A little gasp broke from her, her thighs wanting to loosen. He did it again. She opened her hand, closed it on his shin, on the wheel rim. The sensation was indescribable. She wanted to wiggle but remain motionless, all at once.
He did it five times. Feelings ricocheted around her insides like fired bullets, full of heat and urgency to find a target. When he started to lift her, she couldn’t make herself loosen her grip on his jeans leg. With a chuckle, he gently disengaged her. His voice was husky to her ears. Weighed down with hunger.
“Like lifting one of the barn cats off my lap.”
He brought her to her feet, shifting his grip back to her wrist, a loose clasp above the chain. As he rubbed a thoughtful circle over her pulse with his thumb, her hair fell forward around her face, and he brushed it back, gave her a look.
“You gonna squirt me with dishwashing liquid again?”
His smile inspired an uncertain one of her own. She felt unsteady, everything throbbing. “I don’t know. Maybe.”
“Good answer. Best answer possible. I'm taking you to dinner Friday,” he said. “All right?”
She lifted her gaze to him. “Okay. Yes.”
“Wear a dress and leave your hair down, fixing it the way you did for church last week."
Now he’d surprised her enough she ventured a question. "Why?"
He smiled a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. A whole lot of other things took up the space there as he looked at her. "Because during the service, the morning sun came through the windows. The light touched your hair and haloed you in different colors, like the angel you are.”
He tightened his grip, watched her lips part again. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it ever since."
Chapter Four
Two days later, they were facing another school day. And Rory was still thinking about the night in her cottage with every other breath.
The whole world would have wondered if he’d lost his mind, proceeding like he had, with the spanking and everything attached to that. Sex had to have all sorts of confusing, possibly traumatic implications for her. Yet he thought of how many people treated him like he was an egg, capable of breaking with the slightest pressure.
Daralyn wasn’t an egg. She was fragile, and she’d been through hell. But she’d damn well earned the right to be treated like a woman, when that desire was so clearly showing itself. And she deserved that right from someone who would chop off his two functioning limbs to keep from hurting her.
No, he hadn't known if spanking her was a good idea, no matter how much he'd liked it or she'd seemed to. But Marcus’s words had filled his mind. Don’t second guess your instincts. His instincts had said he should move forward with learning what felt good to her.
Any concern he might have had about whether even playful corporal punishment would summon bad memories for her had been relieved by the clear signs of her interest and arousal at the idea. It sure as hell got him going. The air in the room had become thick and heavy, things slowing down so he could hear her breath, short and quick in her throat.
He recalled the way her breasts had pushed up against his thigh, causing the neckline of the shirt to gap. Over the cup of her bra, he’d been able to see the pink circle hinting at her nipple. He’d wanted to play with it. Use his mouth and suckle it deep.
Need had surged through him, a desire to plumb this feeling for them both, see how deep and broad it was. Fortunately, he’d had the good sense to rein it back. Though stopping after five swats was more difficult than tying a string to one of his teeth and attaching it to a swinging door, he had done it. There was a sharp sweetness to taking just a taste.
He remembered her intriguing reluctance to let Amanda Brewster pick up the slack at the store. He and Amanda had dated in high school. After he’d landed in the chair, they’d reconnected for a short time. But that hadn’t been about a relationship, not that way. She’d just been a friend from high school who’d been there when he needed…a spotter. For the thing a guy felt the most uncertain about, after losing a lot of his functionality below the belt line.
As a result of that initial experience, and everything he’d built upon and around it since, he could see the possibilities for a relationship far more clearly. Particularly one with the remarkable woman he was about to take to school.
Daralyn had put her books together, checked her supplies, and was emerging from the restroom, just as Elaine was coming in the front door, ready to take over until closing hours. Daralyn had changed out of her work clothes into the same pretty blue shirt and new dark blue jeans she’d had on the other day. He imagined she’d hung the outfit back up in the closet, keeping it ready for this second attempt.
She’d also put his bracelet back on.
The day after the night in the cottage, when she came in to work, he’d called her up to the counter, had her extend her wrist. He’d seen the flash of dismay when he’d taken out the pliers. He liked knowing she didn’t want to take it off, but he placed his hand over it, caressing her wrist and the top of her hand.
“I don’t want you wearing this at work, because it isn’t safe to wear jewelry while operating store equipment, like the knife sharpener and chain cutter.”
“Of course.” Her expression had gone blank. “And…you probably want your ring back.”
“Long as you have it, I know where it is.” In preparation for this moment, he’d found a clip and added it to the bracelet, showing it to her so she knew it would be easy to put it back on herself. Then he laid the whole thing into her palm and folded her fingers over it. “You can keep it, long as you need it. If you feel better wearing it for school or when it’s not a danger to you to have it on, that’s fine by me.”
Though it gave him intense pleasure to see it on her, he wouldn’t tell her that, because he was interested in seeing how much she would wear it for herself. She’d tucked it in her pocket that day, and since then he’d noted she put her hand in there pretty often. Now, while wearing it, she was worrying the ring with two fingers, rolling it against the heel of her palm. She was paler than when she’d gone into the restroom, but she was holding.
He could deal with that. Despite his mother moving behind the counter, setting her stuff down, he met Daralyn’s eyes as if they were the only two people here, and gestured to bring her over to him.
He closed his hand over her wrist, the bracelet, gave them both a light press. “It’s going to be a good night,” he said.
He saw a little color come back. “You’ll be there.”
“I’ll be there.”
She drew a breath and gave him a ghost of a smile, but it was there.
Rory glanced over his shoulder at his mom. From how studiously she was changing the login on the cash register, he knew she was taking in every detail. He bit back his own smile. “You got this, Mom?”
“Why do you always ask me that? I was working in this store side by side with your father—”
“Way back when you were carrying Thomas. You would have had him right here behind the counter and gotten right back to work, if Dad hadn’t insisted on that hospital nonsense. I know.” He flashed her a grin. “But that was before you got old.”