A Few More Rules

by Dorothy F. Shaw

  Truth be told, the way some of the world lacked respect for personal boundaries, made Rig’s stomach turn. No matter a person’s gender, they didn’t have the right to touch someone without their consent—another thing his parents had made sure he understood even as a small boy. Though his family wasn’t perfect, without a doubt, his parents had raised him right.

  Once he’d started getting older, and having girlfriends, Rig never laid his hands on a woman without being invited to do so. But this instinctual pull, driving him to go to her, was something entirely different. Unable to process everything swirling around his head, Rig moved back to his seat at the bar and ordered another beer.

  An idea niggled at the back of his mind, just out of reach. Rig sipped from the beer bottle and watched his tiny waitress move about the bar as the idea—which had started as little, and ridiculous—grew into something so big and undeniable, there was nothing to do but throw all the doors and windows open and face it.

  Yes, the need for her to give him permission was rooted in respecting her rights for personal space and as a human being…but more than all of that combined, it had everything to do with simply pleasing her and gaining her approval.

  Rig knew, the same as he knew his own name, if she asked him to go to his knees, even right there in front of an entire bar full of people, he’d do it. He’d crawl to her if it were what she wanted. He’d kiss her petite little cowboy booted feet too. And not because it was some demeaning or humiliating act he’d get off on.

  No. Doing it for her and only her, didn’t feel demeaning or humiliating. It felt liberating. It felt like what she wanted or needed was the only thing that mattered, and the power of being the one to give her any and all things, pulsed through him in time with his heartbeat. As if it was what he was meant to do...

  But beneath all of it, flowing like a raging river, was a deep, primal need to please her. And he didn’t even know her name.

  Where the fuck all these unusual emotional and sexual realizations—at least unusual for him—were coming from, Rig had no clue. He only knew they were right and true.

  With his thoughts boomeranging around his head like speeding bullets, Rig signaled the bartender for another shot. After he’d swallowed the golden, brown liquid, and the burn traveled from his throat to his belly, he tried to wrap some logic around what he was feeling and what this could be saying about who he was as a person.

  He wasn’t a weak guy. He didn’t let anyone lead him around by his nose…or his dick for that matter. Although the thought of this little lady taking a hold of his cock only made things get tighter behind his zipper.

  “You stare any harder, you might actually burn a hole in her ass with your eyes.”

  Rig whipped his head around to find the bartender, Connie wiping down the bar surface in front of him. He smirked. “That obvious?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Beyond obvious. You’re welcome to keep at it, but you’re wasting your time. Bethany doesn’t ever mess with the customers.”

  “That feels a whole lot like a challenge. Or are you jealous?” Rig tipped his beer back for a swallow.

  Connie dipped her chin and raised a brow. “Honey, please. I have no reason to be jealous of Bethany.”

  Rig watched her walk away and couldn’t help but chuckle. He’d been half teasing with the “jealous” question. But clearly, the woman wasn’t used to anyone besides her getting attention. However, the idea that she could be arrogant or self-centered enough to believe Bethany—Jesus, what a perfect name for her—wasn’t pretty or beautiful enough to gain attention from a man made Connie look like an ugly hag to him.

  Before he’d even been face-to-face with Bethany, Rig could see she was pretty. But watching her for the last twenty minutes or so, as she did her job waiting on the patrons in the bar, he’d decided she was beyond beautiful.

  Her beauty was in the way she smiled at her customers. The way she stopped and gave them her full attention as they talked to her. But also, it was evident in how they treated her. It was obvious, by observing the patrons who were familiar with her, that she was regarded as someone with a genuine heart. Their faces would change, their expressions going soft when they spoke to her.

  Beauty wasn’t only skin deep for sure. What made a person pretty, or beautiful even, was what their heart and character was made of. So far, Bethany was proving his line of thinking to be correct. All Rig had to figure out now was how he was going to earn the privilege of her attention.

  In more ways than just her customer.

