by RG Alexander
When he drew the towel over the cheeks of her ass she started trembling again. He glanced at their reflection in the mirror, licking his lips when he saw the vibrant red glow on her skin there. He’d be a liar if he said he didn’t love seeing his mark on her.
But had he gone overboard? Her skin looked and felt so delicate. Had he been too rough? “Are you okay?” he asked softly.
Her nod was jerky and he released her long enough to dry himself off before dropping the towel and guiding her back to the bedroom. He threw his boxers back on with a hiss as the fabric brushed his erection, dressed her in his white t-shirt and shorts as if she were a doll, then lifted her back in his arms to carry her downstairs to the kitchen.
“You mentioned something about coffee, I think,” he started casually. “Let’s make some and we can talk.”
When he set her down she leaned against the counter. Her arms were wrapped around her ribs as if she was holding herself together and she dug her teeth into her bottom lip. The need to protect her, to touch her was overwhelming and he didn’t resist it. He dragged her up against him and reached for the coffee with his other hand, managing to pour the water and start the machine without letting her go.
“I can’t say I know you as well as my sister does, but from my experience you aren’t exactly the silent type. Can you talk to me, Caroline? Tell me what you’re thinking about.”
She leaned her head on his chest and sighed shakily. “I’m thinking that I wasn’t expecting that—what you did or my reaction. It usually takes more than a spanking to send me into subspace, and I’ve never…but that wasn’t…it was different. I’m thinking I don’t know you half as well as I thought I did, and that I might need to change my plans for Trudy and John’s joint bachelor party because things could get awkward. I’m thinking I’m a little slutty for taking advantage of you when you’re drunk and injured and I was—” She took a breath. “Well, if we’re being honest I was sort of seeing someone else until last night. And you’ve been drinking because of a woman, so this might be some sort of rebound reaction. I’m also trying not to think about the fact that you’re still hard and a part of me would like to take advantage of you more thoroughly.”
Jefferson pulled her closer and chuckled into her hair. “That’s a lot of thinking.”
He could feel her smile on his skin. “And I spared you most of it. Welcome to my neurotic brain.”
That she’d still been dating the meathead yesterday didn’t matter as much as the fact that it was over. He might be a bastard, but he wasn’t sure he would have cared either way. In his mind, whether Caroline accepted it or not, they’d been on this collision course since she’d showed up in La Grange.
“Do you want to know what I’m thinking?”
She lifted her head and looked warily into his eyes. “I’m not sure.”
”You’re pretty damn cute, you know that? Let me at least address your thoughts. I was expecting that. Hoping for it, anyway. You know me well enough, and there’s no need for you to change your plans for this bachelor party, unless you were thinking about arriving on someone else’s arm. I’m pretty sure this isn’t a rebound for either of us—I know what those feel like and so do you. Personally, I can’t think of anything I want more than for you to take advantage of me, other than me taking advantage of you. But I believe we need to set one or two ground rules before we go any further. Negotiate. That’s the term, isn’t it?”
“Negotiate?” Caroline slid out of his embrace and tilted her head, her mussed ponytail gliding over the thin white cotton. The haze was lifting from her expression, which probably wasn’t a good thing. “Jefferson, I can see where you’re going with this, but I don’t think it’s a good idea. Sex is one thing. I mean, there’s no point in denying the obvious or denying ourselves. Let’s not complicate the issue.”
“Why not?” He tried not to feel insulted.
“You’re comparing this situation with John and Trudy’s, I think. You’re not John, and you don’t need to be. He was in the lifestyle to a certain extent before he negotiated with your sister.”
“Honey,” he growled. “I wasn’t thinking about my sister’s experiences with John. In fact, I never do, and I’d appreciate it if you stopped mentioning it.”
She sent an apologetic grimace his way but kept talking. “As sexy as what you just did was, there’s more to BDSM than safe words and spankings. It’s deeper than that.” She crossed her arms again and shrugged, but he noticed she wasn’t meeting his gaze. “There are so many reasons why we shouldn’t go down this road, it would be easier if I made you a list.”
Jefferson gripped her elbows and lifted her onto the counter to look directly into her wide eyes. He saw her flinch then shiver and knew her backside was still sensitive, but he needed to make himself clear. “You have a thing about lists. Very organized for such a passionate woman. I can appreciate that, in some cases. But I refuse to let myself be slotted into any particular lifestyle or category. I’m not like John, it’s true. I’m not like your other men either, Caroline. I won’t tuck my tail between my legs because I’m a year younger than you’d like, I’ve never whipped a woman with a cat o’ nine and I don’t have a tattoo of a sunflower on my ass. I had no control over when I was born and no one has ever suggested my body needed modification.”
She paled. “Did Trudy tell you about that?”
He blew out a frustrated breath. “She didn’t break a vow, Caroline. She mentioned it in passing to stop me from pursuing you. But I won’t know what I’m up against until you tell me every item on your list. I know you have it memorized. I want to know what’s on it. Now.”
She shook her head. “Not going to happen. In fact, I think I should go n—oh!”
