Indiscreet Page 10

  She nodded, and he split her with his middle finger, stifling a gasp at the rich honey that flowed over it. He extended it, just enough to stroke over her clit once, making her gasp uncontrollably but not move, then withdrawing his hand completely but leaving her legs uncomfortably spread.

  When, long, painful moments later, Rissa finally exited his office, she was sporting the very hot, stinging behind she had worried earlier that she might end up with, from the application not only of his hand but of a thick, sturdy wooden ruler he kept in his desk drawer, as well as having to deal with the knowledge that, although she had hated every minute of everything he had done to her, he had proved to her that she had loved every second of it, too, because once the spanking ended, his hand had found its way to her again, and she had been made to taste the evidence of her own desires.

  And now she was standing in his bedroom as his wife. He could do anything he wanted to do to her, and no one in the country would countermand him. But she already knew what he wanted her to do—submit to him and obey him, which, as he was much too fond of telling her, were one and the same.

  Doyle could see that she was growing more and more agitated, looking very much like a wild animal caught in a trap. Not that he could blame her. She had been an independent woman less than two weeks ago, and now she was his, having sworn before God and everyone on the planet that she loved, that she would yield to his will and be obedient to him.

  He'd never believed in love at first sight, himself, although he had been attracted to Laura the moment he saw her and had begun pursuing her immediately. It had been necessarily different with Rissa. He'd been predisposed to like her because he did genuinely like her sister. And she'd had a bit more fire than Laura, which he might have found a bit annoying at first, because most of the women of his acquaintance weren't like that. And, although the incident with the gun had his heart in his throat, he grew to quickly like that she seemed to say what she was feeling and wasn't afraid to tug his tail a little, even if his demeanor hadn't quite reflected his newfound enjoyment of her independent nature.

  Doyle genuinely didn't want to change that about her. In fact, the idea of taming it, of taming her, of controlling and bending that wonderful spirit of hers to conform to how he wanted her to behave was much more interesting to him. He had a feeling he was falling in love with her, especially since that night when he'd discovered just how wet submitting to him made her. Oh, he knew she didn't like it—perhaps she'd never be able to admit to herself that she did. But her body had generously provided him with all of the evidence he needed.

  He had her. She was his. He didn't need to rub her face in it, and he didn't intend to mistreat her, either, as he knew some men did their wives. He genuinely intended to guide her as best he could, but he also wouldn't hesitate to correct her if he felt she needed to be. And Doyle thought that Rissa understood that paradigm pretty well. She was smart, and he had no doubt at all that she would have made a very good teacher. But tonight, he was going to concentrate on her, and perhaps teach her a few ways to concentrate on him.

  Rissa was surprised when he began to undress her. She had a hard time reconciling her impressions of a man who spanked her as fiercely as he did with the man he often was with her—kind and solicitous and careful of her.

  As she stood there, nude before him, as he'd pictured her so many times in his dreams, blushing a beautiful dusky rose pink, he captured her in his arms, whispering huskily, "You are gorgeous, you know," as he began to hum a waltz and twirl her around their bedroom.

  She demurred prettily. "Stop, please."

  And he did stop, suddenly, staring down into her eyes. "I'm very serious."

  "But Winnie's the pretty one." She opened her lips and exactly what her mother used to say to her fell out of her mouth.

  "Is that what they've told you all of your life?" he asked, cupping her cheek in his hand with infinite gentleness.

  She looked surprised that he would ask such a question. "Why, yes. She's blonde and fair and petite."

  "And what are you, my dear? A hunchback?" He turned her around and pretended to look for a hump.

  That got him the tinkling laugh he was looking for. She wasn't nervous anymore—delightfully embarrassed and modest, yes, but not nervous.

  "No. But I'm a redhead, I've got freckles, I'm rounder more so than I'm petite—"

  He put his hands on his hips, correcting, "You're petite to me."

