His Ranch, His Rules

by Shanna Handel

  “How many glasses of wine was that?” Brody asked, his own fork pointing at the glass in my hand.

  Still giggling, I joked, “Let me see. I’m better with numbers than you—I should be able to figure this one out. If Jake gives Gigi two glasses of Prosecco, then the waiter gives Georgia two glasses of white—”

  “Who’s Gigi?” Brody’s tone was cold.

  “That’s what Jake calls me. Well, what he used to call me. But tonight, he was calling me that. You know—call me what you want, just don’t call me late for dinner.”

  No laugh at my punchline. Instead, he said, “I see. And the waiter gave you two glasses. So that’s four. And this is the first you’ve eaten today besides a crepe with Regina at lunch?”

  My brow furrowed. “How on earth do you know what I had for lunch?”

  “I asked Travis. Your little matchmaker love connection had worked out nicely to my advantage. I was worrying on the drive up here how I was going to keep tabs on you all weekend, since you weren’t speaking to me, but it’s been much easier than I thought. Information about you flows through Regina, to Travis, then to me.”

  He was keeping tabs on me? The information should bother me. But it didn’t. Instead, a warm floating sensation came over me. I had a feeling it wasn’t from the wine.

  I looked at Brody curiously. He truly cared for me. So, why had he broken up with me as quickly as he did? Even if I had gotten drunk at the Mess Hall on purpose—which I clearly didn’t—he shouldn’t have just dumped me. I had to know why. “Brody—”

  There was a clinking of forks against glasses. Time for the toasts.

  Ted made a beautiful speech that didn’t leave a dry eye in the place. So did Kaley. And then Ted’s father and Kaley’s mother did as well. There was no time to ask Brody the question that danced on my tongue.

  The DJ announced it was time for dancing.

  Colton clapped his hands. “Ted promised me a line dance. Come on, Georgia. I heard you have a lot of experience at country western bars.” Hopping up from his chair, he came around the table, grabbing my hand and dragging me onto the dance floor.

  I was going to kill Gina. Was there anything about me she hadn’t passed onto Travis to be passed onto the brothers?

  It was the Watermelon Crawl. How could I not participate? Kicking off my heels, I joined Colton on the floor. I did know the dance from my many, many hours at Freddy’s and I did the moves to the best of my ability. Colton led the group, and he was a damn good dancer. He was funny, too and kept the group laughing while they tried to emulate the steps. I was doing pretty well until we hit the part where you spin kinda fast in two circles.

  Suddenly, the whole room was spinning, not just me. “Whoa,” I mumbled, stopping and closing my eyes.

  A strong arm appeared around my waist, steadying me. I knew from the familiar piney scent, it belonged to the man I had hoped it would. I opened my eyes.

  “Okay, Georgia, might be time for a break.” Brody took me in his arms. Turning me into him, he wrapped an arm around my waist and one around my shoulder, dancing me off the stage so as not to make a scene of my sudden drunkenness. What a dear.

  I laughed as he bent down to gather my shoes, while keeping one arm tightly around me.

  “You are so drunk,” he said. But he was smiling. Tapping me on the end of my nose, he said, “You know, you’re kind of cute when you’re drunk.” Guiding me back to our table, he sat me down next to Memaw. “No more wine for this little one, Memaw. Can you watch her while I go see if I can scare her up some coffee? She’s got to make it to the cutting of the cake.”

  “You got it, Brody.” As he walked away, Memaw moved all the wineglasses that were within my reach as far from me as she could. When Brody was out of sight, she leaned in, asking me, “Alright, cupcake. Now that it’s just me and you, spill the beans about what the heck is going on between you and my grandson.”

  “Which one?”

  That was the first joke I made at the ranch. Between the nostalgia and four glasses of wine, laughter ripped through me.

  “Oh, dear,” Memaw said. “I hope Brody hurries with that coffee.”

  Jake moseyed over to our table. “Mind if I join you two? I’m not one for dancing and there’s no one left at my table.”

  “Jake! You have got to meet Memaw. Jake—Memaw, Memaw—Jake!”

  The two shook hands. And that was when Brody showed up with the coffee. He gave Jake a long, hard look that was enough to make the Adam’s apple in Jake’s throat bob up and down.