  Bethany cleared a table of the empties and tried for all it was worth not to glance over at the bar for the eight-hundredth-millionth time in the last few hours. That freaking gorgeous, tall and muscular, country boy was still sitting there. Bottle of beer and shot glass in front of him.

  On occasion he got up and went to the men’s room and then came back to his stool. But aside from that, he hadn’t talked to anyone. Hadn’t danced with anyone. Amazingly, he’d barely paid Connie any mind either—from what Bethany could tell anyway.

  What he had done was watch Bethany.

  All.

  Night.

  Long.

  When she caught his eyes, he would nod at her, sometimes he would smile. Other times he would simply stare at her. It wasn’t creepy, or stalkerish. On the contrary it was like he was waiting for something.

  Waiting for her maybe… The expression on his face was one of patience, and contentment. As if he would sit there until she told him to go, or stay, or do anything she wanted.

  Although Bethany didn’t do one-night stands, ever, the idea of taking him to her home, to her bed and having him do whatever she requested had lust tightening her stomach and shooting like a bolt of lightning to her clit. For God’s sake, her panties had been wet the better part of the night because of him.

  Back at the waitress station—and only a mere few feet away from where he sat—Bethany’s skin grew tingly and her lower abdomen clenched in a knot. She blew out a breath, trying to expel some of the tension pulsing inside her as she tossed the empty beer bottles in the trash before lining the dirty glasses up for the bar-back to wash.

  Life hadn’t been full of sexual partners; she’d only been with a few men. In fact, Bethany could count them all on one hand, with fingers to spare, including her high school boyfriend. But none of them had lit a fire inside her like this stranger was doing—by simply sitting there.

  In the last year or so, romance books had been the key to unlocking desires inside of Bethany she’d had no idea were there. To some, it was a completely taboo thing, somewhere far across the line of kinky.

  The idea of being the dominant one, a female Dom—the one who called the shots and made the rules, had her searching for that one perfect man.

  A man who was willing to get on his knees for her, and only her.

  Although she was certain the kinky kind of sex where she got to be the one in charge could never be found, at the age of twenty-three, Bethany had also given up on finding the perfect, emotional connection she’d dreamed of having. That type of chemistry was only something that existed in fiction.

  In truth, she’d never even bothered to look for it. And for all she knew, what she was feeling right then only meant she was horny. It had been a while since she’d had sex. Lust could screw with the brain and make a person feel things that weren’t real, all in the name of a much needed orgasm.

  “Ma’am?”

  Bethany froze as a ripple of pure lust rushed through her body, filling her from head to toe. The feeling rocked her to the core and she had to close her eyes, grip the edge of the counter and remind herself to breathe. When she felt she’d composed herself enough, she raised her eyes and found his gaze instantly.

  He’d moved to the end of the bar, right next to the waitress station. Bethany swallowed, and felt something else rise inside her she wasn’t sure how to label. Strength, dominance, control? She wasn’t sure, but she let it lead her. Bethany stepped around the edg
e of the bar and stood in front of him. “Tell me your name.”

  He inclined his head. “Name’s Rig, ma’am.”

  Her stomach clenched and her clit pulsed. Bethany stifled a moan and schooled her features. Could she orgasm from hearing him call her ma’am? Was that even a thing? “Rig? That’s an interesting name.”

  “Grew up on a farm, friends gave it to me. And then—”

  Bethany watched as he drew in a deep breath, his big chest expanding with the action, his tall frame tightening but not in a good way. Obviously, she’d hit a nerve and with only one single question…or was it from the answer he’d given? Only one way to find out. “…And then, what?”

  His expression darkened. “Then with football…it stuck.”

  With no idea where this was going, she pressed on. “Football, hmm? What position do you play?”

  He ran his palm along the back of his neck, his brow furrowed and a corner of his lip dipped into a frown. “Don’t play anymore, but quarterback.”

