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“A password is supposed to protect what matters,” she said.
“So you chose a password that reflects the men in your life who make you feel safe.”
“Yes.” No surprise that he put that together. Dad, T for Thomas, R for Rory. And Brick’s badge number. The embarrassing thing was revealing he was one of the men she felt that way about.
How he looked at her now made it less embarrassing. He drew her closer and kissed her. A thorough, slow spin, his tongue moving in to stroke and play. As her body folded against his, she rose on her toes to fit herself better to him. He murmured approvingly against her mouth, sliding his arms around her to hike her up against the wall. The solid surface pressed her tighter against his aroused body.
She made a little moan in his mouth, arching against him as he rubbed the steel of his cock against her clit with explosive accuracy. The noise he made in his throat soothed and commanded at once, telling her this would happen at his pace. But the thickness of his arousal said his body had its own gratifying opinion. If she doubted how forcefully he was holding onto his own control, that confirmed it.
She curled her hands behind his neck, nails digging in. She wanted him closer, a desperation that went beyond arousal and into darker needs.
He dropped a hand to her buttock, squeezing hard. Now she felt the deeper tissue soreness from the brush spanking. It made her even more aroused. He kept kissing her, that grip on her ass enhancing the blatant possession.
His phone chimed, but he ignored it. He shifted his grip to push his hand into the loose-fitting jeans and clamp his hand over her buttock. Panties were far thinner than denim. He pressed insistently against the crevice between her buttocks, stroking her through the cotton. A ripple of reaction shook her while his thumb dipped to trace the lower part of her buttock. All while he kept working her against his cock. He spoke against her ear, a rumble of sound.
“You’ll come for me now, Les. Rub yourself against my cock, the way you wanted to rub your cunt against my leg last night. Do it because I told you to. Do it because you want to please me, give me what I demand.”
Each word was as effective as a thrust of his cock, driving her arousal higher. Her head dropped back against the wall, her feverish eyes on his. Her body writhed, lifted and fell. When he went still, watching her obey, not helping as she fought to do as he’d commanded, the resulting surge of arousal shocked her with its strength. It pushed her over the crest.
She convulsed against him, nails still biting into his neck as she gripped the collar of his T-shirt. When she cried out, he at last helped her move against him, offering the additional support his strong arms could provide. A second, shuddering wave carried her, gasping and clinging, all the way to the finish.
When she was twitching in his arms, he tangled his fingers in her hair, holding her with his other arm and the pressure of his body.
“That’s how I know you’re a submissive, Les. That and a million other things like it, that I’ve been noting for a long damn time. Things I’ve filed away, like that list. When I embraced my Dom side, all those pieces about you and me came together, the puzzle turning into a picture. This picture.”
She loved his poetic side. She wasn’t naïve enough to believe it hadn’t shown itself with other women, but she didn’t think he used it as a conscious tool in his arsenal. It seemed to be a trait driven by the strength of his emotions. Which made her hope she brought them out from a deeper level. Or at least in a unique way.
He eased her down onto shaky legs, stroking a strand of hair from her face. “Let’s see what got dropped off.”
At her curious look, he gestured to his phone, resting on the entry table. “The chime was my door camera.”
“What are you expecting?” She was impressed she could form coherent sentences, though she was still leaning against him. He kept caressing her neck and shoulders, helping her to settle, pull together her scattered mind.
“Let’s find out.” But as he adjusted them so he could open the door, she stopped him, her gaze latched onto his very noticeable erection against his jeans. “Shouldn’t I…we, do something for you?”
“You will. Tonight. I want the time to have you deal with that properly.”
That picture on her tablet came right back into the forefront of her mind. She took another erratic breath. It helped to think of it as he said. A submissive, a woman whose desires fell in the category of that…orientation. Not a submissive woman who would let a man walk all over her. He was cherishing her, caring for her, giving her screaming orgasms, even as he made demands of her.
She cleared her throat. “Okay…um, well, why don’t I bring in the package? So your package doesn’t scare a random dog walker or make nearby women swoon.”
Or try to jump him.
His eyes sparked amused fire. “Stroking my ego works about as well as stroking my dick, doc.”
“Now who’s lying?” She suddenly realized what the delivery person might have heard, with them up against the wall right by the entryway. Brick didn’t appear to care. She realized neither did she.
She opened the door to find a medium-sized box there. The return address surprised her. “It’s from Beulah.”
“Yeah.” When she stepped back in, he closed the door. “I asked her to put together some things you might need, and wired her the funds to courier it for morning delivery.”
His thoughtfulness floored her. Since he’d talked her into staying, she’d been considering a secondhand clothing store to get another change of clothes, plus replacement toiletries from the dollar store. “I’ll need to pay you back. That must have cost a fortune.”
“No, you won’t. It was my call, so I took care of it.” He put the box on the stairs, removed a pocketknife and slit the tape on the top. “You can go through this after breakfast, while I’m working out. There’s room in the guestroom closet if you want to hang anything up. But for the record,” he pinned her with a look, “that doesn’t mean you get to sleep in there. I like you where you were last night.”
As the caveat gave her another quiver, he took her hand and drew her into the kitchen. It was well organized, the handful of modern appliances, like an air fryer and pressure cooker, suggesting he cooked for himself regularly. Breakfast was simmering on the stove, the source of the appetizing smells that had drifted into the bedroom. The skillets were covered with glass lids to hold onto heat.
Her gaze slid from that to the refrigerator. The calendar he had tacked onto it had attracted her attention—and spurred her curiosity.
