His to Own: 50 Loving States, Arkansas Page 31

  It’s cold away from the fire, and the wet thin sweater I’m wearing makes me feel like I’m covered in damp green moss. But instead of following the urge to strip it off, I focus on my manners.

  “Thank you,” I say, and dig right in.

  Colin’s a good cook. At least he’s got meat and eggs down. Despite my general level of discomfort, I eat every single bite.

  “You were hungry,” he says, after I’m finished cleaning my plate.

  “I got caught up, working on music,” I answer. “Forgot to eat.”

  “Yeah,” he says, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “I’ve been there. Not for a while now. But back before my mom had her first stroke.”

  Before I can offer any sympathy for what he went through with his mom, he turns his blue gaze on me, lazy but somehow sharp as the knife he gave me to cut my steak.

  “Is that why you’re so late? Because you were working on music?”

  I put my fork down, unable to think of a good answer for that. Talking to him on the phone was definitely much easier. Now that my hunger’s not there to distract me, actually sitting face to face across from him has a whole box of Mexican jumping beans going off in my stomach.

  And it doesn’t help that he won’t stop staring at me lazily across the table. Like a long and lean coyote, taking his sweet time, deciding just when to pounce.

  “So…” I say, looking around. “This isn’t exactly what I expected.”

  “No, I guess it wouldn’t be,” he answers, lazy coyote stare still in full effect. “It’s my dad’s old place, and his dad’s before that. The state passed it on to me after he died. At least they did after I paid all the back property taxes on it.”

  The cabin is very simple. One room. One bathroom. That’s it. But being here with Colin doesn’t feel simple. Colin looks out of place here. And I feel out of place here.

  So out of place that I just have to ask, “So is this where you bring all your subs?”

  I expect at least a chuckle, but instead Colin’s eyes come off their lazy coyote setting and he sits up, suddenly all business. “So we’re having this conversation now?”

  I look from side to side and then shrug. “Yes, I’m here. So I guess we’re having this conversation.”

  He nods, like we’ve just agreed on something important, and picks up my plate. I watch him set it down in the kitchen area, and then pick up a document, which I hadn’t noticed lying at the far end of the counter. He comes back to the table with it and sets it in front of me.

  I recognize the legal language immediately.

  “You want me to sign a confidentiality agreement? But I already signed one.”

  “That was for Alabama,” he answers, dropping back into the seat across from me. “This is for here and now.”

  “Okay…” I sign the agreement. Mostly because I still don’t understand fully what “here and now” means, and I know signing this document is the only way I’ll find out.

  I slide it back to him, but he merely glances at it before asking, “Anyone know where you’re at, Purple?”

  I try to keep my face neutral as I answer, “Yes, I texted Bernice before I came up here. Told her the address and exactly who I was meeting. Why? Is that in violation of the confidentiality agreement?”

  I remember what Ginny told me about him being fiercely private.

  “No, that’s fine,” Colin says.

  I wait for him to say something else about it, and when he doesn’t, I say, “Okay, well, I guess it’s time to have that conversation you mentioned…”

  “Yeah, it is,” he agrees, tapping a finger against our confidentiality agreement. “All we need now is a safe word.”

  “A safe word,” I repeat. “We need a safe word just to have a conversation about what we might or might not be doing?”

  “Yep,” he answers, like we’re talking about some mundane detail: the amount of rain Tennessee’s likely to get in September or something along those lines. “I suggest you pick a word that doesn’t have anything to do with what we’re about to talk about. So nobody gets confused.”

  “How about ‘property taxes’?” I answer dryly.

  “Alright, that’s two words, but I can work with that. The safe word is ‘property taxes.’”

  It’s such a silly agreement. Really a silly conversation. But a chill runs up my back. Like Colin’s just taken off his black cowboy hat again and shown me his horns.

  He folds his hands in front of him. “So you said this wasn’t what you were expecting. Wanna tell me what you were expecting?”