He’d slid his hand between her legs and started to tease her through the boxer shorts. “You are going to tell me,” he assured her, lowering his head to the nipple he could see hardening through the t-shirt. “Before I’m finished you’ll be begging to tell me. When you do, I’ll let you come again.”
“You sound pretty sure of yourself.” She was breathless.
“I am.”
She didn’t want complications from him, just sex. If any other woman had said it he would have been thanking his lucky stars, but with Caroline? He wanted it messy. He wanted it complicated. Hell, he knew he wanted too much and he knew it didn’t make sense, but he didn’t care.
“Let me show you.”
Chapter Four
Caroline was late and frazzled. Since she’d gotten out of bed this morning after a sleepless night of tossing and turning, nothing had gone smoothly. Her toaster had broken so she’d skipped her usual breakfast of blueberry toast slathered in butter, then Trudy’s wedding planner called and needed to be talked off the ledge about some new calamity involving the photographer as he packed for his flight. When she’d sorted him out, she’d rushed to her morning appointment with her hairdresser only to spend an hour after her trim assuring the sobbing stylist that his boyfriend was a creep and he deserved someone better, which had resulted in her being stuck in the hell that was lunchtime traffic in Los Angeles.
She got out of her car in front of a large two-story adobe house, inhaling shakily when the fabric of her lemon yellow sundress brushed against her sensitive butt cheeks. She smoothed her hands over the heated skin in the guise of straightening her skirt, thinking about the light bruising that she’d seen when she’d looked into the mirror after her shower.
Jefferson hadn’t held back. If she didn’t know any better she would think he’d done it a hundred times before. He’d been so good at it she’d actually come. She honestly couldn’t remember if that had ever happened before. Not without a battery operated aid. Jefferson hadn’t needed any help.
After a night at the club, Caroline would often marvel over the marks on her skin, wearing them with pride and a wicked sort of glee. She wasn’t alone in that. There were more day-after pictures from women on her fetish forum than anything else. It was part of
the experience, and sharing was part of the fun.
These felt different. Private. And not just because posting them would have Trudy calling her to get all the details, though that was the reason she kept giving herself.
Yesterday had been a…revelation might not be the right word, but it was close. Jefferson had found all her buttons and pushed them with a merciless delight that bordered on the best kind of sadism to get her to reveal the prerequisites on her list. She was shocked at his skill and impressed with his persistence. He’d done his job so well she’d ended up giving in and telling him what he wanted to know.
But it had taken hours.
That damn list. One night very early into their friendship, after she’d kicked a philandering, anime and porn-obsessed cartoonist out of her apartment, Trudy had come over and they’d curled up on the couch with two spoons and a giant tub of frozen yogurt. They were contemplating Wiccan “ex hexes” and she was detailing the less attractive aspects of sex with a man who’d had his penis pierced when Caroline had gotten the idea.
“It’s the only way,” she’d insisted. “I am sick of being a one-woman hostel for every sexy, dysfunctional street urchin that crosses my path.”
“Here, here.” Trudy waved her spoon in the air supportively.
“I’m a talented, intelligent woman with a loving personality, more friends than I can count and a bag of naughty tricks that could make any porn star blush. I’ve never been unemployed, I cook divinely and know all the best places for take-out. I keep a ridiculously clean house—”
“I could eat off this floor,” Trudy interrupted.
“Right?” Caroline stood up and reached for a pad of paper and a pen, dropping her spoon in the tub. “I’m not asking for picket fences or the perfect man, but I have to draw the line somewhere. This list will be my line. They’ll either make the cut or—”
“No chocolate cherry frozen yogurt?” Trudy said as she smiled and licked her spoon. And then the brainstorming had begun.
Back then it had seemed like the only way to curb her apparent addiction to hopeless cases and men with whom she had nothing in common. Yesterday when she’d finally gasped out her list under Jefferson’s skillful persuasion, some of the requirements on it had seemed a little demanding.
Must have tattoos.
Must be open-minded about kink and people in the lifestyle.
Must NOT confuse being open-minded about kink with sleeping with other women whenever he wants.
Must have a career and make enough to support himself.
Must not believe my admiration for his penis makes me his household slave and surrogate mother.
Must be no more than ten years younger than I am, preferably no more than five.
Must not live with his parents, but should love his family and be there for them in times of need.
Must have a high IQ and be able to impress my father.
Must live in California or have residence in Paris for our annual trips abroad.
There were other “musts”, enough of them to narrow the playing field significantly, but Caroline didn’t know what else to do. She was sick of having small bits of her heart chiseled away, piece after piece. It was worse than a solid break. Sex was fun and play at the club was freeing and empowering, but serious dating at times felt more like emotional torture.
It was enough to make a girl stop believing in romance.
Jefferson had laughed at some of the requirements, but he hadn’t given in until he’d heard every single one. “I don’t measure up, do I, Caroline? I might score a three out of twenty on a good day.”
“Please,” she begged on the floor of his kitchen, her hands tied behind her back with the fabric of her torn shirt while he was caressing and biting and exploring her body. “I told you,” she gasped. “That’s everything on the list. Please, Jefferson.”
