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Rugged Daddy (Dark Daddy Doms Book 2)

Page 10

by Ava Sinclair


  “A new toy?”

  He leans over and reaches into the drawer of the bedside table to pull out two heavy glass balls.

  “You didn’t make those,” I say.

  “You’re right. I thought we’d try something store-bought, so in town I snuck out to a shop and bought these. Lie back, now, and open your legs for Daddy.”

  I comply, not knowing quite what to expect. I sometimes forget that before he met me, Zane was already a man of the world. The sensation of the heavy balls sliding into my wet pussy is strange. But then, as I move, they shift and the pressure is different and arousing. It’s like having his finger inside me, moving around as I move. He lowers his head between my legs and his tongue finds my clit. Zane darts his tongue, stabbing the sensitive nub before laving my slit in greedy laps. With each shift, I feel the pressure of the orbs and a powerful orgasm starts to build from both the external and internal pressure.

  “Aaaaahhhh,” I say, and he raises to move between my legs, shoving his cock into my crowded pussy. It’s almost more than I can take, but it’s incredible. Zane begins to move slowly, and now we are both enjoying the sensation of the glass balls. He looks into my eyes, taking in my wonder at yet another experience, another discovery of the unusual ways he has of pleasing me.

  I wrap my legs around his waist, pulling him to me. He moves inside me with long, slow thrusts and I’m riding a wave of pleasure that tips me over into a swirling oblivion with the man I love.

  Epilogue

  One year later

  “Mustela nivalis?”

  “No, little girl. Try again.”

  I stare at the picture of the stoat. “Mustela erminia.”

  “Good.” Zane smiles. “Although if you were in my class, I’d have failed you.”

  I pick up the notebook I’m studying and playfully whack him on the arm. “We both agreed I’d take Dr. Mason for zoology,” I remind him, “although I would love to be in your class.”

  “I prefer to give you after-hours lessons, Mrs. Tyler.”

  “You are giving me lessons after hours.”

  “I’m not giving you lessons. I’m helping you study. Big difference.”

  I smile. After two months of marriage, I’m still getting used to being a Mrs., but I’m loving every minute of it. The road that led us from the woods has not been an easy one, but it was well worth it.

  The case against Ken Workman turned out to be a much bigger deal than anyone realized. When we settled in town, Zane took a job tutoring to supplement his writing while I got a job at the nature museum where Zane reluctantly donated Kali.

  It was a very stressful time, and the first months were rocky. We had several fights, mostly from stress, but talked it out. But fears of the looming court appearance kept the pressure on both of us. The lawyer I hired said the case would likely be highly publicized, and that my name would be dragged through the mud by Workman’s attorneys.

  Then at the last minute, the ranger who’d refused to talk came clean and cut a deal, resulting in Zane’s stepbrother pleading guilty. The lawyer was wrong. I didn’t have to testify. But he was right about the publicity. Even though there was no trial, the press had a field day with the lurid story of a poaching ring using the cover of an outfitter, and the reporter who uncovered Workman’s trade in bear parts with Mr. Chang, who ended up found guilty of both federal and international crimes.

  But the story didn’t stop there. One afternoon, the reporter called to say in his research, he’d come across the story of Zane’s firing from the university. At first Zane was reluctant to bring up this painful part of his history, but the journalist was persistent, and a follow-up story detailed Workman’s desire to develop the habitat of protective species, and how he’d used his influence to destroy the stepbrother whose research stood in the way of his plans.

  The story became a source of embarrassment for the school, which called to offer Zane his job back. By then, the board members who’d voted to oust him were removed. But Zane declined. He could not in good conscience return to the school.

  “Too little, too late,” he told me one afternoon, but it turned out to be a good decision. The next day the phone was ringing off the hook by other institutions eager to offer Zane work. He took a job on the research faculty of a small college with a good science department. We bought a house, and one afternoon as I was stripping wallpaper, he brought me a can of soda and casually asked me how I felt about getting married. I was stunned. It wasn’t the most romantic proposal, but the way he blurted it out was so spontaneous and sweet that in retrospect, I prefer it to the more traditional popping-of-the-question.

  Of course, being engaged meant doing all the things engaged couples do. We went out west to meet my parents, who are still as crazy as ever. My dad has long white hair now and to my horror took Zane to the secret room of their rental house to show him the medicinal pot plants he’s growing. My mother insisted on reading Zane’s chakras. Through all of this he was good-natured. My parents love him.

  My dream is to become the second doctor in this house. I know it will take a long time. I’m working toward my zoology degree, but Zane makes enough that I don’t have to work. I’m devoting all my time to studying, with the dream of one day writing books together.

  We still go to the cabin. Zane plans to make some improvements so that other scientists can use it as a research station when we aren’t there. Our visits are always enjoyable but after several days, Zane is ready to come home. We’ve gotten too used to hot showers and coffee shops and the Chinese delivery service that’s caused us both to gain a few more pounds than we’d like.

  He kept the beard, and stays in shape now working out rather than chopping wood. He’s a favorite at the gym, where they’ve nicknamed him Mountain Man. A few weeks ago, he was forced to get glasses—wire-rimmed specs that make him look professorial, which I find incredibly sexy. I sometimes join him at the gym, although I prefer walks and hiking when we have the chance. But my real joy in life is learning, and I couldn’t be with a more suitable partner.

  We joke that our goal is to become just another boring couple of academics, but I know that will be impossible. Because even now, when we are alone, he’s once again my Rugged Daddy, the man who stirred the primal awakening to my submissive side. He still spanks me, although for now it’s almost always for our mutual pleasure unless I’m grumpy and he thinks I need a good stress-relieving cry. In those cases, he breaks out the wicked paddle, which he kept, or even the ginger root, which I seek to avoid at all costs.

  Our fears that we could not adjust are unfounded. If anything, our relationship is stronger. We need more of a refuge now than ever. Civilization is exhausting, and we are one another’s haven.

  I could not imagine a better life with a better man.

  I am completely happy as a woman, a wife, and Daddy’s little girl.

  The End

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  More Stormy Night Books by Ava Sinclair

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