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“Better be nice to me then.” His look prickled heat over her skin and made her very aware of how private and secluded this spot was. For form’s sake, she peered over the edge.
“I expect fifteen feet isn’t a bad jump.”
He brought her away from the edge, but it wasn’t to engage in more banter. He pressed her against the outside wall of the treehouse, his arm banding around her waist. Before she could suck in a breath, he had his mouth on hers, his hand gripping her ass. His other palm pressed into her back, thumb caressing her bra strap through her shirt. The hungry, powerful kiss told her he’d been lying in Rory’s room last night, thinking about her and this. She hooked her legs around his waist again, to show him she’d been thinking about him just as much. A little noise caught in her throat as he pressed a very solid response between her legs.
“You know,” she managed, when he drew back. “I’ve been reading about firefighting. You’re supposed to put your hand on a closed door before opening it, because if there are flames behind it, the wood is hot and the fire might blast you when opened.”
His lips curved, sensual promise. “Is that so?”
“Yeah. You’re as hot as one of those doors.”
“Same goes, doc.” Reluctantly, he let her down, to open the latch on the treehouse entry panel. He pushed it inward so she could step inside.
Two windows had been cut into the structure. The screens covering them were in good repair. The interior walls had been painted a forest green and gray color, same as the exterior. But in here, the color was a background for a thick forest of branches painted along the inside walls.
“Stand here.” Brick positioned her so she could see the trees outside the windows. The painted branches inside lined up with the live branches outside, as if they were still part of the same forest.
Her delight only deepened as she saw R+D painted in a heart on one of those branches, M+T on another. Her heart twisted as she saw one for her parents. R+E.
In an upper corner, framed by a spray of painted leaves and a perched robin, was a nod to the builders. Robert, Rory and Thomas Wilder.
The painting was done in that texturized way, the signature brand of her brother’s work. Thomas had painted the other two walls a blended mix of earth colors, like the tree house on the outside.
“I remember when Thomas and my dad helped Rory build this,” Les said.
“Probably why it’s remained important to both of them. Though Thomas never spent much time up here when we were kids.”
“No.” Les shook her head. “He didn’t have a lot of close friends in high school. When he wasn’t helping my dad on the farm or later, in the store, he was drawing and painting. But he was always there to help me or Rory with homework, or my mom or dad with whatever chores needed doing. It was always about art or family for Thomas.”
A polished wooden box was in the corner. She turned away from the window to watch Brick open it. What he pulled out revealed he’d come here earlier to prepare for their visit.
He removed the folded blanket and pillow from Rory’s old bed, or rather, the current guestroom. He put the canvas bag beside it, but rather than satisfying her curiosity about its contents, he straightened and looked her way.
He did that thing he knew how to do without words, filling up a space with his intent and energy. When he moved toward her, she backed up a step. Then another, until her back met the wall.
She couldn’t tell if he’d compelled her to move that way with his forward progress and portentous gaze, or something inside her had counseled retreat, to show a little trepidation, the kind that inflamed what was swirling between them.
“As much as the past has some nice memories, I prefer the present. Me, having my submissive here, ready to give me what I want. Are you ready to give me what I want, Les?”
That sense of seclusion increased. “Yes, Sir.”
“Good. Take off everything you’re wearing. Except the necklace.”
He dropped to his heels, his fingers tented on the floor, and tilted his head like a focused raptor. Waiting.
She grasped the hem of her shirt and pulled it over her head. Slow, not intending a strip tease, but because when he got like this, her hands and body became a little less coordinated.
“I like to see you tremble for me, Les. The little shivers on your skin, the look in your eyes, anticipation but also a lot of nervousness. The right kind, as you figure out how to let go of control and trust me.”
She put the shirt on a brace of hooks, reached behind her and unfastened her bra, letting it slide down her arms. As she turned away to hang it up, she heard him rise, the wood vibrating when he closed the space between them. Her shudder increased as he pulled her hair to the side and kissed her shoulder, then her neck, pressing his body against her. His hands coasted down her sides to the denim at her hips. “Now the rest.”
But rather than letting her do it, he slipped the button of her jeans and moved the zipper down with the insertion of his large hand, finding her panties, her mound. He curved his fingers over her clit and labia with a sure, firm pressure, his other hand cupping her ass to knead both her buttocks, rousing the sensitive nerves in the seam between them.
He held her between those two erotic points as she arched back against him, a needy sound coming from her lips. He did that for a while, fondling and squeezing, stroking her as he wished.
“I respect your mother, but it was all I could do last night not to come and hold you, let you sleep in my arms. Wake you up in the middle of the night to drive away any bad dreams.”
“Your text did that,” she whispered. That was how strong his hold was on her. “But I would have liked your idea, too.”
