Over the Line (13 page)

“But what if you demand something?”

“That’s where your safe word and slow word come in. You have all the power, Sydney, if you’d just realise it.”

“I don’t get to tie you up or spank you or deny your orgasm or stand you in a corner with your nose pressed to the wall.”

“You’re right.”

“So how is that fair?” She pulled away from him.

“Because I don’t get to do any of those to you without your permission.”

She scowled.

“I’ve hit a nerve with this conversation,” he said. “We’re different. I sure as hell wouldn’t expect you to do certain things around the ranch that I do. Like move mountains of snow from the roads.”

“You have a tractor?”

The excitement and enthusiasm in her voice caught him off guard. “Let me restate that. I wouldn’t expect you to move mountains of snow unless you wanted to drive the tractor,” he added. Her eyes grew wider. It figured he’d be attracted to a woman who wanted to operate heavy machinery.

He heard a splash, and that was quickly followed by a nudge to the back of his legs. “Chewie.”

“Is it safe for her to be in the river?”

“Goats can swim,” he told her.

“Seriously?”

“She’ll need a bath.”

“That counts as one of the things you’d never ask me to do, right?”

“Now you’re seeing the benefits of division of labour?”

“You might have convinced me.”

The goat’s arrival had thankfully shattered the tension that had been growing. One thing wouldn’t change—his reluctance to compromise. It hadn’t worked in his marriage, and any woman he got involved with in the future would have to know who he was, respect it and agree to it. If she couldn’t, it was better to find out early, even if it was painful. “Stay today,” he invited. “We have a lot of things to discuss.”

“I can’t.” She shook her head.

He didn’t think he heard regret in her tone.

“I have a pile of things to do at home, laundry, packing. I leave town tomorrow. I’ll be gone for ten days.”

He nodded curtly. “I’d better make you a hearty breakfast before you go.”

“You cook?”

“Bacon. And eggs from the ranch’s chickens.”

“Fresh eggs?”

“I get a few a day.”

“And there’s more coffee?”

“There is.”

She opened her mouth then shut it.

“What?” he asked.

“You don’t expect me to do the cooking?”

“As I said, there’s a lot for us to discuss. Except for where it makes sense to both of us, I don’t believe you should do certain things because you’re female. My ex-wife was better at managing the finances than I am, and she was better at business plans and some power tools.”

“Power tools?”

“There is a tool shed if you feel the need.”

“Not really my thing,” she said. “What went wrong with your marriage?”

“When she traded her collar for a wedding ring, she also shifted her expectations about sex. What had been fun was now dirty.”

“I like dirty sex.”

“Yeah. You do.” All he could think of was fucking her hard, using her pussy, her ass, her mouth. “And there, I’m in charge. But, to be clear, I expect you to be a sub, not a servant. I like to cook, to select wine to go with a meal, and before you ask, I have no problem loading the dishwasher, either.”

She drew her eyebrows together, and he noticed she’d dropped her hands to her sides, as if no longer feeling the need to protect herself. It was a first step. He welcomed it, breathing easier.

“How are you on laundry?” she asked.

“Your lingerie is safe with me.”

“The idea of you hand washing my panties stupefies me.”

“It shouldn’t. I’ll just do it while you’re still wearing them.”

She swallowed deeply. “You don’t play fair.”

“Never have.”

“I thought cowboys had a code, or something?”

“Not when I want you on your knees.”

She rubbed at the goosebumps that appeared on her forearms.

“Let’s get you dry,” he told her.

He followed her from the river. On the bank, he reached for his shirt. He wadded the material and used it to pat her chest.

“The water didn’t cause you much shrinkage, Sir.”

“Seems to be a constant condition when you’re naked.” The sun emerged from behind a cloud and he told her, “Turn around.”

She did, and he dried the rest of her body. When he was finished, he gave one cheek a quick pinch.

With a yelp, she faced him.

“Payback for the shrinkage comment,” he informed her.

She wrinkled her nose. “I suppose that’s fair. And speaking of fair, can I dry you?”

By way of an answer, he offered his shirt.

She rubbed it across his head then shaped his hair with her fingers.