  “I’m—I’m not sure,” I answer. “I’m still not sure why I came here… or if I should be here at all. Like I said, I’m not any kind of sub material. Like the whole keeping my mouth closed thing and happily doing whatever you say—I’m pretty sure I don’t have that in me.”

  I can sense a smile lurking behind his lips, but it never arrives. “I know you don’t, Purple. Now what was that safe word you picked again?”

  His question confuses me.

  “What? Why do you need the safe word again?”

  “Because I do,” he answers.

  His non-answer annoys me, makes me dig in my heels. “Listen, you don’t need a safe word from me to have a conversation about a situation that may or may not happen.”

  “There you go again, Purple, with your smart mouth,” he drawls. “You say I don’t need to hear you say the safe word. I’m telling you I do. Because I need to know you remember it, before we do this.”

  “But—”

  He doesn’t even let me finish my sentence about how we haven’t actually agreed to do anything yet, especially not “this.”

  “Safe word,” he says again, in a tone so firm I can tell this isn’t the kind of road block you can just swerve your car around. I either say the safe word, or the conversation is finished.

  And I guess I’m not quite ready for it to be finished, because I find myself mumbling, “Property taxes,” figuring it’s better to just give him the damn words if that will move the conversation forward.

  But I don’t give him the chance to gloat about it.

  “So you invited me out here? Why?” I demand. “To see if I’d come?”

  He shakes his head, a slow, lazy back-and-forth waggle that makes me feel like he’s laughing at me, even though his face is completely straight. “Because I wanted you to come.”

  “Even though I’m not your type.”

  “Because you’re not my type.”

  “I’m confused,” I admit. Because I am. Because I don’t know how else to respond to what he’s just said.

  Colin leans forward over his folded hands. “Then let me make myself clear. I don’t want you be a sub this weekend. I want to make you my sub.”

  My heart gets lost somewhere inside my body, and I can’t feel it beating anymore.

  “So what are you saying?” I ask, with what feels like a limited air supply. “What exactly do you want from me?”

  His blue predatory gaze stays on me, keeps me pinned to my seat. “What I want is you, Purple. Exactly as you are.”

  “But you said I had a smart mouth.”

  His mouth tilts upwards on one side. “I also said I want to shut it.”

  I narrow my eyes. It feels like he’s toying with me. Like I’m caught up in some kind of game and only he knows the rules.

  “Shut it how?” I ask, looking for clues about game play.

  “For somebody who likes sci-fi so much, you’re mighty interested in spoilers.”

  I swallow, “That’s because I have no idea what I’m getting into with you.”

  Colin sighs, and sits back. It’s nowhere near as intimidating as him leaning across the table, but it’s not exactly comforting either. This new position gives me an unsettled feeling. I’m reminded of my Paw Paw’s nature shows, the ones that featured predators who sometimes play like they’re asleep in order to get their prey to drop their guard.

  “I’m going to need that s
afe word one more time, Purple.”

  His stare is so lazy on me now, it somehow feels hard. And I know not to even bother trying to reason with him, because he’s not talking until I give him what he wants to hear.

  “Property taxes,” I say a third time, feeling like an idiot and seriously wondering what possessed me to come here.

  Colin doesn’t move, but something shifts in the air between us, and I feel like he’s finally leveling with me when he says, “Listen, a lot people overcomplicate this, but I do complicated shit for a living so I’m going to keep this simple. I want to fuck you. I want to say all the ugly, dirty shit I’ve been forcing myself not to say to you on the phone over the last four months, and I don’t want you to just lie there and take it. I want you to fight back.”

  Now, I know where my heart got off to, because I suddenly feel it beating inside my stomach.

  “And what happens when I fight back?” I ask him, careful as a bomb squad detonator.

  A beat passes during which Colin takes the time to lock his gaze onto mine, so I know he isn’t even remotely kidding when he says the next four words.

  “I fuck you anyway.”

