In His Arms: A Nature of Desire Series Novel Read online

  Slowly, she turned to face him. "You said that to tease me."

  He did that more often now at the store. Kept her smiling, sometimes even getting her to tease him back, though it still startled her when she did it, like discovering a room in her house she hadn’t even known was there.

  "She'd actually be good in the store,” Rory pointed out. “I wasn’t teasing about that.”

  "No. The pretty part."

  "Yeah. On that I was maybe teasing you.” He cocked his head. “It got you riled. A riled woman has a special light to her. My dad used to say that to my mom when she was getting worked up. It usually made her smile. Unless his timing was off, in which case she might swing a skillet like that at his head."

  "Hmph." She moved to the sink, lifted the bottle of dish liquid.

  "Don't—”

  But she’d already pivoted and squirted it, a strong blue stream that hit him mid-chest and could penetrate his shirt like cold fingers.

  She’d done it so quickly, her impulsiveness hit her a beat after the fact, giving her a surge of near-terror and an inexplicable burst of laughter, captured somewhere under her breastbone. He put his hands on his push rims.

  “Give me that bottle.”

  She scampered in front of the table as he pursued, but she had to be quick. His current chair was designed for optimal maneuverability. She remembered the day he’d been working on it in the back shop of the store, how he’d explained it to her. He’d had the casters drawn to the inside of the main wheels, which made the chair less stable, but gave it a smaller width and minimal turning radius. Just like an experienced bike rider didn’t need training wheels or a heavier frame, instead preferring a stripped-down sports bike, an advanced wheelchair user like himself didn’t need the additional stability.

  However, a small space was a small space, and it worked against him. It worked against her, too. She’d slipped by him into her bedroom, and that was where she made her mistake, because now he blocked the door. The only way out was the window.

  He gave her an amused look as she eyed it. “Really?”

  She shrugged, but realized he’d done it. He’d really made her feel better. The school stuff was still there, but he was right. It was just a bump in the road, not a major thing. And he’d said he’d go with her.

  If he went with her, she could do it. Maybe she should be ashamed about that. Or maybe she could trust him when he said that it was nothing to be ashamed of at all.

  Her bed was between them. She was considering her next move, which might be dashing over the top of it if he tried to come around, but then he took a different tactic. One she had a really hard time resisting, especially when the smile on his face gave way to something else. Something quiet and considering. Intent.

  “Come here,” he said, holding out his hand.

  When he used that tone, other things happened to her. Everything inside became still, and her thoughts and movements aligned, focused on what he was telling her. That was happening more and more, too, when she was around him.

  Now she came out from behind the bed. Instead of taking her hand, he closed a hand around her wrist, above the bracelet.

  “I should spank you,” he said quietly. “What do you think of that?”

  She suspected he’d intended it to come out teasing, a joke. But her reaction wasn’t that way at all. That stillness expanded, even as her heart thudded a little more powerfully and her fingers curved over his on her wrist. Her breath was short and quick in her throat.

  She’d never been spanked. She’d only seen it shown on TV, a parent doing it to prove they cared about a child by offering discipline, structure, love.

  She also remembered the stories about him and his sister Les routinely wrestling as kids. Mostly it had been one-sided, him wrestling her to the ground when the mood took him. He’d said Les was a scrappy and dirty fighter, so once he had her down, he’d slap her ass, giving her a spanking like his parents, just to make her madder.

  Thinking about those two things together gave Daralyn an odd mix of feelings, emotional and physical. Her fingers had tightened further over his, and his gaze had gone heated. It moved from her fingers, up to her parted lips.

  “I think you like the idea,” he said. “I know I do.”

  She couldn’t speak, but she couldn’t look away, and when he put pressure on his grip, his eyes on hers telling her what he wanted, she accepted his will. She lowered her gaze and nodded, just the slightest of movements.

  After he locked his brakes, he brought her down over his lap. Slowly. She could sense he was watching her carefully, hardwired to determine if she had any negative feelings about it. She knew he cared about her, wouldn’t want to hurt her. She felt nothing but a desire for him to hold her like this, do what he’d threatened so playfully. But her response to it wasn’t playful. It wasn’t bad, either.

  Only Rory could do take her from tears to an impulsive playfulness to something she couldn’t describe, but most everyone would think she couldn’t handle.

  Her ponytail tumbled forward over her shoulder. He put one hand in the center of her back, below her shoulder blades. Her bra strap was under her shirt, under his palm, an intimacy that increased her awareness of his touch. She thought about him unhooking it, getting it out of the way so her breasts would press against his thighs. He had some sensation toward the top of them. She’d heard him mention that and wondered if he would feel her nipples against his skin as intensely as she felt the pressure of his legs now, through the thin shirt she wore.

  He loosened the band around her ponytail, letting her hair fall free over her shoulders. As she curled her fingers over his push rim, her other hand dropped to his shin to latch onto his jeans. Her hold constricted when he stroked through her hair. As she inhaled, she could smell the fragrant dishwashing liquid on his shirt front, mixed with his warm male scent.

