Page 33 of Daddy's Little Librarian
Chapter Twelve
Kurt came to lying on his back in the hallway between the bathroom and the stairs with a warm, comfortable, coconut-scented lump lying on top of him: Scotti, grunting softly as she wriggled back and forth on his chest.
He took a deep breath of her, a slow smile drawing across his lips as he felt the heat of her hips squirming over his, the pillowy softness of her breasts mashed against him, and the tickling caress of her hair against his neck and cheek. Not yet awake enough to wonder how they’d got this way, he was still a red-blooded convict fresh out of prison, and he didn’t need awareness to have a red-blooded physical reaction to the nearness of a very attractive woman
“Oh, wow,” Scotti said and abruptly stopped wriggling. She drew back a few inches to look down between them, no doubt at the erection rising up to prod at her. “Oh… oh, wow!”
He smiled. “Good morning, beautiful.”
Glancing up at him now, her eyes were as wide as dinner plates. “Kurt?”
“Want to get frisky before work?” He wiggled his eyebrows.
“Seriously?” she asked, not looking the slightest bit amorous. “Snap out of it or I’m going to hit you, and it won’t be in the head!”
It wasn’t until he moved to hold her that he became aware of something being wrong. There was an uncomfortable lump under the small of his back. His hands, he suddenly realized, were tied tightly at the wrist. And he’d been lying on them for quite a while, because not only were his fingers numb beyond the point of tingling, but fire-hot agony stabbed up through his shoulders when he tried to move his arms. That’s when it all came flooding back to him.
“Oh, hell,” he groaned, closing his eyes again. “Where’s Gopher?”
“Finally, you get my name right.”
Heavy clumping footsteps came into the dining room from the kitchen, and Kurt opened his eyes in time to see Scotti’s ex, a butcher’s cleaver dangling from one hand, crossing the floor to them. Dark hair, dark eyes, tall and lean as a scarecrow, he started down the hallway toward them.
Scotti froze, flinching when she saw what he carried, but Gopher wasn’t looking at her. His jealous stare was locked on Kurt, and he continued to adjust his grip on the cleaver even as he circled all the way around them once before stopping above his head. Kurt had to tip his head back to look up at him. Which put him right at eyeball level with the tip of the cleaver when Gopher hunkered down, arms draped over his knees, to look at him.
“You,” Gopher said, tipping his head and finally looking at Scottie, “promised faithfulness and loyalty when you signed yourself over into my care as your dominant.”
Kurt could feel her slight trembling, but it did not show in her voice when she replied, “You were supposed to be loyal too, but you had an affair.”
“That doesn’t mean I loved her.”
“You threatened to kill me when I said we were over. You have threatened me so many times no one believes me when I tell them anymore. You slashed my bed with your knife.”
“That doesn’t mean I don’t love you,” he cautioned.
“Gopher.” Scotti grunted softly as she tried to rise up far enough to meet his eyes instead of his knife. “It’s over. I don’t love you anymore. Not like a devoted submissive should love her Dom. Please get it through your head, because we’re done.”
The cleaver wavered as Gopher gripped and re-gripped the handle, and Kurt had to turn his head to one side as the blade dropped an inch, almost close enough to touch his forehead.
“Uh, Scottie,” he said, not entirely sure if bringing Gopher’s attention back to him was a good idea right now, but… “Ix-nay on the ear-Day ohn-Jay.”
Jaw clenching, Gopher shifted his angry stare back to him. “Would you like to be on the top or bottom?”
“Of?” Kurt asked, fairly certain that he wasn’t going to like the answer.
“The shallow unmarked grave I’ve been digging in the backyard.” Gopher stood. “Excuse me, I need to get back to work if I want to be all cleaned up by dawn. Call me when you’ve made your decision, will you?”
He turned and walked back to the kitchen, and a moment later Kurt heard the sliding glass door open. “He’s really very polite for a man named Gopher.”
“He’s also a very fast digger,” Scotti said, throwing herself back into her warmish wriggles against her bonds.
“How are we connected?”
“Around the waist, but only once,” she panted. “He didn’t have enough rope.”
“I feel it now.” Ignoring the pain in his shoulders, he lifted his hips, trying to get his bound wrists under his butt. He stopped when she said, “Hang on, don’t do that.”
He lay still, listening to her soft pants of pain as she strained.
