by Cara Bristol
“I refuse to give up on us.” He withdrew his hands from his pockets. “I’ve been in love with you since ninth grade. You’re the only woman I’ve ever wanted. I intend to prove to you I’ve changed, that I can be the man you need me to be.”
Abby sighed and averted her gaze from his hang dog expression. Damn him. Why did he put her in this position? She didn’t enjoy hurting people—least of all him. But the disintegration of her marriage had taught her to stand up for herself.
“Love doesn’t die,” he insisted.
Sometimes it did. Sometimes one person rode over it so many times, the injuries proved fatal.
“Didn’t we always say that?” he peered at her.
“That was a long time ago. Circumstances have changed. I have changed. But I’m glad you’re working again.”
“Are you seeing somebody? Is that why you moved here?”
Memories heated her cheeks in a betraying flush. It was too soon to say she and Harris were ‘seeing’ each other, but she could understand how someone—like a jealous ex—would attach meaning to being spanked and engaging in sexual intercourse with another man.
“Who I’m seeing or not seeing has nothing to do with us. There is no us anymore. I’m—It’s over.” She’d been about to apologize, but what did she have to be sorry about?
“You’ll see I’ve changed. I’ll prove it to you.” He pecked her on the cheek. “Goodbye, Abs.” He spun on his heel and left.
The bell clanked, and Abby braced herself, drawing a breath of air. Four, three, two…
Aunt Quincy swept into the room in a swirl of skirts and ire. “What did he want?”
“To get me to try again.”
“Did you tell him to take a hike?”
“More or less. But he thinks he can win me back.”
Her sweet-natured aunt uttered an unladylike word.
“I wonder what Uncle Joe would have done to hear you say such a thing,” Abby quipped.
“He would have washed my mouth out with soap and tanned my behind. He was very strict about those kinds of things.”
“That’s a little more information than I needed, thank you.” Abby scrubbed her eyes with her fist. She could do without the mental image of her uncle walloping her aunt’s bare butt. Especially since her personal experience enabled her to paint a very vivid 3-D motion picture complete with sound and sensation. New images formed of her own rosy ass. The sharp smacks, Harris’s breathing. The burn. Ooh, the delicious burn. She checked herself before she rubbed her ass. Did Aunt Quincy’s color fade as quickly as hers?
“I’m meeting Harris for lunch,” Abby said, to distract her aunt and herself.
“He’ll be good for you dear. He’s solid as a rock. Not like that man you married.” Aunt Quincy refused to be diverted. “I can tell you now, but your Uncle Joe and I never believed he was good match for you.”
They’d had their problems. Dale had, in effect, betrayed her, but they’d been happy together once. In high school, he’d been the perfect boyfriend. He’d doted on her. “Because of his gambling?”
Aunt Quincy shook her head. “He has no backbone. He allowed you to walk all over him.”
“That’s not true!” Abby sputtered.
“Dale gave into you on everything.”
“No, he didn’t! I lost my house because of his gambling debts!” Wasn’t he still trying to please her though? Hadn’t he vowed to recover her house?
“I think he tried to please you so much, he hoped to make quick money by gambling.”
Abby’s jaw dropped. “So you’re saying his addiction is my fault?”
“Just the opposite. I’m saying he tried to fill his inadequacy by gambling. You didn’t cause it, nor can you fix it. Only he can. For himself. He might be a nice person, but he’s not, as they say, a good credit risk. Or a stable life partner.”
“I don’t think you’re being fair to Dale,” Abby surprised herself by defending him. “You don’t walk away from a person because they have a little problem.” But hadn’t she done that? Guilt tried to rush through the door she’d opened, but Abby shoved it back. She deserved love and stability.
Excitement. Spanking.
But she had sympathy for Dale.
Her aunt raised her eyebrows. “Little problem?”
“Okay, a big problem.” But what a thing to say—that he was weak because he’d doted on her. That didn’t make a man weak—it made him kind, solicitous. Dale had been a good person and she’d loved him once. Perhaps for old time’s sake, she should have listened to him, supported his efforts more.
