Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 94205 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 471(@200wpm)___ 377(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94205 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 471(@200wpm)___ 377(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
And that was probably exactly why she’d done it.
He put his hand back on the wall, then bent down to whisper in her ear. “You are practically begging to be punished aren’t you, baby? Don’t worry. I’ll be finding something for that tongue to do later.”
Shit. Hell.
15
She was so far out of her realm of experience that it wasn’t funny. But she wasn’t backing away.
Nope.
He positioned himself so his mouth was mere inches from hers. She knew that he had to have heard her swallow. Loudly.
“Give me a safeword, baby.”
Her eyes widened. “I’ll need that?”
He shrugged. “I’m not going to do anything really out there. But you might have a trigger I don’t know about. Always better to be safe than sorry.”
“Pumpkin,” she whispered. “I don’t like pumpkin after that hideous dress.”
“Okay, baby. Pumpkin it is. Do you consent to play with me? To be punished when you’re naughty? We’ll just keep punishments to spankings. For now.”
What else would he do to punish her?
“Don’t look so worried. I’d never harm you. I swear.”
“I know,” she replied. “I trust you.”
“Good girl.”
“And yes, I consent.”
Lord help her. She’d just fallen down the rabbit hole.
And she never wanted to find her way back home.
“Does anything scare you? Is there anything that you absolutely don’t want?”
“I don’t . . . I don’t know. I guess I wouldn’t like to be humiliated. Been there, done that. Got the T-shirt, the hat, the hoodie—”
He leaned down and pressed his mouth to hers. Well, that was one way to shut her up, she guessed.
And holy hell. What a way. The man kissed like a dream.
If that dream was filled with sexy, wicked promise. His beard was surprisingly soft against her skin as he slid his tongue over her lips and moved his hands to her hips. One hand traveled up her side, toward her breast, making her moan, her mouth opening to allow his tongue entrance.
“Well,” a horrified voice said. “What do the two of you think you are doing? This isn’t a brothel.”
She groaned for an entirely different reason as he drew away from her.
What damn biddy was interfering in the best kiss of her life? She turned to glare at the small woman standing there, looking like she was sucking on a lemon.
“Mrs. Olsen, how lovely,” she drawled. Not.
The old bag was a gossip and self-righteous with it. She could do no wrong and everyone else could do no right. Well, except Chandler, who she worshiped.
Shit. That meant she was going to go tattling. Lara just knew it.
“Lara Devout! Well, I never!”
“It’s Matheson, not Devout. Chandler isn’t my father. And maybe you should.”
“Excuse me?” She placed a hand on her chest, looking horrified.
“You should try letting go, maybe kiss that husband of yours. Poor guy looks like he could use a little affection.”
“How dare you! Wait until I tell your father about what you were doing with this . . . this tattooed criminal!”
Oh no, she didn’t! She could say what she liked about Lara, but she would not allow her to speak like that to Butch.
She pushed forward, stepping toward the old bat. “First of all, Chandler isn’t my father. Don’t know how many times you need to hear that for it to reach your brain. Second, what we do is no one’s business but our own!”
“Not when you’re doing it out in public!”
“Jesus, lady, we were just kissing. We weren’t naked and having sex against the wall.”
“Although that does sound like fun,” Butch drawled. She glanced back to find him leaning against the wall, his arms crossed. He looked amused, relaxed, but she also knew that he had her back.
She gave him a grateful smile and he winked at her.
“This is . . . the two of you . . . why, I never!”
Lara sighed. “And I’ll say it again. Maybe you should.”
“I’m going off to tell your fath—to tell Chandler.” She turned around with a huff.
Crap. Even though she was an adult who didn’t care what anyone thought, least of all Chandler, she knew her mother would be the one to suffer. She was on several committees with this woman, and she’d be hearing about her outrageous, rude daughter for years if Lara didn’t take care of things.
“Sure you want to do that, Mrs. Olsen?” she asked.
The other woman turned and literally clutched at her pearls. “It’s my duty.”
Good Lord.
“Your duty? Jesus, lady, we were just kissing,” Butch said.
“That was more than kissing. I’m not sure how you got in here, but this is a respectable place. Are you . . . are you a member of some gang?”
“Because I’ve got tattoos?” Butch asked. “I knew you people were nuts here, but not every person with a tattoo and a beard is a criminal.”
“She’s used to everyone looking the same and sounding the same too,” Lara told him. “Not excusing her, but it’s what Chandler likes. For everyone to conform.”