by Selena Kitt
Well, at least today he had a project. He had Kaitlyn's door to replace.
It gave him a purpose to his day. Something he'd been sorely lacking lately.
* * *
Holy crap, holy crap, holy crap! Did she really do all those things with Rob last night? Lie over his lap for a spanking and cry on his shoulder and… dear Gawd—wear a butt plug during sex?
Kaitlyn slipped into her apartment and went into the bathroom. Since the front door was hanging open, she locked the bathroom door. She squeezed her butt with her hands. No residual soreness. Why was that vaguely disappointing? She sort of wished for souvenir marks or pain to prove it really happened.
The water in the shower came on with a blast and she stripped off her clothes and stepped in.
Awkward.
It had been embarrassing to wake up beside him. She felt like hiding now. But no, she wasn't that big of a chicken, was she?
She replayed the entire night. It was funny how she thought the first part of her night—the bad part—would be the main memory, but it wasn't. Rob had truly helped her forget it. Or lessen its impact on her. Instead of replaying the trauma, she remembered every moment with him. Remembering the way he'd held her wrists down on the bed as he slammed into her from behind, her pussy quivered. She brought her fingers down to touch herself.
Sheesh, she was already wet just thinking about him. She worked her fingertips over her clit and leaned her face against the cold tile of the shower for stability.
Yield to me.
She loved his dominant talk. And for all his tough-guy act, she'd felt perfectly safe with him at all times.
Do you know who you belong to?
Her fingers slid up and down, eyes rolled back in her head. She wanted him to spank her again. To plug her. She wanted him to take charge of her every minute of every day for the rest of her life.
She quivered and then bucked, her muscles spasming with release. Her vision went black and lights danced before her eyes. She held herself up against the tiles. The last thing she needed was to pass out in the shower because she was masturbating.
When her breath had slowed and sight cleared, she rinsed the conditioner out of her hair and cranked the handle of the faucet to "off."
She wanted to help Rob the way he'd helped her. In the larger sense, not the sexual. Well, the sexual, too. She couldn't wait to suck his huge cock and bring him pleasure that way.
But Rob needed a job or purpose. She'd read about the challenges facing all the military men and women returning from tours in Afghanistan or Iraq. Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder plagued many of them and they struggled with a sense of belonging.
She needed to help him find a purpose again.
And with that as her purpose, she snapped a towel out of the holder and rubbed herself dry, dressed, and put on light makeup for her day.
A tap sounded at the door. "Kaitlyn?" The sound of Rob's deep voice had her heart racing. She remembered the way he'd spoken right in her ear the night before, how he'd transformed into the stern but attentive Dominant. Her pussy clenched, breath shortened. She wanted to do those things with him again. Rather desperately.
Don't get attached or clingy. Right, she just needed to play it cool.
How the hell did one play it cool with a guy who pretty much blew her mind by fitting every facet of her dream man?
She cleared her throat to answer. "Yeah?"
"I'm going to measure this door so I can go buy a replacement. I just didn't want to alarm you."
And that was just one more reason why she loved the guy. He really seemed to "get" her feelings. How many guys were sensitive to a girl's feelings and were uber hot, dominant alpha males? One in a thousand probably. Maybe one in a hundred thousand. All she knew was that she liked him too much. She was ready to throw her whole heart at him, and she knew that would be unwise. This guy didn't seem like he was looking for a relationship.
"Okay, I'm all set. I'm headed to the hardware store. I should be back within an hour."
"Thank you." She peeked around the corner and caught sight of his broad-shouldered back as he left. Yep, she had called from the bedroom. She hadn't gone out to flirt, or fawn. Or thank him. She was a chicken.
Her phone rang.
Damn. It was Becky, probably calling to hear about her date. The sick feeling returned to Kaitlyn's stomach. Was she ready to talk about it? Hardly. But it would probably help. She answered the phone and plopped down the couch.
"Hey, Becky."
"Hey, how did it go?"