  “Am I so drunk, I’m seeing double, Memaw? Or have my ex-boyfriends multiplied right before my eyes?” I laughed so hard at my own joke that I had tears in my eyes, as I slapped the table with my hand.

  Brody gave me the stern father figure look and voice. “Georgia, time to go.” He went to grab my arm.

  Jake stepped between us. “Wait—what if she isn’t ready? Gigi, you want to stay, sweet girl?” Jake gave me a wink.

  Sweet girl? As in sweet or dirty. He was referring to our little game. A sick feeling overwhelmed the pit of my stomach.

  I looked from Jake to Brody, then Brody to Jake. I wanted to cry.

  “Time’s up.” Brody moved past Jake, helping me out of my chair. “She’s leaving. Now.”

  “Georgia—do you want him to take you home?” Jake’s brow furrowed.

  Before I could answer, Brody took a step toward Jake. “I’m taking her home. Now. You going to stop me?”

  Jake looked from Brody to me. I pointed to Brody’s chest. “He’s my boss,” I said, “and he’s in charge of me.”

  Jake stepped away.

  Brody held my arm and steadied me as we made our way through the hall. Between the high heels and the wine, I was doing a terrible job of walking. Leaving the hall, my heels hit the marble foyer of the hotel and I almost fell.

  “Right then,” Brody said, assessing me. One moment later, he grabbed me around the waist, and heaved me up and over his shoulder. My torso hung down over his back as he hauled me through the lobby. I found it hysterical, being carried through the hotel over Brody’s shoulder. I laughed so hard, I prayed I wouldn’t pee on him.

  Up the elevator we went. I finally came to my senses and said, “Brody Jenkins, put me down right now, you Neanderthal!”

  To which Brody replied with a loud smack on my ass. Which only made me laugh harder.

  When we reached the door to his hotel room, he put me down on my feet. “Oh, Brody. I can’t sleep in your bunkhouse. I’ve got to go back to the girl’s bunkhouse,” I teased. Turning away from him, I pretended as if I was leaving.

  He was not amused. He rumbled, “Get your ass in there.”

  The shock of Brody Jenkins cussing stopped me in my tracks. I faced him. His arm held the door open. One brow was raised, daring me to disobey. With a gulp, I entered the room. As I passed him, he slapped my ass, and I jumped with a start.

  “Good girl,” he mused.

  When the door shut, I hissed, “You can’t spank me. I’m not your girlfriend.”

  “The games are over, Georgia Hamilton. I made a mistake and you are going to forgive me, damn it!”

  I fell onto the bed, laughing, “Brody Jenkins, such language! I should take you over my knee!”

  Ignoring my joke, he repeated, “I’m serious, Georgia. You have to forgive me.”

  He looked so sad. But I had a terrible case of the giggles.

  “You did a bad, bad thing, Brody Jenkins.”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “Does this mean I get to spank you?”

  His face turned to stone.

  Uh-oh. Georgia peach took her jokey joke just a little too—

  “That’s enough.” Brody made his way over to me in one stride.

  “Brody, don’t you dare!” I knew it was coming but I still was surprised by Brody lifting me up. He sat down on the bed, throwing me over his lap. I began kicking my legs as hard as I could, screaming, “I’ll scream!”

  “You ar
e screaming and you’d best hush if you know what’s good for you!” he said, tugging at my dress and exposing my panties. The spanks came down hard and fast. The pain instantly sobered me up. I stopped screaming.

  “You, spank, don’t, spank, get to, spank, spank, spank, me! I do the spanking around here.” Down went the panties and slap, smack, slap, smack, my bare bottom was lit on fire.

  “You can’t spank someone into forgiving you!”

  “I know but I sure as shit can spank you to sober your ass up, so I can talk some sense into you.” Smack, spank, smack. “Ignoring me on the ranch. Refusing to speak to me. Refusing to work things out. Prancing around the reception hall with a glass in your hand and that creep of a boyfriend touching you.” Smack, spank, smack, smack. “Are you ready to talk?” His spanking hand paused as his other wrapped tighter around my waist.

