by S. J. Drum
Satisfied she wouldn’t be running into anyone, she blew out a relieved breath and moved down the hall.
Lucy pushed open the door to her new office and froze, her grip on the doorknob white-knuckled. Her heart kicked in her chest and she must have forgotten how to breathe because she suddenly felt lightheaded.
Dalton—shirtless again, the bastard—knelt in a pose that reminded her of that old French statue The Thinker. Except he wasn’t thinking, he was flexing, his biceps swelling and receding with each pass of the rag he scrubbed over the baseboard in front of him.
She blinked, giving her head a shake to clear the fog that’d settled in upon seeing Dalton’s bare upper body. She cleared her throat.
When Dalton spun to face the door, sharp blue eyes pierced her. She watched the lines around his eyes soften as he realized who had interrupted his work.
“Hey, Red. I’m about finished here. Just cleaning up the rest of the dust.”
Taking in the room, now cleared of all debris and looking remarkably unlike the disaster she’d entered only a few days ago, she realized how much work Dalton had done in such a short amount of time. Because of her.
Swallowing to wet her suddenly dry mouth, she took a hesitant step into the room. “Did you do all this yourself?”
He smiled, those addictive dimples making an appearance. “Yes, ma’am.”
Dalton winked and Lucy couldn’t stop the way her body reacted, her nipples going taut to press against the thin fabric of her shirt. She crossed her arms over her chest, hoping he hadn’t noticed.
“The air conditioning should be fixed this afternoon. Do you have furniture to move in? I need to get back to my other job site but I could help out after my crew finishes up for the day.”
No one’s ever that nice without a reason. What does he want? she wondered, narrowing her eyes in suspicion.
Dalton pushed to his feet, groaning as he stretched his back then rolled his shoulders. Suspicion turned to guilt when Lucy realized how hard he’d been working. Maybe he was just being nice by offering his help. She chided herself for immediately thinking everyone was out to get her.
“I don’t have much right now, and nothing too heavy. Thanks for the offer though.”
He mopped the sweat from his brow with his discarded t-shirt before tucking the tail end into his back pocket and reaching for the dented red toolbox sitting at his feet. “I’ll be heading out then. Let me know if there’s anything I can do for you.”
He swaggered forward and stopped close at her side, too close. With the height difference, he towered over her and she had to crane her neck to see his face. The scent of clean male sweat, leather and sawdust had her licking her lips.
“And Lucy?” Dalton’s heated gaze followed the path of her tongue as she wet her lips. “I can think of quite a few things I could do for you.”
With that, he brushed past her, leaving her standing alone in the empty room. His intoxicating scent lingered long after he’d left and Lucy found herself touching the shoulder where his bare skin had pressed up against her for those brief moments.
Damn, that man is trouble.
* * * * *
Dalton shook his head as he climbed into his truck, wondering what the hell his fascination was with the tiny redhead. The woman was skittish as a barn mouse and had a fragile quality about her that called all of his protective instincts.
A humorless chuckle rumbled through his chest as he cranked the ignition and forced himself to drive out of the parking lot and away from Lucy.
She was not the woman for Dalton.
His desires ran far too dark to ever entertain the idea of bringing someone so…breakable…into his bed. For one brief moment he considered closeting his unusual sexual style for something more vanilla, something he and Lucy could enjoy together.
“Shit.” He wiped a shaking hand down his face, his other hand clenched about the wheel as he steered the oversized Dodge toward the work site where he’d left his crew.
No. Refusing your true self is never a good option.
Dalton was a Dominant male—had been since he first realized his dick was good for something other than taking a piss. There’d be no changing in that department now, not even for the sweet, fragile beauty he’d skipped his lunch break for.
Maybe…
No.
Dalton’s dark passions, his instincts, would not be denied. The outcome wouldn’t be good for him or Lucy.
He pulled his truck into a spot and parked at the jobsite.