“This one piece likes to curl,” she said.

“Bane of my existence.”

“I think it’s cute.”

“I don’t like cute,” he said, his words all but a growl.

“I do.”

He captured her wrist.

“I do, Sir,” she said.

“That’s better.” He released her, despite the lack of contrition in her voice.

She continued to draw the cotton down his chest. She boldly took his now-erect cock and moved it so she could dry the lower part of his stomach. Then she knelt and licked his balls.

“Damn, little sub…”

“Oh. Oops. Seems I caused you to get damp again.” Looking up at him, she wiped a fingertip across the slit in his penis. Then she raised the pre-ejaculate to her mouth and licked it off.

It was a good thing she had to leave soon. Otherwise he might not let her go.

She dried his legs. “Turn around and spread your legs.”

It took her a long time to dry his backside, even tracing up the insides of his thighs, over his perineum and parting his buttocks to daub them.

“Not sure that part was wet.”

“Being thorough, Sir.”

“Being a brat,” he countered. But he didn’t stop her. This kind of brattiness, he liked.

He was aware of the sun beating on his body. He didn’t need her to continue, but there was no way in hell he was going to stop her. She placed her hands on his waist and used him for balance as she stood.

She slid the shirt over his shoulders, taking her time. All too soon, she said, “All done.”

Michael turned to face her. Damn, she was appealing, with her mussed hair, compact, muscular body and red marks—his—on her skin.

She handed back his shirt. He shook it out, and that snared Chewie’s attention. The dwarf goat trotted over. She angled her head, trying to grab it from his hand.

Sydney laughed.

“Always funny when it’s my clothes,” he observed.

“Definitely, Sir.”

They dressed while Chewie kept a wary eye on them.

“She’s opportunistic,” he warned.

“I gathered that,” Sydney replied, hurriedly tying her shoelaces.

He picked up the travel cups, and they walked back to the house side by side. Sydney linked her hands behind her back. He swore there was a bounce in her step, or maybe it was her normal energy level. Chewie trotted ahead of them and kept glancing back. When she approached a big rock, she walked up it, stood on top and looked into the distance.

“You weren’t kidding about her climbing.”

“You’re lucky you didn’t find her on one of our vehicles this morning.”

“That could cause some damage.”

“Mostly she behaves herself.”

“Just like me,” Sydney replied.

“Right.”

Once they neared the house, Chewie went towards the barn. Michael held open the gate for Sydney, and he walked behind her up the path.

It was no wonder he liked having her face down. She was all sex and sass.

“Mind if I take a quick shower, Sir?”

“I’ll get another pot of coffee going then I’ll be up.”

By the time he entered the master suite, she was already dressed, her damp hair curling against her face. He wondered if he’d see her in his bedroom again, and he hoped he would.

“Can I do anything to help with breakfast?” she asked.

“You could set the table. I’m sure you’ll find everything you need.”

She traced her fingertips across his chest before she went downstairs.

He showered in record time.

When he joined her, she had placed a handful of columbines in a small vase near his placemat, making the table look good. The sight of her leaning across the width to pour orange juice into a glass was even better.

While he fried the bacon, she hopped up and sat on one of the countertops as if she’d been a guest dozens of times.

“I think you should wear an apron,” she told him.

“I think you should,” he countered, cracking half a dozen eggs into a bowl. “And nothing else.”

“Maybe I will… Sometime.”

Her words and actions kept him in a constant state of arousal.

He whisked the eggs, adding some milk—sans cream—and tossed in some salt and pepper.

“What are you going to eat?” she teased.

“Healthy appetite?” That didn’t surprise him after their evening and this morning’s adventures.

“Planning to hit the gym later,” she said.

“Do you have a workout bag in your car, too?”

“Prepared for anything, anytime.”

“Including your upcoming trip?”

“I’m pretty well always packed,” she confessed. “I spend as little time in one place as possible.”

“Does your name have something to do with that?”

“Probably. I inherited my parents’ love of the world. The story goes that I was conceived in Sydney, Australia. Born in the United States. Spent my first birthday in India. My second in London.” She picked a grape from a bowl on the counter and popped it into her mouth. “I think I took my first steps in Geneva. Learned to ski in Utah.”

