Her Knight In Faded Denim Page 4

  There always seemed to be two or three or so days a month, though, when his paddle – and/or his hand, or his belt, or pretty much anything else he could get his hands on – got even more of a workout than was normal for her. It hadn't taken him long to realize – after he'd gotten to know her a bit – exactly what time of the month it had been when they'd met.

  Taking her out had been a mistake. He'd known it from the moment she'd gotten into the truck, complaining loudly about how horribly tall it was and that she had to practically pole vault into it – even though he'd helped her in and always would. Then about how the dry cleaners had shrunk her skirt – which, if it was true, Dodge was more than willing to pay them a tidy sum for them to continue that practice, considering the lovely view, although he wasn't at all sure that he wanted to share that sight with any other male. She was still perseverating about that job interview, because that was the job she wanted more than any other, since she'd started looking.

  In answer, he simply dragged her across the seat, clamping her tight up against his side, giving her a look that at once promised both retribution and her complete sexual satisfaction.

  Rissa's mouth snapped shut with an audible click of her teeth.

  She remained subdued for only a short amount of time, however. Her favorite place was too crowded with tourists, and she wasn't interested in trying anywhere new. She didn't want to go to a sandwich place – she'd gotten dressed for dinner – but no restaurant existed that could meet her impossible standards.

  And when he pointed that out to her, she dissolved into tears, confessing within the safety of his arms that she knew she was being a bitch but that she just couldn't help it. Merely existing seemed to aggravate her.

  "Well, I have the solution to that," Dodge growled, pulling abruptly out of the Dairy Freeze he'd settled on, thinking something ice creamy and chocolaty might help.

  "Noooooo!"

  "Oh yes, my dear. I think a good paddling is in order, to give you a good, solid reason to cry."

  "That's not right! I shouldn't be spanked just because I'm getting my period and I'm a little emotional!" She was outraged that he'd be so blatantly sexist.

  It wasn't until she saw that muscle tic in his jaw that her protests subsided.

  When he spoke, it was in an alarmingly calm, quiet tone. "I would never spank you just because you're emotional. But this is much more than that, and you know it. You've been cranky and bitchy all day, and I'm not going to have any more of it."

  That was the last thing he'd said to her until they were inside his house and he'd sent her upstairs for the dreaded paddle, and now she was bent over the couch with an already singed rear that was only going to get much, much more so in the next few minutes.

  What she'd forgotten was that, while she was replaying all of this in her mind, her sometimes less than patient lover was awaiting a response. And waiting was one of those things he wasn't much interested in doing, especially not for her when she was in a disciplinary situation. Dodge was expecting a quick synopsis of the errors of her ways but it seemed like he had lost her to her reverie, and he wasn't about to allow that to happen.

  She didn't even feel it when he lifted the paddle away from her bottom. But she most certainly did when he brought it back down five times in brisk, sharp succession, especially since he very carefully controlled both her and his swats such that they all landed in exactly the same spot, dead center of her very prominently displayed bottom, every searingly painful time.

  The last two strokes had Marissa shouting about how sorry she was that she hadn't responded quickly enough.

  "No, you're not quite yet, but I can promise you, you're going to be," came the low growl.

  Rissa gulped, then sagged like a rag doll. "I'm sorry I was in such a funk all day."

  That quick confession only earned her five more swats.

  "No. Being in a bad mood isn't want landed you here, Marissa. You know better than that."

  She did. But she was so overwhelmed by the discomfort of those introductory strokes that she'd answered him quickly, blurting out the first thing that came to mind, rather than the truth. She knew he was too good a man to try to spank her out of a bad mood. He understood that no one is little Mary Sunshine all the time, and one of the things about him that had impressed her was that he accepted that premise. It had surprised the hell out of her, but she found herself endlessly grateful for it, too.

  It was her words and deeds – how she chose to display that mood – that had him blistering her backside, and she said just that to him in a quieter, more reserved tone than she'd used all day.

  "Such as?"

  "Language. I used bad language this morning."

  "Yes," he replied dryly. "I don't think you said anything G-rated until I dropped you off for your interview, did you. And?"

  Rissa knew she'd complained – okay, whined – all day long, and she couldn't imagine just how annoying she actually sounded. Nothing was right, and nothing was ever going to be right again, she was sure, she told him, after giving him what seemed like an interminable list of sins she'd committed all day.

  Throughout her confession, he peppered her rear with mighty swats from that completely unforgiving paddle of his. He'd spanked her with a lot of different things, but the Lexan paddle, the cane and his belt were the all time worst, as far as she was concerned. And he tended to go harder on her when she was like this, because he knew that she knew she wasn't being herself and that she felt inherently guilty because of it.

  There was no inch of backside that didn't feel the effects of his loving discipline, from the top of her bottom to just above the backs of her knees, he carefully and completely created a wave of pain that the paddle followed from one spot to the other, up and down her angry flesh like a crimson tide

  By the time he lifted her into his arms, she was a sobbing, incoherent mess, but he held her as gently as a baby and carried her up to his room. There he divested himself of his clothes and her of what remained, depositing her gently on the bed and twisting so that she landed atop him, sparing her bottom contact with the bed.