His stomach clenched and he convinced himself it was due to missing lunch again rather than the thought of never laying Lucy upon his bed, never watching those bouncy red curls spread across his sheets.
I’d stay on my knees, lay her down and get a firm grip on her softly curved hips. Her legs wrapped around my waist. All that smooth, pale skin, it’d feel like being twisted up in a silk sheet.
Dalton adjusted his position where he sat inside the cab of his truck, trying to relieve some of the pressure his zipper was putting on his now-hard cock. Just thinking about Lucy… His grip on the steering wheel tightened until his knuckles went white.
I’d lean back, pull her ass up onto my lap until my cock met her wet heat. With Lucy reclined, every sweet inch of her would be on display. I’d enter her in one smooth stroke, watch her breasts sway with the movement. She’d groan…
“Shit.”
Dalton released his grip on the steering wheel and let out a shaky breath. He’d been the one to groan, not the imaginary Lucy. He was a grown man sitting in his damn truck getting hard over a freakin’ fantasy.
“Fuck this.”
He’d spent every free minute available, including lunch breaks, for the past few days over at Hart’s Ink preparing the office space for Lucy. Abigail and Jed thought he’d worked so relentlessly out of the kindness of his heart but that wasn’t entirely accurate. If he were honest, he’d admit all the overtime and missed meals were because he wanted the room perfect for Lucy, maybe even wanted to impress the city girl with his hard work.
Stupid, considering nothing could develop between them beyond friendship.
He unbuckled the seat belt and twisted to retrieve his cell phone from the pocket of his jeans. Dalton needed to remind himself of exactly why Miss Artsy Big City and her haunted eyes were off limits. No better way to do that than an evening with Rachel.
He thumbed a text message to Rachel asking her to meet him at his place later that evening. She’d be there, he knew.
His and Rachel’s relationship didn’t go beyond sex, they gave each other something they both needed—craved. Dalton gave her the permission to give up control and she gave him the exotic gift of her submission. He needed that more than he wanted to admit. Needed a woman stretched out before him, offering her trust, willingly putting her body—her pleasure—in his hands.
Six hours later he stepped out of the shower, toweled off and gave himself a hard look in the steam-covered mirror. An evening of fucking should not require a pep talk. He watched his jaw clench and blew out an irritated breath.
What the hell was the matter with him? Rachel was tall, blonde and had the body of a stripper. She was also going to be on his doorstep in five minutes, wet and ready to do anything he wanted.
Dalton strode into his bedroom and jerked a pair of jeans from his closet, annoyed with himself for dwelling on a woman he had no chance with. He pulled on the jeans, raising the zipper but leaving the button unhooked. No need to dress further, not tonight. His head snapped up at the sound of a knock on the front door, his eyes narrowed in determination. He was going to do this.
And I’m going to enjoy it, damn it.
As Dalton walked toward the front door, he felt a change come over him. A slight shift inside, as if a black leather mask had been dropped over his mind, hiding some but revealing more. When he opened the door to study Rachel standing patiently on his porch, he forced the last lingering thought of Lucy to leave his mind and let the Dom i
n him take control.
“Hello, Dalton.” Rachel drawled the greeting in a purposely husky voice.
Without preliminaries, he responded, “Go into the kitchen.” He studied the lacy sundress draped over Rachel’s flawless body and the tan, spiky stiletto heels on her dainty feet. “Take off the dress. Leave the shoes and your bra and panties.”
A noticeable shiver worked over her slim frame as she brushed past him, heeding his directions without question like the perfect submissive she was. His dick kicked against the zipper of his jeans as he caught her scent. Rachel always smelled like strawberries and fresh-cut grass.
He closed the door and leaned his back against it to wait the few minutes it’d take Rachel to prepare herself in the kitchen. Rubbing the heel of his hand over his aching erection, he was thankful at least one part of his body was working correctly. His mind might be trying to stray toward a woman he barely knew instead of the woman preparing to be fucked on his kitchen table, but at least his dick was on board.
