by Piper Stone
Noticing a series of cookbooks, she took a sip of her drink before easing the glass onto the Danish wooden table. She had to narrow her eyes in the dim lighting then pressed the back of her hand across her mouth. There was no way. You bet she had a feeling this was some special secret, but she was unable to resist pulling out one of the books. The barbecue cookbook cover was glossy, highlighting what had to be a smoked turkey. Then there was the name of the author.
Sawyer Lincoln.
This wasn’t possible. Resisting a sharp exclamation, she flipped through the book and on the inside flap of the back cover was an incredible picture. Sawyer, leaning against the doorframe of this house. “Oh. My.”
“You weren’t supposed to find that.”
Almost dropping the book, she yelped as she jumped, turning her head in his direction. “I wasn’t trying to pry.”
“Uh-huh.” He lifted a single eyebrow as he walked closer, his hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans. “Nosy woman. A product of your career or just the bad girl inside?”
“You said make myself at home.”
“That I did,” he said then laughed as he sauntered closer.
“Is this really you?”
He nodded. “I cannot tell a lie, but you can’t let anyone else know. In fact, I’m going to make certain that you don’t.”
“You are, huh?” She flipped through several of the pages, admiring the photography, the bold and beautiful pictures depicting mouth-watering food. “Was this photographed here?”
“Yes.” Groaning, he flanked her side, looking over her shoulder.
“Do you care to explain yourself, smokejumper Lincoln?”
He swatted her ass. “Need I remind you who’s in charge?”
“Uh, no, sir.” She shook her head. “Sawyer, these recipes look amazing. It says you’re a best seller. Why don’t you want anyone to know?”
Exhaling, he took a step away, leaning against the bookcase. “I told you I like to cook. I always have since I was a kid. Barbecues. Various meats. Just took off from there. I had an agent approach me about five years ago with an idea. Took off from there and no, only Boone has any idea about this and they’re not going to know. I’m not entirely certain the guys would allow me to live this down.” Giving her an authoritative look, he took her hand into his. “All the proceeds have been set up in a special fund for families of fallen firefighters, smokejumpers and others within the EMT system. I don’t want anyone to know that either.”
“I understand.” She closed the book, rubbing her hand across the front. “No, I don’t. Why wouldn’t you celebrate that in Missoula?”
“Because I don’t want some notoriety based on the money I get from the sales of these books. That’s not what they are about. I just…” He looked away as he rubbed her fingers, an intense expression on his face. “I’m more private than most jumpers. I like my privacy and I don’t give a you know what about some level of fame. But, this is a way to give back to the community and the first responders. Every single man and woman risks their lives every day.”
“You’re one of those men.”
“Yeah, I guess.”
Easing the cookbook back into the bookcase, she contemplated what he was telling her. “What happened to you?”
“What do you mean?”
“Is your past crowding into your hopes for the future?” She could tell by his haunted eyes that she was right. “I’m right.”
“Nothing we need to talk about right now.”
“I want to know more about you. Is that so wrong?”
“Not wrong.” His eyes sparkling, he lifted her hand, kissing her fingers, licking across her knuckles.
“That’s no fair,” she breathed, her nipples scraping against her bra. She could feel her body swaying as a flush cascaded down the length of her spine, the backs of her legs, crinkling her toes.
“Oh, it’s very fair.” Taking her index finger, he slid it into his mouth, dragging his tongue back and forth as he sucked.
“Mmm…” Swallowing, she could tell she was swooning, her pussy clenching. “I might be convinced to keep your secret.”
Sawyer continued licking for a few seconds before teething her finger and allowing a subtle popping noise when he released the tip from his wet mouth. “This isn’t about convincing, Miss Winton. This is about you obeying the rules. I think you need a solid reminder.”
“You do, huh?”
“Yes.” Grabbing her hand, he took long strides toward the kitchen, his eyes roaming the area as he nodded over and over again. “What shall we do? Oh, yes. I know.” Every action with purpose, he pushed her over the kitchen table, lifting the edge of her dress. “I think a spanking before dinner and at least one after will do the trick.”
“Wait a minute. I’m actually a very good girl.” She pushed up from the table, laughing yet she was on fire, the scent of her feminine wiles floating between them.
“Oh, you’re very good, but you’re also disobedient. Now, you stay right there, or your punishment is going to be a lot worse. Do you understand?”
She bit back a moan. “Yes, sir.”
“I can tell you’re going to be a handful.”
Closing her eyes, she eased her arms over her head, pressing her face against the glass table. Everything about this man was surprising, creating a whirlwind of yearning, a flash to fantasies long unfulfilled. This was a new beginning and she was more than ready to let go. She heard him rummaging through drawers, the soft murmurs of husky desire and she couldn’t help but wiggle against the table. She would have begged for a hard spanking if he hadn’t insisted.
“Here we go. This will be a perfect start.”
She opened her eyes enough to see the very thick wooden spatula, the kind used for stirring Chinese food or a perfect sauté. But what did she actually know about cooking?
He pushed his hand against the small of her back as he dragged the spoon across her skin, tapping first one then the other ass cheek. “Be a good girl and stay in position or my leather belt will be used. Are we clear?”