  Listen, I’m not the gasping type. I’m a home health aide. I’ve seen stuff that would completely put one of those Forest Brook ladies on the floor. Seen it and not even blinked.

  But I gasp then, the air rushing back in my throat, like it’s running away. Running away from Colin.

  “Okay, well…”

  “You’re blushing again,” he informs me.

  It’s not a blush, though. Not like before. This is something else, a full body flush that makes me feel hot and cold at the same time. Everything is going crazy inside of me. I can’t figure out what to say. Or what to do.

  “Do me a favor, Purple,” I hear him say, somewhere far away.

  I don’t want to look at him, but my eyes come back to meet his blue gaze like they’re magnetized.

  “Don’t use the safe word.”

  Chapter 20

  “Don’t use the safe word.”

  Those words finally jog me out of my paralysis. Bring my common sense back on line as I fully assess my current situation.

  I’m in some strange backwoods cabin with a man I’ve talked to a bunch on the phone but who, let’s face it, I don’t really know. Only Bernice knows where I am—and she’s probably not remotely worried about me, since me and Colin have been talking on the phone for months...

  And Colin just said in very graphic detail what he wants to do to me out here in this strange backwoods cabin that nobody can see from the main road.

  I run. Of course I run. Only a total idiot would not leap up from the table and make a break for the front door after hearing that.

  He catches me embarrassingly fast. Horror movie fast. I don’t even make it to the couch before he takes me down in a jumble of strong grips, sweeping legs, and superior muscle. Before I know it, my stomach and the side of my face are pressed into the carpet, and I’m forced to stare at the bright orange fire as Colin manacles both my arms above my head, his heavy body pinning me to the floor.

  “I’m going to make you pay for running,” he tells me, his voice low and mean in my ear. I can feel him, all of him, his shaft, hard as a steel pipe against my back.

  And I can’t tell if the overwhelming heat I’m feeling is because of the fire or his ruthless suppression of my body with his.

  But he was right about one thing. I’m nowhere near being a sub. It pisses me off to be held down like this, and even though I know it’s no use, I struggle against him, trying to get loose.

  He holds me down and, as if to prove how easy it is for him to do so, he pushes down my leggings. I soon feel cool air on the backs of my now bare legs.

  And he says, “Let’s see what we’ve got here…”

  My eyes pop wide when I feel his hand slide down beneath the band of my cotton undies and then I really begin to thrash, by hips bucking to get him off of me.

  Colin just laughs. Mean as a Tennessee cold front. And I feel two of his fingers slip inside of what should be a bone-dry space.

  But it’s not. And even I can hear the squick of his fingers easily pushing through my tunnel’s barrier because I’m so slick with heat. Soon he’s in all the way to the knuckles.

  Another mean laugh. “Damn, Purple.”

  “Fuck you,” I answer, anger wrestling with shame for the number one position in my head.

  Colin lets go of my arms. Slips his arm underneath me to grab my breast, hard. He kneads it and my pussy, his two fingers still inside of me as he does.

  “Do you feel how wet you are?” he asks, both above and behind me. “Even wetter than I imagined when I was jacking myself off every night, thinking about shutting that smart mouth of yours, imagining what it would feel like to fuck you into submission. Tell me something, Purple. When you ran, did you really think I was going to let you leave?”

  I hadn’t been thinking at all. Just panicking. And even more so now, because I don’t understand what’s happening. Why is he doing this? Why is my body responding to him doing this?

  “That’s what I’m going to have to punish you for. That and making me wait. Do you know how many times I nearly broke down and called you today? To tell you to get your ass up here so I could fuck you like this? I sat in this house, hard as a fucking steel beam all day, waiting for you to get here. I’m going to make you pay for that.”

  My mind is all turned around with conflicting emotions now. Shame and pride and fear and confusion. But most of all, lust. Raw and obscene. Because my body has never been handled like this. I wouldn’t have thought even ten minutes ago that I would want anyone to touch me this way.