But wouldn’t that have given him false encouragement? And entangled her again?
Abby sighed. Dale had complicated her life for years, and he hadn’t stopped just because they’d divorced.
* * * *
Ultra wash or deluxe or ultra deluxe? Abby squinted at the electronic screen. She’d arrived at Wash and Go a few minutes early, and not seeing Harris, decided her car could use a spit shine. Debit card in hand, she stretched her arm out the window for the reader.
“On the house.” Harris materialized, punched in ultra deluxe, then bounded around the hood, opened the passenger door and slid in. “Drive forward until the green light comes on, then put your car in neutral and take your foot off the brake.”
I’ve been through a car wash before. “Yes, sir,” she snapped, still discombobulated after her ex’s surprise visit.
“Right words, but you should work on the tone,” he said affably, but with a hint of steel.
So spank me. She bit off the flippant remark, feeling ashamed for venting her frustration with Dale on Harris. “Sorry,” she said.
“Apology accepted.”
The conveyor grabbed ahold of the tire and pulled the car into the tunnel where sprayers deluged the vehicle with water. Harris stretched his arm over her seatback and toyed with the hair on her nape.
Abby had a hunch Harris wouldn’t hesitate to deliver a little discipline if he deemed it warranted. She also suspected a punishment spanking wouldn’t be near as fun as the one she’d received the other night. But the idea of going over his knee for any reason was getting her wet. She eyed the water soaking the windshield like a driving rain. Yep, like that. She shifted in her seat. Only the slightest ache remained to remind her of the spanky good time she’d had.
The spray shut off, and a machine squirted white foam over the car. Soap slid down the windows in meandering rivulets. Harris tangled his fingers in her hair, brushed her nape. Heat flooded her body, but goose bumps prickled and she shivered.
“Cold?” he asked.
She fanned her face. “The opposite. It’s warm in here.”
“I enjoyed the other night.” He held her gaze and massaged her neck. Her clit pulsed, craving similar attention.
“I did too.”
Sprayers rinsed the suds from the vehicle as the car inched forward without any help from her. The effect felt disorienting, the dizziness worsened by Harris’s magic fingers, and the big blobs of pink foam coating the car, encapsulating them in a cocoon. The fresh scent of the goo pervaded the vehicle mixing with the aromatic musk of the soap Harris had showered with. The car might be in neutral, but her libido had shifted into overdrive.
“Scoot closer,” Harris suggested, but her seat belt prevented her from moving fast enough, and he swooped in to capture her lips in a hungry kiss. Gentleness not required. Or preferred. She moaned into his mouth, tasting him, needing him.
She jumped when a cascade of rinse water hit the windshield. They broke apart as the car jerked forward into a jet blast of air. She could not prevent a snort of laughter from bubbling up.
“What’s so funny?”
Her lips twitched. “My car’s getting a blow job.”
“Lucky car,” he said.
The conveyor pushed her vehicle out of the tunnel. Abby shifted into Drive. Harris pointed to a parking space. “Pull up over there.”
“Why?”
“So we c
an trade places.”
A knowing smile teased the corner of her mouth. “Oh. You’re one of those,” she said, but did as he directed.
“One of those?” he asked after he’d gotten behind the wheel.
“A man who doesn’t trust other drivers.”
“I let you pilot through the car wash, didn’t I?”
“The machine did everything.”
“I’m a man who likes to be in control.”
“Funny, I didn’t get that about you,” she said.
“Sounds like somebody’s bratting for a spanking.”
Was she? Her stomach fluttered. With only the brief intermission of Dale’s interruption, spanking had consumed her thoughts. She’d replayed the smacks in her mind, slapped and rubbed her own butt. She’d examined each one of the spanking implements, imagining Harris cracking it against her bare skin. Could her response have been a fluke? Maybe after her sexual drought following the divorce she’d been so needy and horny anything would have turned her on. What if she didn’t enjoy spanking as much the next time? Shouldn’t she find out?