“You’re serious about this.”
“Very. I ask again. Do you understand?”
“Of course, sir.” There was no denying her desire to succumb, her need to submit now and forever. She knew this was merely a teaser, the beginning of their exchange of power and she knew she could trust him with her body as well as her heart. The thought was cathartic.
“I think forty is in order.”
“Forty?” Tipping her head, she wrinkled her brow. There were reasons she should pull away, even giving herself some time before considering another relationship of any kind, but everything about this man she knew she could trust. And yes, excitement surged through her.
“Yes. A reminder that I’m in charge. A reminder that you’re not to tell anyone about the cookbooks and something else.”
Somehow, she knew he wasn’t going to tell her about the ‘something else’ just yet.
Smack! Crack!
The slice of pain made her bite her lower lip, but she obeyed him, her body only slightly flinching.
Pop! Slap!
“This particular implement will be used often,” he murmured and caressed her ass, rubbing his fingers back and forth.
Slap! Crack! Pop! Crack!
He slapped her hard and fast, the snapping sound creating another round of wetness between her legs.
Whack! Pop!
“Oh!” The pain was building, the warmth in her ass stimulating. She was panting, beads of perspiration forming along the back of her neck.
Crack! Slap!
“You’re doing very well,” he whispered, the tone of his voice almost savage.
Whack! Pop! Slap! Pop!
“Oh, fuck!” Shuddering, she gripped both edges of the table, trying her best to obey, to remain in position. The pain was extraordinary.
Smack! Whack!
“Do you understand why you need to be spanked, why discipline is so important?”
“I…” The question was weighted but she knew the answer. “Because that’s what we are. I belong to you.” Even though the statement was said without thinking, she was warmed by the sentiment. It was as if the words had stilled him and for a solid minute, he was quiet, unmoving.
“Yes. That’s… very true,” he whispered as he rubbed his fingers down the crack of her ass. “And I will always take care of you.”
The words were so strangled, so full of pain that she was taken aback. Until the next volley of hard spanks.
Slap! Pop! Crack!
“But, you will learn to obey me at all costs.”
“Yes, sir.”
Smack! Pop!
“Only a few more.”
Crack! Slap!
When the spanking was finished, she could no longer speak or feel her legs. The ecstasy was raw, pure and extreme, yet she was euphoric.
Sawyer eased her to her feet, sliding the dress down the back of her legs. He held her close, wrapping his arms around her as he moved back and forth, as if in a slow dance of lust, their closeness increasing.
She gripped his arms and had never felt so warm, so protected.
He kissed the top of her head, his hold gentle. “Time to finish dinner.”
“Mmm… I can’t wait.” As she walked back into the living room to grab her drink, she noticed a single picture, the only one in the room. Walking closer, she narrowed her eyes as she studied the two men. Sawyer was younger and his smile genuinely happy. For some reason, she knew.
This was the reason for his sadness.
“Nothing will stop me now.” The words were like sweet, delicious music, the crescendo filled with the most serene notes. They matched the exquisite music, Rachmaninoff, the heady piano chords sending a rush of adrenaline into every heated cell. He closed his eyes, lifting his glass, chuckling as the three not four ice cubes clinked together in the bottom of the glass. He was absolutely on top of the world.
“Mmm… Mmm hmm…” The hum was in perfect timing, not a beat missed. There never would be. He was organized, structured and had utter control over his body as well as his mind. Tonight, he was celebrating. He had reason as well as opportunity. And the expensive liquor was well worth every dollar. This was rare and special indeed.
After taking another almost delicate sip, savoring the smoothness, the rich flavor, he let out a long sigh of contentment. He was ready to take on his next chapter. Some would say the chapter of life.
His? Death. Yes, the sweet release of death. A single vision was muddled yet he didn’t need the edges sharp to revel in the delicious understanding, a deed only the razor-sharp edge of his blade could provide.
He was a patient man and would bide his time. At least for now, but he certainly required additional information. Yes. There was something off, an obstacle he hadn’t planned for. Well, no matter. Everything would be taken care of in a few days.
He walked in time to the music toward his desk, a telling of his life, yet so many aspects needed to change. However, everything would be just as he required within a few days. He merely needed some time. The paper remained on the printer, nothing special and a simple purchase made with no fanfare, no one bothering to try and figure out what he was doing.
And the worthless fucks had no understanding of what they were witnessing. Using just two fingers, he eased the paper into his hands, taking another sip of his drink while he studied the passage. Not his usual poetic gesture, but one that would pack a punch. He sneered at the thought.
Satisfied, he folded it neatly before placing it in the middle of his desk, patting the paper before walking toward the window. He wanted nothing more than to study the beautiful sky, the stars spilling toward the heavens. The glow of the single light behind him caught his reflection and he stopped short. He hadn’t expected the aura surrounding his body, highlighting his frailties.
He held up his glass again, trying his best to smile, but even the simple gesture was nothing but a failure. He was a failure. His fucking entire life was a failure. No. No. Yes! Suddenly shaking, he tried to concentrate on the music, the booming vibrato, the beautiful bass chords played by a powerful musician. Almost perfect in every manner.