He moved until he was on one elbow beside her, his fingers tormenting her nipples with light caresses. Teasing her when he knew she needed more. “I don’t know. That’s the kind of a list a man needs to think about, Caroline. The kind of list he has to meditate over and evaluate. Ponder. Digest.”
A sob of frustration escaped her and then his hands were moving her, but her head was spinning and she couldn’t get a handle on what was happening until her thighs were straddling his shoulders and his breath was on her clit. “I’m done thinking now.”
Caroline leaned her hip against her car and squeezed her thighs together, remembering his talented tongue and how many times he’d made her scream with it before he’d untied her, cared for her until her shaking stopped, fed her Chinese take-out and sent her home.
She’d been as surprised by that as she had been about his talent for torture. They hadn’t actually had sex. He hadn’t found release at all. It didn’t make sense unless he didn’t want her anymore. She hated the insecurity that thought had left her with. But she couldn’t doubt he’d been just as aroused as she was. As lost in what they were doing. So what the hell was going on?
That she’d managed to drive home and text Trudy about her brother’s broken phone was a miracle. The rest of the night was spent reliving her hours with Jefferson.
She’d thought he was dangerous when he was a young, horny cowboy who just wanted to get laid. Last night was proof that there was more to it than she’d ever imagined. She should stay as far away from him as possible, unless she was willing to be hurt.
And she would be hurt. Jefferson was right about one thing—he didn’t pass muster when it came to her list. Some things she could overlook, but location wasn’t one of them. He wouldn’t be in town much longer, and she would never live anywhere but here.
There was no way around it. She was going to have to stay away from him until he left in two weeks and find an exceptionally attractive and unintimidateable date for John and Trudy’s wedding. That would be the smart thing to do. The right thing to do. Maybe that’s why she hated the idea. She was forty-five, and at some point she was going to outgrow this rebellious tendency to gamble with her heart.
Wasn’t she?
“Caroline? Why are you standing in the driveway like a statue? Your father’s been expecting you.”
The familiar, croaky voice yanked her out of her thoughts. She looked over at the short fireplug of a woman standing in the open door with a concerned frown.
“You caught me daydreaming, Sylvie. Let me just grab my notes and I’ll be right in.” She opened the backdoor and reached her yellow notepad and purse, smiling at the waiting nurse. “How is he today?”
Sylvie had accompanied her father home from the hospital three years ago and never left. Dad’s stroke had left him with a paralyzed right arm and a shuffling gait that made it impossible for him to take care of himself. He’d been too proud to let Caroline move in to look after him, so Sylvie was their compromise. She wasn’t a fan of smiling or sharing intimate details about her life, but it was easy to see David Aaron enjoyed her company. She was practical and plucky. Caroline knew he was in good hands.
The older nurse answered as she moved toward her. “This morning he was a big fat pain in my backside, but now he’s all sass and charm, yucking it up with your young man in the garden.”
Caroline almost lost her balance on her heels. A rock. It must have been a loose rock. “My young man?”
Oh hell, was it Robb? She hoped not. She hadn’t heard from him at all, so she’d been hoping that was the end of it. Her father was a fan of all things Scottish and it would be hard to explain that they were no longer a couple when she hadn’t told her father about him to begin with.
Another red flag. She never dated a man for that long, even casually, without telling her dad about him.
Sylvie stepped aside to let her pass and nodded. “He’s been smiling so wide I thought he might pop a seam since we realized he’s the cowboy from that stunt show we’ve been watching. You didn’t tell us Trudy’s brother was one of the contestants. He loves that show. Says he used to work with the man coordinati
ng the stunts. But then he always says he’s worked with everybody.”
“He has,” Caroline said faintly. On automatic pilot now, trying to get over the shock, she followed Sylvie through the bright, open living room past walls covered in old framed movie posters and pictures of her father with a few of the more famous men and women he’d directed through the years.
Jefferson was here. Why? How? She’d never mentioned her father. The few times they’d come together, small talk hadn’t been that high on their list of priorities.
His sister must have told him that she’d been spending her weekdays here. Must have given him the address. There was no way Trudy knew about what happened between them yesterday, so she couldn’t know how awkward this would be. Still, the little sneak was definitely getting a lecture on things not to do to your maid of honor before the wedding.
She opened the French doors that led to the garden, her father’s pride and joy, and heard his voice an instant before she saw him sitting comfortably in the shade of his long cedar gazebo. “A little to the left. Wait…no, go right again and come toward me two steps.”
Caroline’s gaze followed the waggling fingers of her father’s good arm to the man in the middle of the garden carrying a naked, kneeling fairy made of granite.
“Here?” Jefferson grunted.
“Maybe one step closer? Next to—yes, there.”
There was something surreal about the scene and Caroline couldn’t stop the laughter that bubbled from her throat. Both men turned toward her at the sound. One was small and frail with a bushy white beard and kind hazel eyes that always looked at her with love. One was strong, tall and undeniably attractive in a short-sleeved cotton shirt and faded jeans, pulling off his old cowboy hat to wipe the sweat off his brow with his forearm. She could see at a glance that the fairy wasn’t the first statue he’d been asked to move. The garden looked completely different.