  Bethany ached to smooth away the distress coating his beautiful features. Yet, curiosity tickled at the edges of her mind, she needed to know more. Plus, she was no fool. Clearly, the conversation served as an excellent distraction since what she wanted to do was climb his tall body like a cat in heat. “Why don’t you play anymore?”

  He stuffed his hands in his pockets and shrugged, his expression now tired, almost defeated. “Just lucky, I guess.”

  Apparently, yes. A sensitive nerve for sure, and she’d knocked on the one door he didn’t care to have opened where the topic was hiding out. Along with it, sharing space behind a locked emotional door, was a boatload of pain and Lord knew what else. Considering all of this, then why tell her anything at all? Bethany frowned and tilted her head to the side as the need to understand, as well as ease his pain coated her insides. “Doesn’t sound so lucky to me, but how about we talk more about that later?”

  “Whatever you want, ma’am”

  She drew in a deep breath. Whatever she… Good grief, did the man have any idea of how he was affecting her? “What’s your real name?”

  “Colby Jenkins.” He held out his hand. “May I know yours?”

  As she placed her hand in his, Bethany closed her eyes and the electric current she expected would be there passed between them, flowing through her entire body…and this time, as her clit pulsed in time with her heart, she swore she actually did have an orgasm. Opening her eyes, she leveled her gaze on him. “Bethany Carlson. Pleasure to meet you.”

  “Pleasure’s all mine.” A broad smile spread across his mouth revealing a set of perfect teeth.

  Colby stroked his thumb over the top of Bethany’s hand and another shock blasted through her. She bit her bottom lip as more moisture coated her panties. Oh, dear. This was happening.

  The cool breeze of relief mixed with satisfaction filled her mind and she let her breath out as if she’d been holding it in forever.

  Inching closer, she tipped her head back to gaze up at him. “Colby, you’ve been here nearly all night but you haven’t talked to anyone. Why is that?”

  “I’m waiting for you.”

  She glanced down at their linked hands. “For me?”

  “Yes, ma’am. To—” He shook his head and then closed his eyes. A moment later, he continued. “For you to tell me what it is you need.”

  Moving closer, Bethany ran the palm of her free hand up his bicep. “What then?”

  “Then I’ll set to giving you exactly what it is you need.”

  His gaze bore into Bethany’s and she felt everything inside her go still. Everything but her heart—which pounded hard enough that her skin throbbed right along with it. “What if what I need is for you to go home and shower. Then come back here an hour after closing and meet me in the back parking lot. Would you do it?”

  His bicep flexed under her grip. At the same time a muscle in the side of his chiseled jaw jumped. “Yes.”

  Closing the distance between their bodies, Bethany rose on tiptoe and placed her lips at the side of his ear. “That was an easy one.” She felt his free hand graze her hip but then it was gone—so fast, she almost thought she imagined it. But she knew she hadn’t. Interesting. “Are you waiting for permission to touch me, Colby?”

  His breath came out of him in a rush. “Please, yes. May I?”

  “May you, what?” As she whispered close to his ear, his body shuddered against hers. Heady waves of lust and power filled her stomach, making it tighten in response. Bethany’s clit pulsed and her cunt clenched, aching to be filled.

  The sexual tension boiling inside her was so out of control that if he slid his big thigh between her legs and gave even the barest pressure against her core, she’d orgasm.

  “Please, ma’am, may I touch you?”

  Bethany gripped his arm, digging her fingertips into the fabric of his flannel shirt. “Yes, but not right now. You’ll wait until later. For now, go do as I asked.”

  Another breath rushed out of him and his body sagged against hers.

  With every inch of Bethany’s being, she wanted to feel this man’s hands on her skin. With every fiber of her soul she wanted to feel his body naked against hers. She wanted to taste him. She wanted to see his eyes when she let him slide between her legs.

  Bethany wanted…all of it and more.

  But not yet.

  Chapter Three

  “What in the fuck’m I doing?” Roughly an hour and thirty minutes after he’d left the bar, Rig stood in the back parking lot of the bar waiting for Bethany—as she’d asked him to do.