  But my response is undeniable. I can feel the heat of my lust leaking out of me, making his hand slick as he works it inside of me. Squeezing my pussy as he does.

  I’ve never felt so helpless in my life and that makes me panic, which in turn gives me enough strength to try to break free again.

  I grab his wrist below our bodies with both of mine, and pin his relentless hand so it can’t follow when I roll beneath him.

  I kick at him and run again. And this time I do almost make it to the door—but he grabs me from behind and slings me onto the couch. I land on my back and he’s on top of me in an instant, pushing his own pants and underwear down. I hear the rip of a foil package, and I know what he’s doing with his hands, while his body is holding me down.

  I go for his face. Catching him with my nails.

  “Oh, you are going to fucking pay for that, Purple,” he says, slamming, then pinning my arms above my head.

  He sounds angry, but he’s grinning down at me, like I just made his entire day. I can feel his cock now, pushing against my slit. My cotton undies are the only things keeping him out at this point. And that makes me fight harder. I buck and bring my leg up, almost catching him where it counts.

  It becomes a real fight then. Me holding nothing back as I bite, scratch, buck, and kick. He handles me like an inmate at an insane asylum, applying more weight to whatever body part I’m trying to move, until I can barely wiggle, much less fight him off.

  We lie there then. Both panting. His sheathed cock so heavy and hard on top of me, it almost feels like it’s the only weight holding me down.

  “This how we going to do it?” he asks me then, still grinning. “Or did you get that birth control prescription like I told you to?”

  I raise my head and spit straight in his face.

  That wipes his smile clean off, and his whole face goes as hard as a stone sculpture.

  “Fuck you,” I say into his hard, violent silence.

  One of his hands lets go of one of my wrists, and he wipes the spit away. “Don’t use the safe word,” he says, his voice a dead monotone.

  It’s a threat. It’s also a reminder, and I remember just as suddenly as I’d forgotten when my adrenaline was running the show, that there is a possible way out of this situation.

 
Property taxes. That’s all I have to say, and this will be over.

  “Don’t use the safe word,” he growls again, as if he’s reading my mind.

  He lifts up and I feel his hand rough below my waistline, grabbing at my underwear, yanking it to the side, so my pussy is fully exposed.

  Use the safe word, I think, my head filling with panic. I have to use it. Use it now, or he’s going to…

  He splits my lower lips open with the tip of his cock. “Don’t use the safe word.”

  I don’t use the safe word. Then I gasp out when he pushes into me with a rough shove, filling me up in a way that feels both overwhelming and insane.

  How could there possibly be so much of him?

  I push against his chest, even as my legs open to accommodate him. Even as my mind screams at me to use the safe word because this is some crazy shit. This whole situation is beyond insane.

  But I can’t say it. Can’t stop thrashing underneath him. It feels like the most fucked up experiment. Him shoving into me. Me trying to buck him off and getting more and more turned on, despite the fact that I shouldn’t be

  “You want this,” he tells me. “You’re going to come on my dick so hard, because you want this, and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

  “No!” I cry out. Then I break off with a curse, because I can already feel it building. The friction of having him so tight on top of me as he rolls into me.

  “Keep fucking fighting it,” he whispers meanly. “It’s going to make it even better when you come all over my dick because you can’t help yourself.”

  “No!” I struggle underneath him, struggle against the building orgasm.

  “You got me so fucking hard right now, Purple. I’m going to give you what you want this time, cum inside you. But next time, I’m going tie you up, make you beg. That’s a promise, baby.”

  Beg for what? I wonder. Beg him to stop? Beg him to keep going?

  As if reading my mind, he says, “Later on, you’re going to be begging me to fuck you like this. But right now, I’m going to make this tight pussy mine.”

  His answer to my unspoken question pushes me right over the edge. For the first time since we’ve begun, my body goes slack, losing all its fight as the orgasm pushes to the surface so sharply, it’s verging on pain.