  She returned quickly, with an impish smile he was beginning to adore, "Everyone is petite next to you, Doyle. You're a mountain!"

  But he held her face in his hands, saying seriously, "You are perfect." Doyle pulled a hank of her hair over her shoulder to cascade down over her breasts, so that the tips played peek-a-boo with it. "Look at these glorious locks and those bright blue eyes. I wouldn't change a thing about you, darling, not one thing."

  "Stop, you're making me blush."

  "Good. Blushing is good for you, and I find your innocence—your modesty—frankly captivating."

  Rissa snorted indelicately, turning away from him to head towards the big bed, saying, "I'm not innocent any more, Doyle. You, of all people, should know that."

  He snuck up behind her silently, as he did at times, and planted a tremendous swat to first one cheek, then the other, before she could turn so that her bottom was away from him, and when she tried to, she found herself caught up in his arms and borne down onto the comforter as he hovered over her.

  "Don't you believe that for a moment, Rissa. Innocence is a quality, not a state of being, and you have it. I don't think I ever have, which, perhaps, is why I'm so attracted to you. You're my opposite."

  She reached up and touched him, one of the few times she'd done so voluntarily. "You're innocent—" she began, but he nodded his head so firmly that she stopped.

  "I've seen too much, honey," he said, capturing a nipple here and a nipple there, suckling hard and drowning in the nascent sounds of her desire. "If I ever was, that time has long since passed. That's why I need you with me, to lighten my darkness. And you do."

  Chapter 9

  Their wedding night was twelve or so hours of complete and utter bliss. When she awoke the next morning, while Doyle was still asleep next to her, she recounted some of the highlights in her head, remembering how he had loved her with his mouth despite her objections, slyly threatening to spank her if she didn't let him and chuckling when she had immediately opened her legs to him.

  He had shown her how to do the same thing for him, and, instead of balking like many women did, he'd said—she reveled in it as a small, but she had a feeling very important, way to render this big man helpless and writhing and out of control, as he so often did to her, in a couple of very different ways.

  And he had made love to her, slowly, patiently, building the experience for the both of them until she almost wept with the shattering completion he brought her to.

  Rissa stretched, and she felt various sore spots on her body, reminders of how well he had loved her, collapsing back onto the bed in a heap of sated exhaustion. And then she felt a hand on her lower belly.

  "Did I wake you, Doyle? I'm sorry."

  He gave her a mock-stern, raised eyebrow look. "Don't apologize to me for nothing, my darling. I can assure you, you'll be doing enough of that for things you actually did before I scourge your little cheeks. Don't assume you've always done something wrong, little girl. I won't."

  As he cuddled up next to her, he thought she was looking a little pensive for so early in the morning. "Something on your mind, wife?" he asked, and her blush told him that there was, but he wasn't going to pry it out of her, so he simply held her, hoping she would tell him on her own.

  And she did, after a little while of playing with her hair.

  "Can I ask you something?"

  "Anything, and I mean anything. There are no secrets in the marital bed. If you have any questions about what we did last night or—"

  "Does it bother you that I—" Her color
intensified alarmingly. "That I so enjoy what you do to me?"

  He sat up more, then hugged her tightly. "I am so proud of you for asking me that question—I can tell it wasn't easy for you to do! Thank you."

  That was hardly the response that Rissa expected, but as responses go to that kind of question, she thought it was a pretty good one, so she felt emboldened to add to it. "Doesn't it make me loose in your eyes? Immoral or sinful?"

  Doyle curled himself on his side around her, his hands on her upper thighs, not demandingly or even in a sexual manner, but just because he wanted to touch her and convey comfort to her through that touch.

  "Look at me." Her eyes immediately found his. "You are the epitome of a lady in every way—including not merely enduring your husband's touch, but enjoying it. That is the true mark of a lady. To be not only a gracious hostess and true companion to her husband, but to trust him enough to leave her inhibitions at the door to their bedroom or their house." He winked at her, "And to revel in the intimacies and privacy of their marital bed, of that very important part of their relationship."