"Short version? Horrible. He choked me and tried to rape me, but the Marine next door broke down my door and kicked his ass."
Becky was silent a half-second longer than usual. "Wait… what?"
"True story."
"Oh my God, are you okay? Do you want me to come over?" Becky's concern brought tears of self-pity to Kaitlyn's eyes, but no, she didn't need to feel sorry for herself. It had ended up all right. Rob had taken care of her.
She gave her friend the horrible details on her attack. With each word, it got easier to talk about and the remaining shame she felt about the whole thing faded as Becky raged for her.
"Thank God Rob was home. I wish he would've beaten the guy to a pulp."
"Well, he said if we didn't turn him over to the cops, he'd kill him. And I think he was serious."
"Well, yes, you have to press charges even though it's an ugly situation. Otherwise, this asshole will just do it to someone else."
"That's true. When you put it like that, I guess it is worth the additional nightmare. Rob offered to do all the court stuff with me and everything."
"He sounds like a keeper."
"Yeah." She tried not to sigh.
If only you knew how much.
She hung up with her friend and considered what she might do to thank Rob. More brownies?
Nah. She'd already gone that route.
Some other food?
He seemed like a meat and potatoes kind of guy. Maybe he'd appreciate a steak or something. Yes, she should head to the grocery store to buy some meat. It was better than sticking around her apartment by herself. She grabbed her purse and shut the door as best as she could. Hopefully no one would shove it open and rob her blind. Of course, she didn't have that much to take, so it probably didn't matter that much.
* * *
When she returned, Rob stood in the frame of her doorway, a heavy wooden door hefted between his two hands, his biceps, shoulder and back muscles bulging.
Yum.
She reached out to touch him, but changed her mind at the last minute and retracted her hand. "Hey." She kept her voice soft.
"Oh, hey." He swiveled his body and the door to make room for her to pass. "This won't take me long."
Too bad.
"Take your time. I'm going to make you some lunch," she said.
"Oh yeah? What are you making?"
"Ribs."
He set the door down. "Are you serious?"
Was it too much? She tried to play it off. "Yeah. It's no big deal, but they take a while."
"Holy hell." He sounded awestruck.
She stopped and turned back. "What?"
"Ribs are my favorite." He shrugged his solid muscle shoulders. "I'm just excited, that's all."
She grinned. An old-fashioned boy who liked to be fed. Well, she loved to cook. If there was a way to this guy's heart through his stomach, she definitely was going to try to find it.
"Are there more groceries in the car? I'll bring them in for you."
Her heart gave a double-pump. He was a total gentleman, despite his gruff exterior.
"No, it was just this one. Thanks, though." She turned on the oven to preheat it and unwrapped the meat, putting it in a pan with enough water to cover it.
"How's your ass?"
Was he actually calling down the hall to her about the state of her backside?
Her face grew warm. "Fine."
He looked around the door at her, like he wanted more informati
on.
"I mean totally fine." Oh sheesh. Was she really answering this? "I was actually a little disappointed."
The corners of his mouth crooked into a smile. He stared at her for a moment, his light-blue gaze glittering with… what? Hunger?
"I really didn't think you had it in you, Dimples."
"What?"
"A submissive side. A masochistic side."
"Why not?"
He turned back to the project and lifted the door onto the hinges. "You're too sweet." He slid the top pin in. "Too optimistic. Totally not the type I'm used to."
She tossed some garlic powder, salt and pepper in the pot of meat and set it to cook on the stovetop.
"What type are you used to?" Wait—did she really want to know the answer to that question?
He just shook his head. "Not you."
She wasn't sure if that was good or bad, and he didn't seem inclined to go on.
"These ribs are going to take a couple hours."
"That's fine. It will probably take me that long to finish changing the locks and do the finish work."
The soaring in her chest at the simple knowledge that he'd be in her apartment for the next two hours went way beyond anything she'd felt for another guy. This one had really gotten under her skin.
