now, whatever it is.”

His words, spoken with genuine curiosity and a hint of sympathy, caught me off guard. I couldn’t help but laugh, the tension easing from my shoulders. “Actually, no,” I protested. “I do get to do something I enjoy. I like to watch old movies, and Greta lets me do that when my housemaid duties are done.”

Dylan’s face lit up with interest. “Old movies? That’s great! What kind do you like best?”

I felt a warmth spread through my chest at his enthusiasm. “I love old musicals,” I told him, my voice growing animated as I spoke about my silly little passion. “There’s just something, you know, magical about them—the music, the dancing, the… I don’t know. They kind of, like, transport you to another world.”

“Musicals, huh?” Dylan leaned forward, his hazel eyes twinkling. “I guess I don’treallyknow very much about them, butSingin’ in the Rainhas been my favorite movie since I was little. Does that, you know, count?”

I could hardly contain my delight. “Of course it counts!Singin’ in the Rainis a classic. Gene Kelly, Debbie Reynolds, Donald O’Connor—they’re all fantastic in it.” I paused, wondering how far I should take it, how geeky I should get. Dylan’s smile made me keep going, though. “What’s your favorite song from the movie?”

Dylan’s face grew puzzled, as if I should have known the answer. “Well, I mean, ‘Singin’ in the Rain,’ of course. It’s just so… joyful, you know? And the… the what’s it called, you know… the…”

His face lit up suddenly, and it sent another surge of warmth rising in my chest.

“Choreography!” he said. “That’s it. When Gene Kelly does all that with his umbrella… I could watch that a million times.”

I couldn’t resist teasing him gently. “Oh, come on, that’s so basic! ‘Good Morning’ is a much better song.”

Dylan laughed, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Oh, I’m sure you don’t actually mean that,” he said, his voice warm with amusement. “You just want to have something to argue about, don’t you?”

I felt my cheeks grow hot, caught off guard by his playful accusation. For a moment, I considered doubling down on my preference for ‘Good Morning,’ but something in Dylan’s knowing smile made me relent.

“Okay, you got me,” I admitted, ducking my head shyly. “I do love ‘Singin’ in the Rain.’ It’s impossible not to smile when you watch that scene.”

As I looked back up at Dylan, I felt a sudden shift inside me. The warmth in his hazel eyes, the gentle teasing in his voice, the way he saw right through my attempt at playful debate—it all came together in a realization that hit me like a thunderbolt. I was falling in love with him.

It wasn’t just his handsome features or his kind demeanor. There was something about the way he carried himself, the quiet confidence that radiated from him. He didn’t need to raise his voice or make grand gestures to command attention. His presence alone was enough.

I thought back to how he had stood up to Devin and Greta, insisting on taking me to the Trattoria. How he had gently but firmly shut down any expectations of what might happen after our date. Dylan knew what he wanted and wasn’t afraid to go after it, but he also respected my boundaries and comfort.

As we continued chatting, I found myself hanging on his every word, relishing the way he gently guided the conversation. When I started to ramble about another musical, he listened attentively but then smoothly steered us back to the main topic. It was subtle, but I could feel his quiet control over our interaction.

Suddenly, an image flashed through my mind—Dylan’s strong hands on my body, guiding me over his knee. I imagined the firmpressure of his palm against my bottom, administering a loving but stern spanking. The thought sent a jolt of heat straight to my core, making me squirm in my seat.

Confused and overwhelmed by the intensity of my feelings and the unexpected turn of my thoughts, I fell silent. My cheeks burned as I stared down at my plate, trying to make sense of the conflicting emotions swirling inside me. How could I be thinking about Dylan spanking me? Why did the idea excite me so much?

I barely noticed as the waiter came to take our order, letting Dylan choose for both of us. My mind was too preoccupied with these new, confusing desires and the growing realization that I was falling hard for the man sitting across from me.

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