distance herself. She jumped when his fingers combed into the folds between her legs, slipping up into all that hot wetness, feeling that welcoming embrace closing tight around him as he invaded her. “Yes,” she whispered, hot and uncomfortable and yes, aroused, though she didn’t understand it. She wasn’t happy or relaxed. There were too many people here, all of them seeing how…not normal she was.
“Why do you say you’re better now?” He stroked her, and though she wished she could, there was just no stopping the way her body reacted. The slick walls of her pussy contracting to hold him, shivering at his touch.
“Isn’t that what you’re supposed to say about suicidal people?” She countered unhappily.
“Is that what they told you? That you’re suicidal? That you’re sick?”
He’d asked a question, he expected an answer; she couldn’t make herself give him one. She couldn’t even make herself look at him now. “Isn’t that what you think too?”
Pulling his hand away, Sam stood up. His arm slipped around her shoulders, drawing her in until her f orehead came to rest on his shoulder. He was so warm, so strong, like a rock. Her rock.
“You’re not sick,” he murmured, caressing her hair, her clit, her pussy all at once.
“What am I then?” She begged.
“I’ll show you.”
CHAPTER SIX
What the hell was he doing?
Sam gathered her clothes, fished her car keys out of her jeans pocket and into his , and then stuffed the rest of her things into his bag. He’d unclipped her cuffs long enough to put his shirt on her, then he’d clipped them again, in front of her now, rather than behind. She looked good in his shirt. She was small, practically swimming in it.
Yeah, she looked good.
And he was an idiot, because he was about to break the number one self-imposed Dom rule that he had, up until tonight, never broken for anyone. Ever.
“What are you doing?” Marshall asked from the stall doorway.
He had no idea. He just hoped it wasn’t the biggest mistake of his life. “Think Don’s home yet?”
Marshall checked his watch. “Probably. Unless he’s gearing up to come here tonight. Nice deflection, but it’s not going to work. What are you doing?”
“She’ll be gone before you guys get home.”
“Uh huh,” Marshall grunted, unconvinced.
Fuck him. Finished packing, Sam shouldered his bag and turned from his friend, his business partner—technically his boss, depending on who was asked (Marshall almost always claimed the boss role; he could be a real ass that way). Hannah was standing as silent as a shadow, her eyes huge and uncertain, but when he held out his hand, she came to him.
“Can’t I get dressed?” she asked.
“No.” He took her by the elbow and led her from the stall, past Marshall, who threw up his hands.
“Lay down a tarp,” was all he said. “I think there’s still an extra in the back of my truck.”
Hannah’s eyes got even bigger. She looked at him again, warily now. “Why do we need a tarp?”
“We don’t.” Someone really needed to tell her not to look at Doms that way. A vanilla man might fall all over himself to reassure and comfort her; to Sam, those were bedroom fuck-me eyes if ever he’d seen one.
“Does he think I’m going to cut myself in your house?” And just like that, she was back on the verge of tears all over again. He sincerely hoped he never got his hands on whatever thoughtless idiot had so badly shaken her sense of worth and security. He was a man well known for his self-control, but he doubted he could ever have enough to keep from leaving them bleeding on the floor.
“No.” Sam headed for the old barn door, his hand on her elbow guiding her along beside him. “He thinks I am.”
“You cut yourself?”
He snorted. “No.” The humidity outside felt clammy, but somewhat cooler than the temperature inside the barn. He couldn’t wait until the Castle (with its fully piped air conditioning)
“Why do you say you’re better now?” He stroked her, and though she wished she could, there was just no stopping the way her body reacted. The slick walls of her pussy contracting to hold him, shivering at his touch.
“Isn’t that what you’re supposed to say about suicidal people?” She countered unhappily.
“Is that what they told you? That you’re suicidal? That you’re sick?”
He’d asked a question, he expected an answer; she couldn’t make herself give him one. She couldn’t even make herself look at him now. “Isn’t that what you think too?”
Pulling his hand away, Sam stood up. His arm slipped around her shoulders, drawing her in until her f orehead came to rest on his shoulder. He was so warm, so strong, like a rock. Her rock.
“You’re not sick,” he murmured, caressing her hair, her clit, her pussy all at once.
“What am I then?” She begged.
“I’ll show you.”
CHAPTER SIX
What the hell was he doing?
Sam gathered her clothes, fished her car keys out of her jeans pocket and into his , and then stuffed the rest of her things into his bag. He’d unclipped her cuffs long enough to put his shirt on her, then he’d clipped them again, in front of her now, rather than behind. She looked good in his shirt. She was small, practically swimming in it.
Yeah, she looked good.
And he was an idiot, because he was about to break the number one self-imposed Dom rule that he had, up until tonight, never broken for anyone. Ever.
“What are you doing?” Marshall asked from the stall doorway.
He had no idea. He just hoped it wasn’t the biggest mistake of his life. “Think Don’s home yet?”
Marshall checked his watch. “Probably. Unless he’s gearing up to come here tonight. Nice deflection, but it’s not going to work. What are you doing?”
“She’ll be gone before you guys get home.”
“Uh huh,” Marshall grunted, unconvinced.
Fuck him. Finished packing, Sam shouldered his bag and turned from his friend, his business partner—technically his boss, depending on who was asked (Marshall almost always claimed the boss role; he could be a real ass that way). Hannah was standing as silent as a shadow, her eyes huge and uncertain, but when he held out his hand, she came to him.
“Can’t I get dressed?” she asked.
“No.” He took her by the elbow and led her from the stall, past Marshall, who threw up his hands.
“Lay down a tarp,” was all he said. “I think there’s still an extra in the back of my truck.”
Hannah’s eyes got even bigger. She looked at him again, warily now. “Why do we need a tarp?”
“We don’t.” Someone really needed to tell her not to look at Doms that way. A vanilla man might fall all over himself to reassure and comfort her; to Sam, those were bedroom fuck-me eyes if ever he’d seen one.
“Does he think I’m going to cut myself in your house?” And just like that, she was back on the verge of tears all over again. He sincerely hoped he never got his hands on whatever thoughtless idiot had so badly shaken her sense of worth and security. He was a man well known for his self-control, but he doubted he could ever have enough to keep from leaving them bleeding on the floor.
“No.” Sam headed for the old barn door, his hand on her elbow guiding her along beside him. “He thinks I am.”
“You cut yourself?”
He snorted. “No.” The humidity outside felt clammy, but somewhat cooler than the temperature inside the barn. He couldn’t wait until the Castle (with its fully piped air conditioning)
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