  She had a full-length mirror in here. Les and his mother had added it to the room. By adjusting the chair a few inches, he could now see her fully, how she was stroking his shin, the little movements of her fingers. He made a noise of pleasure and approval, so she didn’t stop. She rested her cheek on his leg.

  “So how many swats does squirting me earn?”

  The question, issued in a tone of dry humor, summoned a small smile, then a little giggle when he tickled her sides, making her squirm. She went still again as he dug his fingers deeper into her hair.

  “I’ve thought about brushing this,” he said, low. “I’d have you kneel at my feet while I do it. Maybe with you wearing nothing but a robe.”

  He’d never talked to her like that, and her mind ran wild with the possibilities, even as her body flattened under the petting. He’d turned his attention to the hand on her back, and what was below it. He molded his palm over her buttocks, traced the middle seam of her jeans, separating the cheeks. It didn’t do that when she was standing, her body too thin and the jeans too loose.

  There was a quiver going through her, little shivers of the flesh. He was treating her like a woman.

  He lifted his hand and gave her a firm smack at the widest part of her backside, sweeping upward. If she’d been naked, the impact would have made the cheeks wobble.

  A little gasp broke from her, her thighs wanting to loosen. He did it again. She opened her hand, closed it on his shin, on the wheel rim. The sensation was indescribable. She wanted to wiggle but remain motionless, all at once.

  He did it five times. Feelings ricocheted around her insides like fired bullets, full of heat and urgency to find a target. When he started to lift her, she couldn’t make herself loosen her grip on his jeans leg. With a chuckle, he gently disengaged her. His voice was husky to her ears. Weighed down with hunger.

  “Like lifting one of the barn cats off my lap.”

  He brought her to her feet, shifting his grip back to her wrist, a loose clasp above the chain. As he rubbed a thoughtful circle over her pulse with his thumb, her hair fell forward around her face, and he brushed it back, gave her a look.

  “You gonna squirt me with dishwashing liquid again?”

  His smile inspired an uncertain one of her own. She felt unsteady, everything throbbing. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

  “Good answer. Best answer possible. I'm taking you to dinner Friday,” he said. “All right?”

  She lifted her gaze to him. “Okay. Yes.”

  “Wear a dress and leave your hair down, fixing it the way you did for church last week."

  Now he’d surprised her enough she ventured a question. "Why?"

  He smiled a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. A whole lot of other things took up the space there as he looked at her. "Because during the service, the morning sun came through the windows. The light touched your hair and haloed you in different colors, like the angel you are.”

  He tightened his grip, watched her lips part again. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it ever since."

  Chapter Four

  Two days later, they were facing another school day. And Rory was still thinking about the night in her cottage with every other breath.

  The whole world would have wondered if he’d lost his mind, proceeding like he had, with the spanking and everything attached to that. Sex had to have all sorts of confusing, possibly traumatic implications for her. Yet he thought of how many people treated him like he was an egg, capable of breaking with the slightest pressure.

  Daralyn wasn’t an egg. She was fragile, and she’d been through hell. But she’d damn well earned the right to be treated like a woman, when that desire was so clearly showing itself. And she deserved that right from someone who would chop off his two functioning limbs to keep from hurting her.

  No, he hadn't known if spanking her was a good idea, no matter how much he
'd liked it or she'd seemed to. But Marcus’s words had filled his mind. Don’t second guess your instincts. His instincts had said he should move forward with learning what felt good to her.

  Any concern he might have had about whether even playful corporal punishment would summon bad memories for her had been relieved by the clear signs of her interest and arousal at the idea. It sure as hell got him going. The air in the room had become thick and heavy, things slowing down so he could hear her breath, short and quick in her throat.

  He recalled the way her breasts had pushed up against his thigh, causing the neckline of the shirt to gap. Over the cup of her bra, he’d been able to see the pink circle hinting at her nipple. He’d wanted to play with it. Use his mouth and suckle it deep.

  Need had surged through him, a desire to plumb this feeling for them both, see how deep and broad it was. Fortunately, he’d had the good sense to rein it back. Though stopping after five swats was more difficult than tying a string to one of his teeth and attaching it to a swinging door, he had done it. There was a sharp sweetness to taking just a taste.

  He remembered her intriguing reluctance to let Amanda Brewster pick up the slack at the store. He and Amanda had dated in high school. After he’d landed in the chair, they’d reconnected for a short time. But that hadn’t been about a relationship, not that way. She’d just been a friend from high school who’d been there when he needed…a spotter. For the thing a guy felt the most uncertain about, after losing a lot of his functionality below the belt line.

  As a result of that initial experience, and everything he’d built upon and around it since, he could see the possibilities for a relationship far more clearly. Particularly one with the remarkable woman he was about to take to school.

  Daralyn had put her books together, checked her supplies, and was emerging from the restroom, just as Elaine was coming in the front door, ready to take over until closing hours. Daralyn had changed out of her work clothes into the same pretty blue shirt and new dark blue jeans she’d had on the other day. He imagined she’d hung the outfit back up in the closet, keeping it ready for this second attempt.

  She’d also put his bracelet back on.