  For now.

  She knew it wouldn't last, though. He thoroughly enjoyed reminding her of how her bottom had been ravaged at some point during their lovemaking.

  For a long time, he simply held her through the storm, stroking her hair and rubbing her back and kissing her occasionally through her tears. When it seemed as if the maelstrom had subsided, he handed her a box of tissues and waited until she was done with them before wrapping his arms around her and adjusting her position just slightly – guiding one leg to either side of his hips so that he could hold her tightly in place and still slip up inside her.

  Only, considering his size, it was probably never going to be quite that easy for her.

  Dodge reveled in the sounds she made each and every time her body tried to accommodate him. It seemed that she was never going to get used to it, and, as long as she wasn't uncomfortable in doing so, he was all for that. It was like trying to squeeze into a too tight pair of paints as every inch of him scraped slowly up inside her, despite her more than ample natural lubrication. She was just unusually small, and he was unnaturally large. His first entrance of the evening – or morning, or afternoon – always had her making little mewling cries that only managed to swell him near to bursting, making his possession just that much harder on her.

  But she never sounded as if she was in pain, and in fact, he had sworn her to tell him if he ever hurt her. The first time was always excruciatingly slow – a true test of his ability to control himself, which he welcomed on several levels, having been quite sure that he had long since passed the point of being a randy, walking hard on.

  He was only too happy to have been shown the error of his ways on that. It had been a long time since he'd had to clamp down on his orgasm quite that hard, but it only made it just that much sweeter once he let himself go.

  She drove him up the wall in many ways, but this was the swee
test.

  Finally, all of those sighs and whimpers and tiny groans of hers made sure that he couldn't keep from driving himself deeply inside her that last inch or so as his hands gripped her hips firmly, not allowing her any relief from the relentless pressure. Not until he could feel himself at last filling her from top to bottom, clenching at him desperately as she tried to relax and allowing her body to accept the fact that she was being quite completely invaded.

  Mauve tipped breasts bobbed gently above him as his hips began to move automatically, despite the way his brain was commanding them to slow down, and his palms itched to explore them. But their position wasn't quite right.

  Although he occasionally allowed her to mount him, Dodge much preferred to be on top. He was old-fashioned like that. There was very little he wouldn't do to please his lady, but when it came down to it, he preferred to have his woman beneath him even more than he wanted her lips sliding down his cock. It just played to every dominant feeling he had to take her like this, bending her legs back and up so that he could catch them over his shoulders, thus allowing him another highly coveted inch or two within her.

  His mouth found a pebbled peak, suckling hard and razing it with the edge of his teeth, knowing how much she enjoyed that as his fingers pinched and twisted its mate mercilessly, not letting any of his extraneous activities slow the way he pounded into her, forcing her to accept every bit of him with every powerful stroke.

  When he knew he was close, he reared up and caught her wrists in his hands, pinning them to the bed.

  Rissa whined slightly in protest, but with his strength and weight holding her arms down, there was nothing she could do to get away from him.

  And he knew how hot that fact made her.

  Sometimes, she thought he knew her too damned well – especially in matters pertaining to sex. They seemed almost freakishly compatible, although, despite their explosively – and unusual – compatible ways, Rissa knew that she was not going to be able to reach her peak this time, but that was more than fine with her.

  Early on in their relationship, Dodge had let her know that he would decide when – and if – she was allowed to come, and that was exactly what she wanted, although he knew she would never be in a hurry to admit it. But she certainly got everything she could – which was damned close to culmination – when he took her just for himself. In fact, when she knew he wasn't going to allow her to come, she felt as if her body became just that much more attuned, as if it was hoarding and seeking every bit of stimuli it could to subvert his will and get her to the ultimate in pleasure. And he never stopped doing things to her that he knew would bring her to the edge, but he didn't worry – didn't concern himself – with whether or not she achieved orgasm.

  Unlike nearly every other time they made love.

  When he took her like this, she didn't, usually. She needed more of his mouth and or his fingers than he allowed for this time.

  And the idea of just how intimately he controlled her had her body melting beneath his, writhing, rubbing, meeting even his most forceful thrusts, reaching for that burst of sunshine within her but not quite able to grasp it.

  Not that she was in the least deprived of pleasure. When he made love to her, she sometimes thought she was going to die from the ecstasy of it. He genuinely seemed to be in love with every aspect of the intimate taste of her, and could – and had – spent an entire day in bed with her, where he barely raised his head from between her thighs. She was rarely allowed less than four or five orgasms in one session, more if he thought she needed it and – just like a man, figuring that if some was good, more would be better – most often strove to bring her off nine or ten times before he allowed her a few moments of respite.

  And unlike the usual situation where the man rolled over and fell asleep on his lover, she was much more likely to do so to him, and had, on many occasions. Her head found its natural home on his chest afterwards, and, since he didn't think she got enough sleep, anyway, Dodge found himself doing things to encourage this behavior, despite the fact that she let him know, in no uncertain terms, that she did not want to fall asleep.