  He was starting to question if his sanity was still intact. Actually, his list of “what the fuck moments” was growing by the minute. Ever since he’d laid eyes on the woman—several hours ago—all he could think about was her, and what she needed from him.

  The dynamic between them was different for him. Not that he was some sort of a dominant, but for sure he was no submissive. At least he hadn’t ever been before. Never in his life had he felt a desire to take direction from a woman.

  But that little girl had a thing about her, an air as people called it. Whatever it was, it felt like he’d been punched in the stomach whenever he got near her.

  Earlier, as he was trying to keep his shit together because he was close to her, she asked him about his nickname. No big deal—not something he had a problem sharing. A homegrown farm boy from Arkansas…built like a Mack Truck, a big rig.

  But then, having no idea why, he went and mentioned football. Worse, he wanted to tell her about all of it. The whole tragic sob story.

  For fuck’s sake, Rig wanted to lay his head in her lap and cry like some weak little baby…while at the same time his dick was rock hard and aching to be inside her sweet cunt. Talk about a drastic conflict of feelings!

  God help him, her pussy was probably tighter than a vice. He bet she tasted sweet as honey too. When he’d showered—as she’d told him to do—he had no choice but to jack off to relieve some of the pressure. He’d come so hard, spurting all over the shower wall, that he’d seen spots.

  After he’d toweled off and his cock was only half erect, it occurred to him she hadn’t given him permission to stroke himself or to come. Almost immediately, before he’d even hung the towel up the dry, his dick had gone steel hard again.

  Leaning against the tailgate of his truck, Rig blew out a breath and adjusted his still erect cock behind his zipper. Even now he was wondering if she was going to punish him for it. Jesus, new item for page two of the “what the fuck moments.” Never in his life had he had thoughts of a woman punishing him.

  It was his damn dick, he’d stroke it if he wanted. As much as he wanted. Any time he wanted. But she hadn’t— “Oh, for fuck’s sake!”

  “I see you did as I asked.”

  The soft tone of her voice arrowed straight to his balls and Rig almost fell to his knees. Trying hard to maintain some level of calm in front of her, he gazed off into the distance like this was all no big deal
, and he was chock-full of laid back and calm.

  But inside, his blood was boiling in his veins and the desire to go to her and bury his hands and face in her hair was suffocating him. Get a grip! Okay, dammit. Breathe. Yeah, he was cool. Breathe. He was fine. All good. Rig turned his focus to her. “Yes, ma’am.”

  With a blank expression on her face, as if this play between them was all in his head, she nodded and she brushed a few windblown stray hairs away from her eyes. “Your truck I assume?”

  Panic raced through Rig, replacing the false confidence he’d fooled himself into thinking he possessed. Shit! She didn’t look happy. She didn’t look pleased. Shiiiit! The urge to redeem himself, to adjust, or somehow fix it, had his skin tightening and his rib cage compressing his lungs. “Yes.”

  “I’m right over there in the blue Honda…” She pointed in the direction of her vehicle. “Follow me.”

  Without a thought, Rig moved to her side and held out his elbow. “If it’s okay, I’ll see you safely to your car.”

  She glanced down at his arm, then back to his face. “It’s not necessary, but if it’s important to you, I’ll let you.”

  “Please.” When she slid her small hand into the crook of his arm, Rig’s body ignited into flames. “Thank you, ma’am.”

  The walk to her car took no more than a minute, but for the entire sixty-seconds she was close to his body, Rig felt like he’d died and gone to heaven. They were barely touching and it didn’t matter. She was next to him. He was taking care of her. She trusted him to take care of her—even if it was only to get her safely across the dark parking lot.

  Escorting women to their cars was something he did every night when on shift at the strip club. His entire job as a bouncer and security at Deuce’s Cabaret was about protecting those dancers, and he never thought twice about it. It was easy for him and something he took pride in. His size and bulk helped, but his naturally protective instinct was the key. Probably why his direct boss, Badger, who was in charge of security often called on Rig first.