Read Online Out of Control by Teresa Noelle Roberts - Free Book Online

hers. She could arrange things the way that made sense to her. It made it hard, she knew, for anyone else to find things in her cabinets, but the red frying pan had to go next to the red mixer and the equally red vase and her mom’s home-canned tomatoes and any other red boxes and cans, and the blue mixing bowl had to be filled with blue potholders and dishcloths and sit on top of the blue-and-white ceramic pie plate she’d found at a yard sale out in Trumansburg, and the spice jars, the grain jars and the small, clear bud vases she’d made when she was first learning to blow glass went in the same cabinet since they were all cylindrical.
    As she arranged and puttered, making a mental note to buy new dish towels in a color that would make the yellow and brown and turquoise look deliberate, she calmed down. Playing with color and form, even something as mundane as boxes of cereal lined up next to boxes of crackers and pasta, arranged so the colors looked good, soothed her.
    Then she stopped in the middle of the tiny, bright space and burst out laughing at herself.
    People couldn’t understand her kitchen organization principle until she pointed it out—sometimes even after she pointed it out. Obvious as it was to her, it wasn’t the way most people thought. Probably the same thing was happening with her and Drake. She was missing some key piece of the Drake puzzle that would make her say, Oh! That’s what this is all about! when she figured it out. It wasn’t as if she knew Drake well, not as well as she probably should know someone who was spanking her, and that left a lot of room for mixed signals.
    Add to that that he was a guy. There was some truth to the stereotype that men were poor at articulating emotions. Drake, being a mathematician, was probably worse than most when things were fuzzy.
    Fine, then, she’d let it go and have that potentially awkward but potentially important (to him, at least) conversation. Maybe she could figure out what he was going on about.
    And maybe then she could get him undressed, touch the long, toned legs she’d seen that first time, see if his chest was muscular enough to compete with his biceps and his crazy-strong forearms. Check out that cock. Suck that cock. Feel that cock inside her.
    He might spank her while he fucked her. He might even tie her up first—he’d threatened to tie her up, or maybe it was more like a sweet promise. Or perhaps he’d just hold her down, using his strength “against” her but for her benefit, her pleasure.
    Oh yeah.
    Lust surged through her again, its warm hues wiping out the last dull irritation. Her nipples tightened. She brushed her finger over the place where he’d bitten her, feeling a lovely twinge of tenderness. She hadn’t bothered to look at her breast as she’d jerked her T-shirt back on, too annoyed to indulge herself. Now, both curious and aroused, she headed into the bathroom and hiked up her shirt.
    The underside of her breast bore a bruise, a beautiful bruise, red and purple to match the colors in her mind, with the marks of Drake’s teeth clear. A real, old-fashioned hickey, the kind so-called bad girls tried desperately to hide from parents and teachers back in high school. But this mark was no trip down memory lane. High school hickeys had been accidental, the result of awkward, overenthusiastic teenage passion. This had been a purposeful way of proclaiming I was here! A mark of possession, however temporary.
    That should have been troubling, considering how little she knew Drake, and how gifted he seemed to be at pissing her off as well as arousing her. Instead, it was erotic as hell. That might be troubling too, once she took the time to think it through, but she’d enjoy it for now and worry about the ramifications later.
    Her hand strayed inside the waistband of her jeans, ran over the curve of her belly. Sometimes she looked at herself in the mirror and cursed her small pooch, but when she felt sensual, as she did