Until Harris, she’d gathered no inkling she might have those leanings, had assumed every little girl disciplined her dolls by spanking them and read the spanking scenes in romance novels over and over. Like everyone else in the family, she’d worried when Uncle Joe and Aunt Quincy had relocated to Corbin’s Bend, a spanking community. But that hadn’t stopped her from visiting.
“Be careful, you might get what you ask for.”
A lightning bolt zigzagged through her body. Her pussy quivered. “Spanking,” she said. The word tasted decadent. “Is that your answer to everything?” she asked, proud of her boldness.
Harris maneuvered through the streets of Corbin’s Bend, staying in his own lane, stopping at red traffic signals, accelerating smoothly—all feats she would have been incapable of. In her distraction, she would have sideswiped a car or rear ended somebody.
He glanced at her. “I have some other methods of discipline—and funishment.”
Global warming had disrupted climate conditions in her body. The northern hemisphere suffered from severe arid conditions while parts below the equator experienced a torrent of moisture.
Abby cleared her dry throat. “Like what?” Her heart hammered in her ears as she awaited his response.
“Corner time, clothing restriction, figging.” Hand over hand, he turned the wheel, and they rounded the corner.
She sucked in a silent breath. Imagined. Moisture pooled. He teased, of course. She tapped his arm with a slight slap. “Oh, you!”
He slid her car between two others parallel to the curb outside La Comida, a Mexican place, and cut the engine. Harris shifted in his seat. Hooded eyes sizzled as he regarded her. “I would never joke about you standing with your nose pressed to a penny against the corner with your spanked ass on display, or to having you stark naked under house arrest, or watching you squirm as your bottom is heated from the inside out by a finger of ginger.”
Speechless, Abby clutched at her throat.
“Are you ready?” he asked in a suggestive tone.
“For what?” she squeaked, afflicted by a serious case of cottonmouth now.
“To have lunch.” Humor sparked in his eyes.
She considered slugging him for teasing her so. Would he really do those things to her? Forced to stand in the corner, while childish, didn’t seem so bad. Of course, the last time she’d planted her nose between two walls she’d been in elementary school. And his threat of house arrest sounded a lot like detention. She’d experienced that a time or two. But never while naked. But the figging…that sounded adult and naughty. She shivered with anticipation.
“How can those things you mentioned be for discipline if it’s also for fun?” she asked.
“It’s all in the circumstances, the tone of the moment.” He tapped his temple. “And the mindset.”
Abby twisted her hands in her lap. She swallowed. “Okay, let’s do it.”
Desire flashed in his gaze before he banked it and arched his brows. “Do it?”
“Let’s go have lunch.” She smiled.
He threw back his head and laughed. “Touché.”
Chapter Six
Harris adjusted himself before rounding the car to open Abby’s door. Just seeing her had given him a woody. Kissing her in the car wash had exacerbated his desire. The discussion about punishments pretty much had left him on the verge of coming in his pants like a teenager. What kind of stupid fool would raise that subject on a lunch break when he had to go back to work?
A horny one who’d enjoyed himself more than he had in ages. Abby’s combination of innocence and adventurousness had proven too alluring to resist. She offered a refreshing change from the jaded kinksters he’d played with in the past.
He’d been honest in his aim to take her in hand for discipline as well as fun. Not because of disrespect or misbehavior, but because he loved to see how a woman thrived under guidance and protection. Not all did, or even most to be sure, but if he read Abby correctly—she would.
He almost wished he could be her forever guy, and before their relationship progressed much further, they would need to have that talk.
A sign inside the restaurant instructed them to seat themselves, so Harris led them to a booth in a private corner. A waitress delivered a basket of fried tortilla chips and two bowls of salsa. “This one is mild.” She pointed to the green bowl. “The red one is spicy.” She handed them each a menu. “I’ll give you a few minutes, and I’ll be back to take your order.”
