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“But—I see it.” She stepped closer, hesitating before reaching out. He jerked his hips away, not letting her touch him.
“Uh-uh. Did I say you could touch me?” Her bottom lip rolled out as she turned her eyes upward. Henearlycaved. Those puppy-dog eyes were dangerous. But he stood his ground, lifting his brow. He knew she called it hisspanking face,but if it made her obey, then he’d keep doing it.
“Please, Daddy.”
He just stared at her, not needing to say a word. She squirmed, and he knew she was thinking about the spanking she’d gotten last night. Her shoulders fell, and her lip rolled back in as she let out a dramatic sigh.
“Fine. But you’re the one who will suffer.”
“Let Daddy worry about that,” he said, pulling her closer. “I have plans for you later.”
“Oh. Right.” She nodded, looking sympathetic, and he knew whatever she was about to say would get her a firm smack on her ass. “I forget old men can only go one round a day. Maybe a round a week.”
“A week?” he asked, outraged. “Have I ever gone longer than a day without fucking you?” She tapped her chin, her eyes on the ceiling. She was going to kill him.
“Well, you need a lot of recovery time. And you use your fingers and my toys a lot. Your little willy must be tired?—”
“Abbie,” he growled. “He’s not little. And stop talking while you’re ahead, or no surprise.”
“You’d take my surprise away?” she gasped, sounding horrified.
No. He definitely wouldn’t. But he would give her a hot ass to sit on while enjoying it.
Whatever she saw on his face must’ve made her believe him, because she let out another one of her famous dramatic sighs and rested her cheek against his chest. He rubbed his hand over her back, holding her close.
“I promise not to talk about your old man willy,” she mumbled. He was lucky she couldn’t see his face, because he couldn’t hide his smile.
“Thanks, pretty girl.”
four
. . .
Jett’s hands were warm over her eyes as he led her outside. The wind was cool, and smelled earthy from the trees and grass in the backyard. As she stepped forward, something crinkled under her foot and she paused.
“What is this?” she asked, unsure if she really wanted to know. Her legs still felt wobbly, and her body felt both pent up with unreleased energy and totally spent from that amazing orgasm. She wished she could’ve put panties on, but that had been a big fatnowhen she’d asked.
“A plastic tarp,” he said, and she stiffened, panic shooting through her.
“I knew you were a serial killer! I told you I had a gun! And a knife! Oh my God! Don’t kill me!” She thrashed in his hold, and he dropped his hands, moving away.
“What are you talking about?” he asked, sounding slightly hysteric. “I’m not going to kill you!”
“Then why would you have a tarp?” She blinked against the bright sunlight and squinted, trying to find him. Though he was hard to miss since he was so massive.
“So the paint doesn’t stain the deck!”
Her brows crashed together, and she looked down. Sure enough, it was a white plastic sheet covering the wooden deck, with little bottles of paint and canvases still wrapped in their plastic wrap scattered around.
“What’s this?” she asked quietly, still taking everything in.
“Thought we could fingerpaint.” Her head snapped up. He rubbed the back of his neck, looking unsure.
“Fingerpaint?”
“Shit. Was this a bad idea? Of course, you wouldn’t want to fingerpaint. You’re a real artist?—”
She threw herself at him, wrapping her arms around his waist and squeezing him as tight as she could. He hesitated before she felt his arms loop around her, holding her close to his chest.