  He dimmed the lights, turned the DVR on and put "Letterman" or "The Daily Show" on in the background. Both shows that bored her to tears, and he knew she wouldn't bother to try to listen to, unlike "Wipeout" or "Shameless," or the recent special he'd found on the Galapagos Islands that they were both enjoying enormously. He began to rub her back.

  It worked like a charm, every time, and Dodge found himself amused at how disgruntled she was that it did.

  But this time, after he climaxed loudly, plunging uncontrollably into her as he held her still to be claimed by him like this, losing her hands at the last minute to reach down and clench his fingers into the still hot flesh of her bottom, he literally collapsed onto her. He fell on her in a way that he rarely did, as he was always mindful of the extraordinary differences in their sizes.

  Well, almost always. Rissa was enjoying the weight of him on her, her recently loosed hands exploring the hills and valleys of muscles up and down his back, ignoring the sweat and concentrating on trying only to soothe him. His breath was blowing out of him like a bellows, and she could feel how hard his heart was pumping.

  She waited too long, though, to ask him to get up, nearly passed out before he found his senses and rolled off her, rolling away from him to cough air back into her lungs.

  His hands belied the tone of his words as they stroked her back gently. "If I had any strength, I'd paddle you again, Marissa Jean. Remind me that you're due one, tomorrow."

  "But I like you on top of me," she whispered, her lack of breath keeping the whine out of her words.

  Fingers buried themselves in her hair. "I know you do. But I'm not much interested in killing you just after having made love to you. Might give me a complex."

  As, minutes later, he snuggled her close and turned on the TV to help her get to sleep, Rissa couldn't help but think how far he'd come, though. He'd actually relaxed enough to spend some time right where she wanted him.

  As opposed to how he had vacated her premises almost immediately after the first time he'd made love to her, much to her dismay.

  Chapter 4

  It had taken a while, though, for the two of them to actually get together. Not that they didn't see each other, occasionally. In a town as small as Midland, it was hard not to see people, and as the sheriff, driving his marked car all over, he was hard to miss. Dodge always tipped his hat to her and said hello, but she didn't get much of any other vibe from him.

  That's why she was fairly surprised when she received a phone call at about nine o'clock one morning. Now, when she needed to be, when she was working, Rissa was a go-getter, up at six and out of the house by seven and working from that point on until the job was done. But since she was surprisingly happily unemployed – enjoying the hell out of that state for the first time since she was about fourteen or so, she had taken to sleeping in a bit.

  So when she answered her phone, having been startled out of a sound sleep, her first words were not what one would call welcoming. She hadn't even bothered to check the caller ID. Who would be calling her, after all, besides Sophie, and maybe, perhaps Sonny, anyway? All of her friends at home were well aware that she was off licking her wounds after her breakup with Dean, and she'd updated her Facebook status to, "Leave me the hell alone for a while," right after she'd changed her relationship status to "single".

  She figured it had to be Sophie, having forgotten something she might need her sister to drop off during the day, so courtesy wasn't the first thing on her mind.

  So she let fly with, "You better have a fucking fantastic reason for calling me in the middle of the night. I was having a wet dream about Idris Elba and he was just about to make me come with his mou -"

  "Is this Marissa Hamilton?"

  It was him, damn it! She'd recognize that deep, throaty voice anywhere. It rasped across her nipples and straight down between her legs better than the
dream Idris ever could have.

  "Son of a bitch. I'm sorry. I didn't realize it was you."

  "You don't have caller ID?" Her language definitely wanted addressing, along with her attitude.

  Rissa sighed. "You woke me up. I figured you were my sister."

  Dodge was surprised that she would say something like that to Sophie, too, but each to her own, he guessed. "And what if I had been your brother-in-law?"

  "Then he would have gotten an earful, wouldn't he, and I would be doing a lot of 'splaining right now." Which was something she refused to do for him, since he wasn't anyone she felt the need to explain herself to. She'd already apologized, and that was as far as she was going to go.

  The very least he could have done – with that wonderful voice of his – was to bring her off, which he could have accomplished without even, really, knowing he was doing it. He just had to continue to speak to her – nicely – in that bedroom tone of his and she'd be more than happy to do the rest. But implying – none too subtly – that she was uncouth wasn't going to do it for her.

  "Listen, I'd like to take you out to dinner while you're here." Dodge was thinking that he intended to do a hell of a lot more than that to her, but there was no need to clue her in on that right now. She was obviously a woman who knew what she wanted, and he was a man who was used to giving women what he wanted, even if they weren't quite sure that that was, exactly, it at the time, and ended up being something a bit different from what they might have planned on.

  And as much as he might think she was a bit loud and brash and forward and even downright bitchy, he had come to the conclusion that he could no longer ignore the dictates of his body. Every time he had bumped into her around town, he had become thoroughly – and embarrassingly, in some situations – erect. To the point where he had started to wear his uniform hat again, just so he'd have something to put over his swollen genitals until he could get into his squad car or at least away from women and children with that thing.