The ribs finished cooking and she placed them on a baking sheet and slathered them with barbecue sauce. After covering them in foil, she put them in the oven.
Rob crouched beside her door, screwdriver in hand. He looked so dang capable. And sexy. She wanted him with a yearning that went all the way back to her first gangly teen years of sizing up guys and deciding what she liked. She used to read military hero romance novels and dream of a strong, capable man like Rob.
But her yearning could come off as needy. She should take a step back. Give him space before she scared him off.
* * *
Was it weird that the fact that Dimples made him ribs turned him on? It fit right in with his 1950's wife fantasy. His little wife working hard to please him while he worked to support the family.
Oh, man. What was wrong with him? This girl had seriously thrown him for a loop.
"Food is ready whenever you are." He swiveled to take in his little doll. She wore a halter top and the jean shorts that made him salivate. Her dark red hair spilled down her shoulders in thick waves.
Fucking beautiful.
He tried the lock again to make sure it worked. "Perfect timing. I just finished here. Let me wash up."
He headed to her bathroom, which was in the same place as it was in his apartment—through the bedroom. Pink panties lay on the floor. They were as adorable as Dimples—the very girly kind, with lace trim and satin body. He'd love to pull them down before he spanked her luscious ass.
He gave his head a quick shake. He needed to stop thinking about her that way. A) He was taking advantage of her in a weakened state, and B) He was not exactly great boyfriend material right now.
He washed his hands and headed back out to sit at the table, which she had set with placemats and plates. Like a good little 1950's housewife. A plate piled high with ribs sat in the middle of the table. He reached for one and bit into it. And nearly jizzed in his pants. They were delicious—melt in your mouth tender and full of flavor.
Kaitlyn cleared her throat. "I've heard that a lot of service people need jobs that match the stress level they were used to while in tour."
He lifted an eyebrow. Please don't let her start on this shit.
She dropped her gaze to her plate, but persisted. "Have you thought about something… I don't know—high energy, or dangerous? Maybe bouncer at a nightclub?"
His stomach felt a little sick. Maybe he'd eaten the ribs too fast. More likely this conversation just pissed him off. He set the last rib bone down on his plate and wiped his mouth with a napkin. "I don't want to have this conversation." He stood up.
"Wait—why not?" She surged to her feet, as well. "I mean, I'm not trying to pressure you into anything, I'm just opening the lines of communication. Maybe you could tell me what you've been thinking about."
He made a grumbling noise in his throat and moved to stalk toward the door, then changed his mind and faced her again. This was exactly why he couldn't be in a relationship—especially with a do-gooder like Kaitlyn. "Listen, Dimples, I'm not your social work case. You have no clue. About anything. So go back to your rainbows and unicorns and stay the fuck out of my shithole life plan."
He expected to see hurt. Instead, she slapped her palm down on the table and made the plates jump.
"My name isn't Dimples, and I've had it to here with your condescension." She sliced her palm through the air at neck height. Her face flushed and her green eyes flashed. "And you know what? That's bullshit."
He figured she must be seriously pissed off if she was cursing, because he hadn't heard her curse once before. Well, good. The madder she got, the more she'd keep away from him. This wasn't going to work.
"You figure you know about me. You think I'm too sweet and innocent to understand whatever you're going through—what's happened to you. Well, you don't know me. You don't know what I can handle."
Her words struck him like a javelin to the heart. There she went, talking about him again. And he sure as hell didn't want to talk about what had happened to him. You know what? He wasn't even going to stick around for this conversation.
Her jaw thrust forward and she jabbed a thumb at her chest. "I'm strong."
He turned and stalked to the door.
"Don't walk away from me when I'm talking to you!"
He stopped, still facing the door, not because he took orders from her, but from indecision. She was strong. She wasn't backing down now. She hadn't fallen apart last night, even though she'd been brutally attacked. He admired the hell out of her resilience.