  “Yes! Ugh! Yes, yes!” I wiggled underneath his grasp. Finally, he let me up. Whipping my dress down, I plopped next to him on the bed. There was an awkward silence between the two of us. Then I said, “I’ve never heard you use such language before.”

  “I’ve been trying to play it cool tonight and not overstep my boundaries. But the truth is, I’m furious.” Brody rested his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. “Seeing you drinking with that scum bag… I just wanted to lose it. And then bringing you up here and you being drunk, when I knew it wasn’t what you really wanted.”

  I had wanted the wine. Hadn’t I? “Not the first glass,” I admitted.

  “But what really killed me was how you forgave that guy—a man who left you, who really broke your heart—and yet you refuse to forgive me? Yes, I made a mistake, Georgia. One I deeply regret.” His eyes locked on mine. They were filled with sadness. His voice quieted, breaking with emotion as he spoke. “But never. Ever. Never in a thousand years would I have left you like that.”

  “But you did leave me. You broke up with me, you idiot!”

  Brody looked at me, his expression half threat, half confusion. “What are you talking about?”

  I stood up in my anger. “You said—you said…” The drunkenness that Brody had spanked out of me was now back—complete with hiccups. “You said—hiccup—‘we’re done.’”

  “When?” He stood beside me, hands on his hips.

  “When you broke up with me! The night Bethany spiked—hiccup—my drink!” I wailed. “Right before you left the room!”

  “Are you talking about what I said after you screamed, ‘Get out,’ to me and threatened to throw my mom’s boot at my head?”

  Oh, dear. I had done that, hadn’t I? “That doesn’t sound like me, but—”

  “Georgia, I only meant we’re done—as in we are done here, tonight. I was leaving you to sober up and I figured we would sort it out in the morning. I was just as angry as you, that night. And I refuse to hold a conversation with a woman who is holding a boot to my head.”

  “You’re telling me you never meant to break up with me?” His hands were on my waist.

  “No—I was giving you time to cool off. Then, you broke up with me the day I brought the picnic into the barn. Remember? You told me never to call you baby girl, again. That’s when I knew it was over between us—for you at least. I never gave up hope. Until that moment in the barn—you said it so coldly—I thought we were just giving one another the silent treatment, a lover’s quarrel. Honestly, until Memaw told me what she found, I was waiting for you to apologize. But after the first two days, when I saw the fierceness in your eyes, I began to doubt that I was right. That maybe Bethany had somehow spiked your tea.”

  “Why didn’t you say something?” I asked softly, my arms snaking around his neck.

  “I was giving you your space, trying to decide the best way to approach it. I had decided to come to you and spank the silent treatment right out of you, tell you I thought Bethany had a hand in it. That’s when Memaw came to me with the bottle of rum… and it was too late.”

  I found myself feeling sober again.

  “So, just to reiterate, you weren’t breaking up with me?”

  “No, Georgia. Never. Why would I break up with you?” He kissed my forehead. “I love you.”

  My breath caught in my throat.

  “Georgia Hamilton. I love you. And I want to be your boyfriend again. Even though I made a mistake, you should know. I’m still—”

  My whispered words completed his sentence. “A spanking man.”

  “Yes. And I’m still very sorry for doubting you. And for not listening to you about Bethany. And especially for the confusing we’re done line. Even though I was avoiding a concussion from your boot heel. Can you forgive me?”

  “Yes.”

  “And, do you love me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Say it.”

  “I love you too, Brody. My spanking man.”

  Tightening his arms around me, he murmured in my ear, “I love you, baby girl. It feels so good to say that.”

  “It feels good to hear it.”

  We kissed. The reunion of our mouths was sweeter than our first kiss that night in my cabin. His tongue found mine—my God, I had missed this man.

  He pulled away too soon, murmuring in my ear, “Don’t think for a second you are getting away with drinking tonight. Or flirting with that douchebag Jack.” His fingertips dug into the flesh of my ass.

  “Wow—when you let your mouth go, you really let it go. And there was zero flirting on my end. And, that was Jake, not Jack.”

  “I know. I think naming him after a dildo—”

  “Tell you what. Let’s leave him out of this.”