  The day after the night in the cottage, when she came in to work, he’d called her up to the counter, had her extend her wrist. He’d seen the flash of dismay when he’d taken out the pliers. He liked knowing she didn’t want to take it off, but he placed his hand over it, caressing her wrist and the top of her hand.

  “I don’t want you wearing this at work, because it isn’t safe to wear jewelry while operating store equipment, like the knife sharpener and chain cutter.”

  “Of course.” Her expression had gone blank. “And…you probably want your ring back.”

  “Long as you have it, I know where it is.” In preparation for this moment, he’d found a clip and added it to the bracelet, showing it to her so she knew it would be easy to put it back on herself. Then he laid the whole thing into her palm and folded her fingers over it. “You can keep it, long as you need it. If you feel better wearing it for school or when it’s not a danger to you to have it on, that’s fine by me.”

  Though it gave him intense pleasure to see it on her, he wouldn’t tell her that, because he was interested in seeing how much she would wear it for herself. She’d tucked it in her pocket that day, and since then he’d noted she put her hand in there pretty often. Now, while wearing it, she was worrying the ring with two fingers, rolling it against the heel of her palm. She was paler than when she’d gone into the restroom, but she was holding.

  He could deal with that. Despite his mother moving behind the counter, setting her stuff down, he met Daralyn’s eyes as if they were the only two people here, and gestured to bring her over to him.

  He closed his hand over her wrist, the bracelet, gave them both a light press. “It’s going to be a good night,” he said.

  He saw a little color come back. “You’ll be there.”

  “I’ll be there.”

  She drew a breath and gave him a ghost of a smile, but it was there.

  Rory glanced over his shoulder at his mom. From how studiously she was changing the login on the cash register, he knew she was taking in every detail. He bit back his own smile. “You got this, Mom?”

  “Why do you always ask me that? I was working in this store side by side with your father—”

  “Way back when you were carrying Thomas. You would have had him right here behind the counter and gotten right back to work, if Dad hadn’t insisted on that hospital nonsense. I know.” He flashed her a grin. “But that was before you got old.”

  She picked up the fly swatter hanging by the register and threatened him with it. “I can still work three people your age under the table,” she retorted, but her eyes twinkled. “Off with you two.”

  “I’m really sorry about—” Daralyn started, and then stopped as Rory applied pressure to her wrist. Her gaze snapped to him.

  “I asked my mother to come in and help. My decision. Right?”

  Her mouth opened. Closed. He didn’t dare look at his mother. If she was as surprised as Daralyn, he didn’t want to dilute the moment with self-consciousness.

  “Let’s go,” he said. “Do you have your stuff?”

  Daralyn hesitated, then nodded. “Yes, Rory.”

  As she went toward his van, they were side by side. He opened the passenger door for her and she hoisted herself into the seat, putting the backpack between her feet. “Thank you.”

  A flashback cut through his mind. Him, after one of the football games, with his girlfriend at the time, Emily Waters. When Rory obtained his license, Dad had let him have one of the farm pickups to run around in. Rather than letting Emily step on the running plate and put herself into the seat, Rory had done it, lifting her with all those easily won muscles from farming and football. He remembered her flush and bright eyes, her laughter, as he set her down. He’d tugged her hair, given her a grin.

  Forcing himself not to recollect the negative things down that road, he reached up and clasped Daralyn’s braid, tugged it. She smiled, which made him feel better, too.

  He closed the door and came around. A remote opened the side door, laid down the ramp. He rolled in, transferred himself out of his chair to the driver’s seat. After he turned it on its swivel to position himself, he locked it in place. The movement brushed his shoulder against her. Figuring what the hell, he stroked her hair off her neck, laid a kiss on her collar bone. Her breath drew in, a little shudder, her cheek brushing against his temple. Then he casually straightened, turning over the ignition.

  As he drove the hand-controlled vehicle, he prompted conversation about tonight’s classes. It helped distract her, though he could feel her studying him as they talked. That was okay. If the kiss had distracted her as well, it would add to the things keeping her stress down to a manageable level.

  Yeah, it was all selfless on his part.

  It didn’t take too long to get there. Their small annex community college fondly took him back to memories of high school. Probably because it had been set up in the old middle school building that dated back to the eighties. Their county didn’t rate a lot of funding for new buildings, so they’d made do with this one. He’d been here before for other town events, and knew the place had ramps, but nothing fancy, like the ADA-mandated mechanized doors of newer campuses. And since it wasn’t a large community college, there weren’t many handicap spaces, but at least they were easy to find, and he was in luck tonight, because a couple of them were open, including the one that provided a wider space for a vehicle with a ramp.

  He saw a bunch of people toting backpacks, scrolling through tablets or phones. Everyone moving this way and that, in groups or alone. The main difference between this scene and high school was the mix of age groups, but fifty percent or more were in their late teens or early twenties.

  As he took in the scene, he was aware of the ball of tension in his gut, but he knew what it was, and it was okay. He’d been so focused on helping Daralyn, he’d forgotten the one drawback for him, when around a bunch of unfamiliar people. While interacting with new customers or delivery drivers he hadn’t met before, he got small doses of it. But surrounded by a sizeable number of people close to his own age, he felt it more keenly.