Deciding he’d given her enough time, he made his way through the living room and into the kitchen. His cock grew harder at the sight that greeted him. Normally he preferred to direct his sexual encounters entirely, his submissive awaiting direction in all things. The visual impact of Rachel bent over the sturdy oak table, legs a mile long in those heels and spread shoulder-width apart, made him think perhaps a bit of initiative on the submissive’s part was a good thing.
Her long blonde hair had been pulled into a sleek ponytail that pooled on the dark wood of the table. Her face was turned toward him, one pale cheek pressed against the cool tabletop. She held her hands behind her at the small of her back as if already bound, a flesh-andblood bow to top off the exquisite picture of the tiny black thong hugging the curves of her rounded, firm ass.
Dalton moved to stand directly behind her, close but not touching. He stood there, silent, letting the tension build. Finally, when he sensed she’d waited long enough, he leaned over her, covering her from thigh to shoulder, and whispered in her ear.
“I’m going to fuck you like this, Rachel. Right here, on my kitchen table. Is that what you want?”
“Are you going to leave the door open?”
He lifted his head and glanced to the door off of the kitchen leading to the backyard. Only the screen was shut, allowing a warm breeze to sweep into the room. It would also allow anyone to see what he and Rachel were doing if someone happened to stop by. No one would, but still…
“Yes. The door stays open. Anyone could walk by and see us. See you, spread out on my table.” He smoothed a hand over her hip before delivering a sharp smack to one bare cheek. “See the mark of my palm on your flesh.”
Rachel shuddered and he knew he’d guessed the right answer.
One taboo Dalton had never been into was voyeurism. He liked to keep his private life just that—private. But what they were doing now wasn’t actually public. No one would wander onto his back porch at 7:00 p.m. so no harm would be done by leaving the door open if it heightened the experience for Rachel. If he focused enough on her pleasure, maybe he’d forget all about the other woman whose image was flashing in his mind even now.
Chapter Three
Lucy drummed her fingers against the steering wheel with impatient taps and squinted her eyes at the light that had been red for like ten damn minutes. She pushed a renegade curl behind her ear then glanced at the clock on the dashboard. 7:00 p.m. She drew in a breath of sweet chocolate-scented air and tried to relax.
The scent of fresh baked cookies prompted her to study the plastic-wrap-covered plate currently sitting shotgun in her car and she wondered for the hundredth time if this was a good idea. The bleating sound of a horn told her the light had finally turned green.
A few blocks later Lucy held a piece of paper printed with the directions to Dalton’s house, trying to read the tiny print and determine her next turn. Holding directions in one’s line of sight while still watching the road and steering a car was definitely an acquired skill.
“I’m probably the only person in America without onboard GPS,” she grumbled.
After seeing Dalton at her new office that morning—and enduring an entire hour of Abigail praising everything from his overtime hours to his flippin’ hygiene—Lucy had decided she needed to find a way to both thank him for finishing the job so quickly and work out some of her anxiety over the hang-up calls she’d continued to receive. Baking cookies served both purposes.
She knew it was terribly “fifties’ housewife” of her but she’d always turned to baking when she needed to work through something. Since she’d had plenty to work through every day during her marriage with Ross she now made the best damn cookies this side of Paula Deen.
Parking on the street in front of Dalton’s house, she glanced at the clock again and hoped it wasn’t too late to drop in. This would actually be her first “pop in” ever and she wasn’t sure what the rules were. Lucy had rarely left the house without an itinerary and an escort when married so her friendship skills were a bit rusty. Not that she was making friends, she hastened to remind herself.
It surprised her that Dalton lived in town instead of some remote cabin in the woods. With that big truck and growly voice, she’d pegged him for a country boy. She snorted a laugh as she climbed out of her car. Clifton, Tennessee was pretty much all country, even in the middle of town.