He leaned against the new door he'd just installed, smelling the scent of oak. He sighed. "You're right." He turned to see tears dripping down her cheeks as she silently cried. It ripped open his chest.
"Come here."
If she came, he would stay and figure things out. If not, he would let her go.
She didn't walk over. She fucking ran.
He opened his arms and caught her, his chest growing warm. Her trust in him—which was entirely unwarranted—made him want to work hard not to let her down. Maybe that was what scared him about her. With a girl like her—no, not a girl like her, with Kaitlyn Lattigard, the beautiful and sweet social worker who lived next door—he'd be all in. There wouldn't be any half-assed relationship going on with her. No casual booty-calls or dating other people.
And yeah, she was in his arms now, her tears dampening his shirt, so he'd say he was pretty much all in.
"I'm sorry about calling you Dimples. I didn't mean to sound condescending. Well, maybe I did—so I'm sorry. But I love your dimples."
He cradled her head to lift it away from his chest and thumbed away her tears. Bending his head, he kissed her supple lips. They were softer than he'd imagined and so pliant.
She looped her arms around his neck, stroked the left side—the scarred side—of his face.
He grasped her wrists, lifting them up over her head, never breaking their lip lock. With his other hand, he slid under her halter top to cup her breast. Her nipple responded to his touch, hardening to a stiff peak. He pinched it, hard. He wanted her. In the worst way.
He shifted, grasping both her wrists and pulling them behind her back, where he pinned them with one hand. Her body tumbled against his when he yanked her forward, the heat from her skin sending a fresh kick of lust straight to his cock.
His brain short-circuited. Was this right? Or so very wrong? His body screamed right, his gut, too. But how could he trust his instincts when he'd been so fucked up for the past nine months? His rational brain yanked back on the reins.
You're going to hurt her. She doesn't deserve that.
"I don't know what we're doing here," he rasped against her neck.
; She lifted her lovely face. "I hoped you were going to fuck me. Hard."
His cock jerked against his jeans and he nearly groaned aloud. He forced out his breath. "Yeah, but then what?" Somehow he made his lips work to speak. "You're not the kinda girl a guy fucks and walks away from."
She stilled and he knew he'd hurt her again just by suggesting he wanted to walk away. He didn't—not really. It was just a pressure now, that he should. But all she said was, "Let's just see where it takes us."
He made up another deal with fate. Named the fantasy that had been banging around in his head since the night before. The new one that he never thought he'd want. "If I fuck you again, I'm going to make you my girl."
His 1950's housewife girl.
The joy that lit up her face stabbed him through the heart again. God, he did not deserve someone as pure and good as her. He tried to warn her off. "I don't know if you're prepared for what that entails."
He spun their bodies so her back fell against the door. With a knee wedged between her legs, he pinned her wrists beside her face and bit her bare shoulder. He dragged his tongue along her collarbone, then back up her neck to flick her earlobe with the tip of his tongue. He wanted her so bad it made him dizzy.
"Tell me what it entails." Her voice sounded husky. Sexy as hell.
He didn't even know where the words came from—it was a fantasy he'd never even acknowledged. "I'd be your man. I'd make rules for you, and you'd follow them or be punished. You'd belong to me—body and soul."
If he'd expected her to back off, he'd guessed wrong. Her nipples jutted out and she gyrated her hips, grinding down on his thigh. She was excited, not scared.
His breath shortened, his head swam with the vision of her as his little housewife, his girl. "I'd be fair. I would…" He blinked at the force of emotion inspired by his proposal. To have this girl for his forever-girl. For keeps. "I'd be good to you. Take care of you." He sounded gruff. "I'd do anything for you—protect you, die to keep you safe if I had to. But you'd be mine to guide and correct."
Her enthusiasm hadn't dampened. She thrust herself against him, rocking those sweet little hips against his leg. "Yes, yes," she breathed.
He cradled her face and kissed her again, a hard, demanding kiss. His tongue thrust into her mouth, lashing hers. "You want that?"