AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Huh,” he said, tilting his head as if intrigued by her revelation. “Why do you think you were so drawn to that?”
She shrugged. “My childhood wasn’t exactly conventional, so I guess I was fascinated by these families where dads came home every day and moms cooked casseroles and everybody seemed so damned happy. Looking back, that’s probably what drew me to cooking in the first place. A home-cooked meal represented some piece of that fantasy world. So when my sister started college, I bought this stack of old Betty Crocker cookbooks at a garage sale and started trying the recipes. Brynn probably never wants to eat anything made with Cream of Mushroom soup again.”
He smiled, but it didn’t touch his eyes; compassion rested there instead. “Why didn’t you go to culinary school after high school?”
She combed her fingers through her hair, not wanting to have this conversation. “I wasn’t in a good place back then. Partying and my boyfriend became much bigger priorities than casseroles.”
“Ah,” he said, those watchful eyes still on her.
“So were you into TV as much as movies?” she asked, desperate to get the topic back to something safe.
“Not as much, but I can recite entire episodes of Family Ties and The Cosby Show. Not pretty.”
“I never saw either of those.”
A brief look of horror crossed his face, then he shook his head. “Man, I keep forgetting how young you are. I think I’m in denial.”
She smirked and stretched her legs out, pressing her feet against his thigh. “I’m old enough in the ways that count. And truth be told, there are days I feel like I’ve lived three lifetimes already.”
He slipped a hand around her ankle, rubbing a thumb along the delicate bones as he watched her. “An old soul.”
A wounded one at least. But she didn’t say that part out loud. They weren’t here to dig into her ugly, good-girl-gone-bad life. That was off limits. She allowed her other foot to slide up and over his thigh, her toes tracking closer to his crotch. Maybe if she could get the focus redirected back to the reason they were here, he’d stop looking at her like he wanted to scoop all her secrets out of her.
He locked his other hand around the ankle of her roaming foot, his grip firm. “I don’t remember giving you permission to touch me there, love.”
She wet her lips and lowered her lashes, going into her safe zone—temptress mode. “Are you complaining? We’ve got nothing better to do while we wait out the storm.”
His gaze narrowed as he held both her ankles and moved them away from his lap. “That’s not going to work on me, Kelsey.”
She frowned, her spine stiffening. “What are you talking about?”
“I know you’re used to controlling the situation. And not many men could resist that come-hither look you just threw my way. But you need to know, it’s not a wise tactic to take with me. Topping from the bottom won’t be acceptable.”
“I wasn’t—”
He let go of her ankles. “Stand up.”Author: Roni Loren
She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from talking back again and got to her feet. He was right. She’d known exactly what she’d been doing. And if the roles had been reversed and a submissive had tried that with her, she wouldn’t have let it slide either. But she hadn’t expected Wyatt to take this so seriously. They liked each other, had good chemistry. Wasn’t having a little sexy fun what this was about?
But clearly she’d underestimated Wyatt in this arena. She’d expected him to throw some power around in the bedroom, act the part. But as he followed her movements with a hard gaze and a locked jaw, she realized he wasn’t putting on a show at all. He may be out of practice, but this was no role. This was who he was—the real man beneath the urbane surface.
She swallowed hard, honest fear entering the equation for the first time. Wyatt was expecting her to truly submit. For this to be real. He wanted her surrender. Her palms went damp.
And so did her panties.
She blinked, surprised at her body’s almost instant response. “I’m sorry, sir.”
He pointed at a spot on the floor. “In front of me. Now.”
She lowered her head and stepped to where he’d indicated, standing between his spread knees. She couldn’t miss the twitch in his pajama pants, his own arousal stirring. She had the ridiculous urge to fall to her knees and beg his forgiveness, to take him in her hand, her mouth, to replace that look of disappointment with one of pleasure.
What. The. Fuck?
She clenched her fists. This wasn’t how she responded to men. She had the utmost respect for both sides of the D/s dynamic, but she was not on the s side. Why was her mind trying to sink?
“Stop fighting your natural response or you’re going to earn more punishment,” he said, his tone cool but his gaze hot.
“I’m not fighting anything.”