“Varied background.”

“My parents were adventurers.”

Which explained a lot about her.

“Dad was quite a bit older than Mom, and he’d inherited some money. He worked as a consultant, and that took him all over the world. Mom went with him. They didn’t accumulate a lot of worldly goods, believing experiences were more important than things. These grapes are sweet.” She took a handful and fed them into her mouth one at a time. “I think I was unexpected—not unwelcome, but not planned. So their philosophy was to throw me in a backpack and keep going. Is that coffee ready yet?”

Apparently she didn’t like to talk about herself. “Want me to pour you a cup?”

“You’re cooking. I’ll get us both one. Assuming you want one.”

He nodded.

She slid from the countertop. Unerringly she opened the correct cupboard and pulled out two thick porcelain mugs.

“Do you take sugar in yours? Milk?” she asked.

“Just cream.”

“Er, I skimmed the top off the milk and used it already.”

“I’ve been holding out. There’s a bottle on the second shelf in the refrigerator.”

She opened the door and moved a carton of strawberries out of the way. “Score,” she said. “If you can’t find this tomorrow, I didn’t take it home.”

He laughed. “Hand it over, will you?” He dropped a dollop into the eggs.

“Are you trying to entice me to stay?” she asked, narrowing her eyes.

“Would it work?”

Instead of answering, she poured the coffee and doctored it up.

“Perfect,” he told her after a test sip. “Thank you.” He left the
little sub
off the end of his sentence. To him, it was an endearment. He honoured the fact that she disagreed.

When breakfast was ready, she helped him carry the platters of food to the table.

She snagged a piece of bacon before he could serve it. “It might.”

“What might?” He pulled back the chair at the head of the table.

“This kind of breakfast, Sir.” She sat next to him. “It might make me accept another invitation.”

“I haven’t tied you to the fence and whipped you yet, either.”

She put down the food, uneaten.

“You gave me the blow job and I gave you the spanking. That was only two of three things we discussed.”

“You do know how to treat a girl, Sir.”

“I hope you have a good trip,” he told her, spooning eggs onto her plate. For the first time, he felt he had the upper hand. Her eyes had opened wide before she had spoken. He’d seen her thinking about it, imagining it. And that was exactly what he wanted.

Chapter Six

“You had a mind-blowing night with a hunky cowboy and you walked away without giving him your phone number? Girl, are you crazy?”

Sydney sighed and threw herself down on the hotel’s couch. Leaundra, one of her two best friends, stood near the French doors that led to the patio and an ocean view. She had a glass of wine in hand and wore an expression of wide-eyed shock.

“Dish,” said Marleen.

The three of them had shared an apartment in college, and they got together once a year to renew their friendship. None of them had changed much. Sydney was the adventurer. Leaundra loved men, shopping and dining out. She’d said she was only going to school to find a man from a rich background and, senior year, she had.

Marleen, a trial lawyer, was the most successful of them all, at least by worldly goods standards. She filled up a second glass of wine with the cheap pink stuff that came from an oversized bottle with a twist-off lid.

 Sydney knew the rosé probably wouldn’t be considered wine by connoisseurs, but back then it had been the only thing they could afford. It was sweet and went down easy. They could afford better now, so it was probably more for nostalgic reasons than anything else that they trekked to a liquor store and bought a couple of gallons of this stuff. Their taste, at least in this, hadn’t evolved.

She sat up to accept the glass. “I only came to Miami to hear about Leaundra’s upcoming wedding plans.”

“I haven’t turned into a monster yet. I’ve had enough experience to know what’s worth getting my panties in a wad for.”

True
. Leaundra wasn’t thirty yet and this was going to be her third trip down the aisle. At least she’d traded up with each engagement. The rock on her hand tempted Sydney to reach for a pair of sunglasses.

“The worst that has happened to me is his mother dragged me to a cake tasting. One of her friends owns a bakery. But really, green tea flavour for a wedding cake? But I figured what the hell? I’ve had vanilla with butter cream frosting.”