  Rissa nodded, although her eyes had slid from his.

  "I consider it one of the highest honors I've ever received that—from the beginning, really—you've responded to me like you do. I said it last night, honey. I wouldn't change anything about you."

  She smiled brilliantly and returned the compliment in kind to him. "Although there is one thing I'd change about you," she confessed.

  He frowned up at her. "What's that?"

  "No spankings!"

  He reached up and hooked her down to lie next to him, covering her nude body immediately with his own and pressing himself inside her, thoroughly adoring the unfettered groan she emitted as he did so. "No, Mrs. Caldwell. You need frequent and thorough spankings to help keep you feeling safe and cared for in the same manner that you need this." He thrust particularly hard into her. "And plenty of orgasms, too, for pretty much the same reasons."

  Of course, having gotten married, which was an eventuality that was far from foreseen, Rissa had to write to the Brooksville Board of Education to let them know that she wouldn't be able to take that position, after all, so she ended up spending a lot of time at home that she hadn't planned on. It was a very nice home, and Lord knew that Doyle did his very best to keep her busy—one way or the other. He insisted that she continue with the riding lessons they'd started, and under his patient tutelage, she became a pretty good horsewoman. He began to take her out with him, doing things on the ranch—when he thought it would be safe for her to accompany him, of course.

  But he was a busy man, and she found herself alone a lot, especially after Isaac and Winnie decided to move to Albuquerque. They'd found a very nice house, and he'd joined an established practice of accountants—although he'd still do the books for the ranch, he'd assured his brother—and they revealed the good news that they were expecting at the same time.

  The house was terribly quiet and boring for her after that, so she took to riding into town occasionally. She was always amazed at how deferential everyone treated her when she was there, as if she was some sort of great lady or something like that, but then, the ranch was one of the biggest around, and it provided a lot of employment and business to the area. She was, of course, unfailingly polite to everyone, and when he went into town, Doyle always came back and complained to her that people were always looking for her, when he was standing right in front of them with money in his hand!

  "They don't want to look at my ugly mug," he said, a big hand—that had just recently spanked her—caressing its way down over her breasts and belly possessively. "They want to see the beautiful new mistress of the Circle C Ranch."

  On one particular trip, she'd heard an interesting bit of information. Old Mrs. Carey, the schoolteacher who'd been there forever, had been taken ill, and was going to have to retire—in the middle of the school year. She'd heard that interesting tidbit at the general store while picking up some fabric she was going to have made into a pair of riding pants that were hers instead of Winnie's hand me downs that she'd had to let out to a truly embarrassing degree.

  Instead of lunching, as she had formed the habit of doing, with some of Winnie's friends who had become her own, she made her excuses and came back home, excited to tell Doyle about the news, which she practically accosted him with as he came in the back door to the kitchen, covered from head to toe in dust and dirt and she didn't want to think what else.

  "Doyle, Doyle, guess what!" she said, dancing around with the excitement of a child on Christmas morning.

  Hanging his hat on the rack by the door, Doyle came to stand with his arms crossed over his chest, watching his captivating wife practically floating around the room, fairly bursting to tell him something.

  "Something happened in town!" he teased, trying—and not succeeding in the least—to match her enthusiasm.

  She frowned up at him as he began to walk towards her. But she didn't want him getting her dirty, so she began to back away from him.

  And then she noticed the look in his eye and she forgot all about the teaching position in favor of turning tail and running away from him as fast as she could.

  "No! Doyle!! You'll get me all dirty!" she yelled as she ran, hearing the heavy thunk, thunk, thunk of his boots as he chased after her.

  Now, she knew, that if he really wanted to catch her, she had no chance at all of avoiding it.

