Page 16 of Fearless
Like that should make a difference, she wanted the rest of her to argue, but in some weird way… it did make a difference. It was all she could smell, the sunshine, the dust and leather of his boots, the faint spice of his deodorant or soap, and the warm coffee spreading through the house. It made such a difference that, standing there, staring at him with those whips in his hand, her nipples budded into tight little peaks and a single thump of warm neglect pulsed between her tensing legs. She clutched her towel, tightening her thighs in an effort to kill the sensation, but like ripples on a still pond, that thump spread up through her belly, becoming a series of smaller pulses that she could feel steadily throbbing out through her sex and into her womb.
He was waiting. Expecting her to say something, but her throat was too tight. She thrust out her arm, pointing toward her bedroom.
He tipped his head.
“Th-there’s death in my room,” she finally managed.
He didn’t exactly smile, but his eyebrows arched. “Death?”
“It went under the bed.”
“I see. All right.” Faintly bemused, he dropped his whips on the end of the dining table and headed down the hall.
Her feet rooted her to the floor, but the farther he went, the stronger the pull became for her to follow. Helplessly, she gave in. He was pushing open her bedroom door before she found the courage to slip into the hallway behind him. By the time she reached her temporary bedroom door, he was cautiously picking through her fallen bedding.
Oh God, she’d forgotten about the strap. She clutched her towel tighter, praying he wouldn’t notice, but he did. Picking it up, he said nothing, he simply put it on the bed next to her wadded up quilt. Getting down on his knees, he looked underneath.
“Well, hello there,” he said and reached into the shadows beneath.
“Oh my God.” Her body erupted in a whole new wave of spasmatic shivers. She ran back to the bathroom, quickly shutting the door so she wouldn’t have to see him climbing to his feet with that spider in his hand.
The heavy clump of his boots travelled past the bathroom door and down the hall.
“Get your clobbers on,” he called from the front door. And in a softer voice, no doubt to the spider, he crooned, “Sheilas, yeah? They just don’t understand. When the mating call hits, sometimes a bloke has to go walk-about. Go on with you. Betcha there’s a girlfriend under the porch.”
She heard the unmistakable open and closing of the front door again.
Prickling tingles danced all the way up her back and down into the hardened points that her nipples had become. She was stranded in Australia, in the middle of nowhere, with the Spider Whisperer.
And why in the hell was her pussy throbbing to that?
Chapter 6
By the time Kitty got her act together and her clothes on, all the spider-induced fear she had felt earlier had morphed into a deep sense of embarrassment. On the other hand, she had never in her life checked the inside of her shoes quite as thoroughly as she did before she slipped her feet into them. And when she walked back down the hall to see where Noah had gone, what she found was the coffee completely made, but untouched. The breakfast preparations were still sitting on the stove. Noah was also sitting, but at the table, reading a newspaper.
“They’re saying record highs today,” he mentioned, as if it were the most casual thing in the world that she be left standing in the middle of his kitchen, at a complete loss for what to do. Everything in here felt like a silent directive and yet, it wasn’t one she was familiar with.
Out in the dining room, Noah had positioned himself at the head of the table, legs crossed and comfortable in his chair. The closest to him, however, had been pulled out. Again, another silent directive, complete with the brightly-colored cover of a magazine and another newspaper neatly folded on top of it. He never said one word, but it felt like a choice. She could either go out there and sit down, or… she looked from the hot coffeemaker to the items on the stove.
A current of absolute electrified nervousness shot from the back of her head all the way down her spine, jolting into her hands and her legs. Her fingers buzzed from the scariness. Was this a test to see if she’d do the obedient thing? What was the obedient thing, making him breakfast or joining him at the table until he told her what he wanted her to do?
A second electrifying jolt hit her—part terror, part… was this excitement? She couldn’t tell, she hadn’t felt such a thing in so long—but maybe, what he was waiting for her to do was serve him.
Hands shaking, she hesitantly picked up one of the two waiting coffee mugs.
“Two creams, love,” Noah said, turning the folded paper over to continue reading. “One sugar, if you please.”
It felt surreal, but she fixed him a cup and would have brought it to him, but he stopped her when he said, “Make yourself one too, if you like. I prefer we have our coffee together.”
She hesitated. Ethen had preferred to be served first. Always. It felt very odd to pause and make herself a cup of coffee with Noah still waiting for his. Then what was she going to do, sit at the table and drink it with him?
An ocean of anxiety pricked by the unknown swelling inside her, Kitty carried both mugs out to the table. It felt surprisingly good when she finally set his cup in front of him. It felt like the tiniest, most insignificant return to normal.
Conversely, it felt awkward as hell to sit on the chair he’d so obviously pulled out for her, but that didn’t last long. The second her butt made contact with the hard wood of the seat, Noah set his newspaper aside, scooted back his chair and, with a smile that seemed perfectly genuine and completely lacking any ominous foreboding of punishments to come, announced, “I’ll make the tucker.”
And leave her sitting here, with coffee in her hands while he served her?
Erupting out of her chair, Kitty ran back to the kitchen. She ducked behind the stove, shaking her hands as though they were covered in ants as she fitfully paced in tight, tiny, silent circles. From refrigerator to wall, she was careful to stay well back from the open doorway so he wouldn’t see it. He was testing her. This felt like a test. It had to be a test, and she’d failed it somehow, she was sure of it. Dropping to a squat, she hugged her instantly roiling stomach, squeezing tight until the queasiness subsided, then covered her eyes with a shaky hand and pulled her stupid self together.