Harris chose the spicy salsa. He noted with approval Abby did the same, but her eyes teared as she bit into the chip. “Whew!” She fanned her face, but selected another chip and dove into the red bowl.
“You like it hot,” Harris observed.
She licked a crumb off her lip, and his cock twitched. Damn, if she didn’t entice him to heat her ass right now.
“Why do I get the feeling you’re not talking about salsa?” She teased him with a flirtatious smile. “Yes,” she replied.
Did that mean she liked spicy food? Or she enjoyed having her delectable rear warmed? He would have asked, but she buried her face in her menu. “What’s good here?”
“It’s all good,” he replied. “How about if I order for you?”
“Thank you.” She snapped her menu shut.
Such a simple act—such an enormous tell. Not only had she accepted his judgment, she’d expressed gratitude for it. Few women these days deferred to a man, but insisted on retaining complete control to the point of ridiculousness. If he suggested they take an umbrella during a deluge of rain, they would argue the sun would come out any second.
One person, one vote worked well when both agreed, but democracy would not break a deadlock.
“Is there anything you don’t care for?” he asked.
She shrugged. “Well, a few things that don’t apply here. But I trust you.”
She referred to food, but her words caused another heat spike. He remembered her willingness to become vulnerable despite her inexperience, the way she’d lain across his lap. Her uninhibited response. Erotic as hell. But worrisome too. That kind of trust could plant seeds that grew into dreams. If that happened, Abby would be hurt. Damn it all. He’d do anything to avoid that.
Except leave her alone? Except take a chance?
Their waitress returned. “What can I get you?”
“Two carne asada burritos, please,” he said.
“Anything to drink?”
He looked at Abby. “Would you like a Mexican beer?”
She shook her head. “Just water.”
“Water for the lady and a Pacifico for me.”
“Got it.” She grabbed their menus and left.
“So what don’t you like?” Harris asked.
Abby dipped a chip into the salsa. “It’s random. Not a fan of pistachio, artichoke or raw celery. I can eat cooked celery, but raw?” She shuddered, then popped the laden c
hip into her mouth.
“All those things you mentioned are green.”
She chewed. After swallowing, she said, “I do like broccoli, Brussels sprouts and kale.”
“All members of the cabbage family.”
She blinked. “Right again. You’re good at spotting connections, the associations.”
“Helps me in my job.”
“Sizing up your opponents?”
“Exactly.”
The waitress delivered their drinks. She set a tumbler of iced water in front of Abby and poured his Pacifico into an iced mug. A sliver of orange decorated the rim. When they were alone again, Harris squeezed the juice from the orange into his mug, then dropped the sliver into the beer. “Taste?” he offered.
Abby sampled it. “Nice. Smooth.” She handed it back, and with her tongue swiped at her tiny foam mustache.
Harris riveted on her lips. “You’re trying to drive me insane, aren’t you?”
“What did I do?” She blinked in genuine bewilderment. Which made his lust worse, not better.
“Everything you do is sexy,” he said.
“Oh.” She ducked her head. “Thank you.”
Harris inhaled and released. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he said.
She met his gaze. “I’m tougher than I seem. I enjoyed what we did the other night, and if it gets too intense, well, isn’t that what a matelassé is for?” she joked.
“I won’t marry you,” he blurted out.
Abby flinched.
He cringed. Way to go buddy.
She stared, and in her changing expression, anger built. “What arrogance! If you count today’s lunch, and dinner with my aunt, we’ve had, what, three dates?” Her eyes sparked. “I haven’t said or done anything to imply I expect marriage.” Her face flushed, and she glared at him.
“You’re right.” Harris held up his hands. “I owe you an apology. I wasn’t insinuating that at all—it came across wrong.” He leaned into the table. “I like you, Abby—you’re a remarkable woman. I think we could have a satisfying relationship. You deserve honesty so I don’t want to mislead you. At some point in the future you might desire our intimacy to become permanent.” It had happened a couple of times before. Women claimed they were fine with no-strings, but before long they started dropping hints, and the Brides magazine came out. “I am not the marrying kind.”