  But he did love to chase her, so he always gave himself a bit of a disadvantage, lumbering towards her much more than he had to—not that it necessarily helped her, because the man was a terrible sneak! Just when she thought she'd found a good hiding place, he would descend upon her and swoop her up into his arms, deliberately rubbing himself against her and getting her just as dirty as he was, so that the both of them needed a bath. Which, of course, was his goal all along.

  Rissa, however, didn't like to lose, so she always did her best to evade him, which he thoroughly enjoyed, because, in the end, he always got her, one way or the other. This time, she led him a merry chase through their house that ended with her cornered in their bedroom, in the very same corner she sometimes found herself confined when she was naughty, cringing away from him and into the corner as if he was going to murder her, when all she was really doing was trying to save her dress because it was new, and she didn't want him getting it all messed up.

  "Doyle! Stop that! This dress is just out of the box this morning!"

  His answer to that was not what she anticipated at all. He reached out and grabbed the collar of the pretty, light dress, and yanked, splitting it down the seams, the rags he had reduced it to in a matter of seconds landing on their bedroom floor.

  Her pronunciation of his name after he did that was so soft and shocked that it almost sounded reverent as she bent down to pick up the pieces of what had been her dress.

  Still playing, Doyle took the material out of her hands as she rose, holding onto her hand and intending to use it to his advantage until he felt a wet drop land on his hand and he looked at her face. She was crying!

  "Honey, what is it?" he asked, horrified at her reaction and immediately abandoning the pretense of play.

  Rissa sniffed, "It was a brand new dress, Doyle!" Her lower lip pooched out and she looked as if she thought he was going to be mad at her or that she was going to get a spanking, when he was the one who'd destroyed the thing in the first place.

  He could hardly spank her for something he did!

  Doyle gathered her into his arms, ignoring her protests that he was going to get her dirty. "It's just a dress, baby girl. If it gets ripped or irreparably dirty, I'll buy you five others to replace it. There's nothing here to be upset about, baby girl," he said soothingly. " I promise you. Can you hear me say that to you?"

  He was holding her so tightly that she could barely move her head to nod it as she snuffled loudly.

  Wanting to distract her and return her to her former blissfully happy state, he asked, as he
walked them both to their bathroom and he began to undress her. "So, what's this bit of gossip you're dying to tell me?"

  He was happy to see that he'd picked just the right question, because suddenly, it was as if the dress incident had never happened. She literally squealed, making him cover his ears, then said, "Mrs. Carey is sick and she has to retire!" as if he should be just as excited as she was about it.

  He gave her a dubious look. "And tell me again why are we so happy that an old woman is losing her health and being forced into retirement against her will?"

  Rissa sighed in exasperation at him. "Because there'll be a teaching opening! Right in town!" He still looked annoyingly befuddled, so she continued, as if he was slow, "Before you got married, you said you'd heard a rumor that she might have been retiring in the future—but then, who isn't? But now, it's mid-school year, and they're going to need someone to replace her, and that someone could very well be me!"

  "Ahh," Doyle said, with considerably less enthusiasm than Rissa had expected. In fact, he seemed very much more interesting in getting her naked than celebrating her news.

  Or was it that he wanted to celebrate it in a different way from how she did? She wondered.

  "Isn't that great?"

  "Well," Doyle began, not really wanting to have this conversation at the moment, since he was not only very dirty but also aching for want of his wife, who seemed to be very caught up in the possibility of getting a job she no longer needed.

  Rissa took a step away from him and went still. "You don't want me to teach."

  Shucking out of his own clothes, since he'd succeeded in rendering her naked, he answered, "Honestly, I hadn't really thought about it, since you don't have to work anymore."

  "Yes, but I can work if I want to, can't I?" she asked, and he hated how forlorn her voice sounded at the end of the question.

  Running his hand through his hair, Doyle sighed heavily. "I'm going to have to think about this, Rissa. Like I said, I hadn't considered that you might want to have a job now that we're married."