Damn humid, too. She swiped at the sheen of moisture already collecting on her neck as she climbed the steps to Dalton’s front door with the cookie platter balanced on her right hand.
Lucy rapped her knuckles against the outer screen door and frowned. Knocking on the frame of a screen door didn’t make much noise, certainly not enough to hear if the person inside wasn’t close to the door. She waited and knocked again, still no one answered though Dalton’s truck was parked in the drive and she could see lights on inside the house.
She bit her lip, debating whether it was appropriate to open the screen door and knock on the inner door. It felt weird to take the liberty, like she’d be invading his privacy. Then her head jerked up and spine stiffened at the all too familiar sound of flesh hitting flesh.
Lucy felt her eyes widen, her gaze darting around the small porch as the rumbling sound of Dalton’s voice reached her from what sounded like the backyard. The sound of another slap was followed by a woman’s groan and before she realized what she was doing, her feet were carrying her around the house and through the open gate of Dalton’s fenced-in backyard.
Her heart alternated between beating fiercely and skipping beats as she moved onto the rear deck. She tried to tamp down the memories but they came flooding into her mind like an unstoppable slide show.
No one had ever come to help Lucy. Even when she knew damn well her neighbors must have heard her cries, the sounds of breaking glass, furniture hitting walls…no one had come. Maybe it had been her fault for staying, for allowing herself to be abused, but her bad judgment didn’t excuse all the people around her who had looked the other way.
Inaction could be just as terrible as the crime itself. Lucy would not stand by and let her nightmare visit someone else. She was obviously a piss-poor judge of character. First Ross, now Dalton.
Unlike the front door, the back door was wide open with only the screen in place. Without hesitation, she placed her free hand on the handle. She’d only pulled the door open a couple of inches before her gaze found the kitchen table, or rather, the woman bent over it and the man standing next to it.
Shit. This is worse than I’d thought.
What was she supposed to do? Dear God, he had her tied up!
Dalton was raping a woman. Well, maybe not raping her yet but it sure looked like it was going in that direction though the man still had his pants zipped.
Another vicious smack landed on the woman’s already reddened ass. Having a first-person view of the act made Lucy choke back a gasp. She could almost feel Ross’ hand landing against her flesh, though he’d rarely used an
open palm and never hit her anywhere that would leave a noticeable mark.
Dalton bent over the woman, his pelvis snug against her ass, and wrapped the length of blonde hair around his fist before tugging the woman’s head back.
“How do you want it, Rachel? How do you want me to fuck you?” Dalton’s voice growled the words but they didn’t register with Lucy. All she heard was Ross’ taunting voice asking her why she’d made him hit her.
Having had enough, Lucy pushed the door open and had one foot on the linoleum when the woman spoke.
“You know what I want. Hard and fast, Dalton. I want you to fuck me hard and fast.”
Lucy froze as she watched a shiver work over the nearly nude woman and with stark clarity she realized she’d misjudged the situation. Perhaps a tad too late for a revelation, being that she was standing inside Dalton’s kitchen and suddenly seemed much more of a voyeur than a savior.
Just as she decided she still had a chance to back out of the room and disappear without being seen, Dalton straightened and turned, catching sight of her. His eyes flashed with shock and something that looked like resignation before his features hardened into an impenetrable mask.
“Lucy…”
The blonde woman whipped her head around to peg Lucy with startled but beautiful eyes.
Lucy wished for words to make this all go away but found nothing suitable. Her skin heated and she knew her damnable redhead blush had flared to life, branding her like a sunburn. “I—”
Dalton took a step forward and the action broke whatever spell had been holding Lucy in place. She jumped, emitting an undignified squeak like a startled rabbit, dropped the ceramic platter and cookies on the floor and spun. She was out the door and halfway to the gate in the fence when she heard Dalton’s curse and a distinctly feminine voice asking “Who was that woman?”