Unlike him.
He wasn’t perfect. He could never be. He wasn’t anything. He could never be. He was nothing. Nothing. Dead. Dead. Dead.
His grip white knuckled around the crystal cut glass, he tipped his head back and roared as he pitched his drink.
Wham!
Enraptured, Sawyer studied Reese’s animated answers, the way her eyes flickered when she grew interested in a topic. She was enigmatic, intelligent and had a verve for life. He found himself mesmerized when she told a story or detailed various cases she’d been forced to work on. One thing was certain. She had to be a formidable opponent.
“So why smokejumping?” Reese asked as she pushed away her plate, a satisfied smile crossing her face.
“The only thing I’ve ever wanted to do. I remember as a child, my father was enthralled. He’d always wanted to be a firefighter, but life intervened. His best high school buddy became a smokejumper not long after high school. His father had been one of the first jumpers just after World War II. My father lived and breathed the stories and I was always by my father’s side. My dad used to say that the first word I said was fire, not mommy or daddy.” Laughing, he gathered the plates, walking them to the sink.
“Why didn’t your father become a smokejumper?”
“He had an injury in high school. His leg was crushed in a car accident. Drag racing of all things. While he almost fully recovered, it was not enough to be considered a member of the team. Broke my dad’s heart. The day I told him that I was going to become a smokejumper was the proudest day of my father’s life. He couldn’t have cared less that I’d graduated Cum Laude from college. Nope. My father wanted a rough and tumble boy.” Sawyer grinned as he rinsed the plates, placing them in the dishwasher.
“He has every reason to be proud of you,” Reese said, a lilt in her voice. “And you are a big he-man.”
Sawyer rolled his eyes. “Right. I think my father would roll over in his grave if he knew I’d written a couple of cookbooks.”
“A couple, huh?” Winking, she swirled the tip of her finger around her wine glass, giving him a heated look. “Just how many cookbooks have you written?”
“Let’s just say more than one and leave it at that.” He couldn’t help but gaze at her long legs, the way the slinky material parted as she crossed and re-crossed her legs.
“You aren’t going to offer me any juicy tidbits, are you?”
“Not even one.”
Reese allowed her eyes to travel down his chest. “What happened to your dad?”
“Both he and my mother died over ten years ago.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“Yeah, I am too. I think he would have enjoyed hearing about my work. Granted, the stories would have been much more grandiose than they truly are. Enough about me. What about this case you were working on. Some murderer?” Grabbing the bottle of wine, he moved back toward the table, able to see the ugly ragged cloud cresting over her face creating wrinkles in her brow.
“Walker Tatum, Congressman Tatum’s son was found not guilty of murdering three women. The disgusting part? I know without a shadow of a doubt that he’s guilty as charged and that he will kill again. And there’s absolutely nothing I can do to stop him.”
The words were chilling, and he noticed the first hint of fear. “You’re terrified of him. Did he threaten you?”
“Not in the traditional sense,” she half whispered then took a gulp of her wine. Even her hand was trembling. “I’m apprehensive I guess.”
“And in the nontraditional sense?” Apprehensive. The sentiment didn’t seem strong enough.
She narrowed her eyes before answering. “It’s not what he said, but how he stated the words, as if he’s been watching me, studying my life and knows every detail from what I wear to the people I associate wi
th. For some reason, I feel like I’m in a glass house, just waiting for the rock to be tossed, shards of glass to cut me to ribbons.” Holding out her glass, she had a death grip around the cut crystal.
Sawyer remained quiet as he refilled their glasses.
“I bet you’re glad you asked,” she said, laughing nervously.
He placed a hand on her shoulder. “You were only doing your job.”
“One, I’m starting to hate.”
“If he threatened you then you need to talk to the sheriff.”
Reese wrinkled her nose. “I don’t want to sound like a terrified little girl. I could be wrong.”
“Or, you could be very right. These kinds of criminals are masterminds. Everyone thinks they are psychotic, unable to make tactical decisions, but that’s completely incorrect.”
“You sound as if you know.”
He shrugged. “Been around enough career criminals, including monsters using arson as a method to cover up a murder. You can’t tell a murderer by their appearance, their profession or even their family life. The profilers aren’t always correct.” While he didn’t want to terrify her any further, she could certainly be in potential danger.
“I know. I’m no fool, Sawyer. I’ve also experienced enough career criminals posing as ordinary citizens and getting away with it for years. I’ll be very cautious.” A nervous sigh slipped past her lips.
Why did he have the distinct impression that she was harboring her own personal horror from the past? Not tonight. Let it go. Easing the bottle onto the island, he knew in his gut he would protect her with his life. “Why don’t we stop the shop talk and simply enjoy the rest of the evening?”
“I’d like that.”
“Excellent. Then it’s time for dessert.”
“You think of everything.”
There were so many salacious words that came to mind. He eased the carton of strawberries and freshly whipped cream from the refrigerator, placing them in a particular position on the table. She was watching every action, a curious look on her face. Taking her fingers into his, he pulled her to a standing position. “I think you’ll enjoy what I have in mind. Close your eyes.”