an intimacy that increased her awareness of his touch. She thought about him unhooking it, getting it out of the way so her breasts would press against his thighs. He had some sensation toward the top of them. She’d heard him mention that and wondered if he would feel her nipples against his skin as intensely as she felt the pressure of his legs now, through the thin shirt she wore.
He loosened the band around her ponytail, letting her hair fall free over her shoulders. As she curled her fingers over his push rim, her other hand dropped to his shin to latch onto his jeans. Her hold constricted when he stroked through her hair. As she inhaled, she could smell the fragrant dishwashing liquid on his shirt front, mixed with his warm male scent.
She had a full-length mirror in here. Les and his mother had added it to the room. By adjusting the chair a few inches, he could now see her fully, how she was stroking his shin, the little movements of her fingers. He made a noise of pleasure and approval, so she didn’t stop. She rested her cheek on his leg.
“So how many swats does squirting me earn?”
The question, issued in a tone of dry humor, summoned a small smile, then a little giggle when he tickled her sides, making her squirm. She went still again as he dug his fingers deeper into her hair.
“I’ve thought about brushing this,” he said, low. “I’d have you kneel at my feet while I do it. Maybe with you wearing nothing but a robe.”
He’d never talked to her like that, and her mind ran wild with the possibilities, even as her body flattened under the petting. He’d turned his attention to the hand on her back, and what was below it. He molded his palm over her buttocks, traced the middle seam of her jeans, separating the cheeks. It didn’t do that when she was standing, her body too thin and the jeans too loose.
There was a quiver going through her, little shivers of the flesh. He was treating her like a woman.
He lifted his hand and gave her a firm smack at the widest part of her backside, sweeping upward. If she’d been naked, the impact would have made the cheeks wobble.
A little gasp broke from her, her thighs wanting to loosen. He did it again. She opened her hand, closed it on his shin, on the wheel rim. The sensation was indescribable. She wanted to wiggle but remain motionless, all at once.
He did it five times. Feelings ricocheted around her insides like fired bullets, full of heat and urgency to find a target. When he started to lift her, she couldn’t make herself loosen her grip on his jeans leg. With a chuckle, he gently disengaged her. His voice was husky to her ears. Weighed down with hunger.
“Like lifting one of the barn cats off my lap.”
He brought her to her feet, shifting his grip back to her wrist, a loose clasp above the chain. As he rubbed a thoughtful circle over her pulse with his thumb, her hair fell forward around her face, and he brushed it back, gave her a look.
“You gonna squirt me with dishwashing liquid again?”
His smile inspired an uncertain one of her own. She felt unsteady, everything throbbing. “I don’t know. Maybe.”
“Good answer. Best answer possible. I'm taking you to dinner Friday,” he said. “All right?”
She lifted her gaze to him. “Okay. Yes.”
“Wear a dress and leave your hair down, fixing it the way you did for church last week."
Now he’d surprised her enough she ventured a question. "Why?"
He smiled a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. A whole lot of other things took up the space there as he looked at her. "Because during the service, the morning sun came through the windows. The light touched your hair and haloed you in different colors, like the angel you are.”
He tightened his grip, watched her lips part again. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it ever since."
Chapter Four
Two days later, they were facing another school day. And Rory was still thinking about the night in her cottage with every other breath.
The whole world would have wondered if he’d lost his mind, proceeding like he had, with the spanking and everything attached to that. Sex had to have all sorts of confusing, possibly traumatic implications for her. Yet he thought of how many people treated him like he was an egg,