  “You got it.” He kissed me again. “Walk me to the door. I’ll go get Regina to let me in your room and get your stuff.”

  Pulling me from the bed, we walked to the door, kissing and hugging along the way. Putting his hand on the door handle, he said, “Do not leave this room. And you’d best be sober by the time I get back.”

  “Okay. I love you, Boss Man.”

  Pulling me in tight, he pressed his mouth against mine, hard. His hands possessively pressing against my lower back. His hands lowered to my bottom, squeezing my already tender cheeks. Pulling away, he growled, “Don’t call me that.”

  “Yes, sir,” I replied, standing up on the balls of my feet.

  “See you in a bit.” Smack! He gave my bottom a departing slap and was gone.

  I needed a shower. And I needed to sober up, quickly. After everything we had been through, I wanted Brody to fuck the hell out of me tonight.

  And he didn’t disappoint.

  When he returned from my hotel room with the leather duffle, I was waiting. Still damp from the shower, I lay naked across the cool white sheets of his bed.

  “My goodness, what a gift to return to,” he murmured, unbuttoning his shirt. I watched as the smooth skin of his taut chest was slowly exposed. Unbuckling his belt, he unzipped his pants and they fell to the floor. Wearing only black boxer briefs, he was stunning.

  My breath caught in my throat as he crawled across the bed toward me, his skin brushing mine. Goosebumps rose on my legs and arms. His mouth was on mine, his hand caressing the back of my neck as he pulled my face to his. One hand cupped my breast, his thumb lightly brushing my hard nipple.

  “What to do with this little Georgia peach,” he murmured, biting my earlobe.

  “I used to hate that nickname,” I moaned as he sucked on my neck. “You make it sound so dirty. I love it.”

  “Dirty name for a dirty girl.” His hand found my pussy, his finger teasing me. I reached down, pressing his hand, guiding it inside of me. His thumb massaged my clit as his fingers moved within me. My hips began to gyrate as his mouth explored mine.

  His hand slipped out of me, and his finger wandered. Palm cupping my pussy, his fingertip slipped within my bottom. My memory replayed the words he said the first time he had fingered my ass. One day I’ll take you here. Was tonight the night? I didn’t have the guts to ask. My pussy clenched as his finger
went deeper, pictures of Starla’s little puckered hole filling my mind.

  “You’re dripping wet, Georgia. You like having your ass played with, little girl, don’t you?” he whispered in my ear.

  I gave a whimper of a moan in reply.

  He slipped a second finger in to join the first.

  “Oh, my God,” I groaned. There was no denying it. I found his attention to my bottom to be highly erotic—and naughty. “Brody—are you going to…”

  “Turn over and find out.”

  I could do this. I wanted to do this. I took a deep breath, braced myself, then turned over onto my stomach. Brody left the bed, going to his closet and rifling through a bag.

  When he came back, I was obediently waiting.

  “Kneel on the bed and press your chest into the bed.”

  I did as he told me, my ass high and vulnerable in the air. I pressed my face into the sheets and waited.

  His finger entered me again, this time with copious amounts of lubrication. He pushed the head of his cock into my pussy while his finger was in my ass. Then he pulled his finger out of my ass. His cock pumped in and out of my pussy. His other hand reached around and massaged my clit while he fucked me. It was sensory overload.

  I was making weird mewling sounds like a newborn kitten—and I didn’t even care. I was so overwhelmed, I felt like an animal; a primal desire to orgasm took me over. In between mewls, I was begging, “Make me come.”

  Brody’s hand stayed on my clit. He withdrew his cock from my pussy. It throbbed with emptiness and I whimpered at the loss. Then, the head of his cock pressed against my well lubed bottom hole. His hand continued to massage my clit as he slowly entered my bottom. It was sexy and slippery and decadent.

  The taboo nature of the act thrilled me. His cock pressing into me there had me feeling submissive yet opening myself up to the experience also gave me a rush of empowerment. As he fucked me, my G-spot was being rubbed into a frenzy.

  My pussy tightened, my ass tightened, I clutched the sheets in my fingers, shoving my face down into the mattress and screaming, “Oh, my fucking God, Brody, I’m coming, I’m coming!” I shuddered from head to toe as he came with me.