Page 62 of Renard's Deliverance

She wasn’t sure if that was agreement or not, but then he drew the truck over and did a U-turn.

“Thank you,” she told him. There was a long pause. “Soo, you like causing people pain?”

“I enjoy the control. I like giving people what they need. There’s a number of people that go to Saxon’s especially to see me. Men and women who want some pain, who need it. I’m not a damn therapist. I’m a guy who’s good with a whip and a paddle and who likes to cause pain. But only to someone who wants it. I hate tears any other time. You should know that for future reference.”

“Um, are you telling me not to cry?” she asked.

“Unless it’s during a scene, yes.”

“Pretty sure that you can’t just tell someone not to cry,” she told him. “And I’m not really a crier, but I’m willing to bet that there will be instances where I cry in the future.”

“Not liking that at all,” he grumbled.

Okay.

Why did she now feel like smiling? It felt like she was going through a full gamut of emotions.

But the petulance in his voice over the idea of her crying . . . except when she was in a scene . . . yeah, it was making her grin.

“You can’t control everything, you know,” she pointed out gently.

“I don’t know. I think I can try.”

A giggle escaped her.

“Why are you laughing?”

“It’s just . . . you sound so put out over the idea of me in tears.”

“I just don’t want you to be upset.”

Okay.

That was sweet.

He just kept surprising her.

“Unless you’re causing the tears,” she said huskily.

“Yep, by paddling your ass.”

“Have I scared you?” he asked.

“I don’t scare easily,” she replied.

“That isn’t answering my question, Gem.”

She took in a deep breath, wincing again. Damn, her back hurt. It hadn’t been this bad earlier but something about the way Dean had grabbed her had tweaked it.

“I don’t think I’m a masochist.” This was a weird conversation to have. Weren’t they just friends?

“I didn’t think so,” he replied calmly. “And you don’t have to be one.”

“Right. I mean, we’re just friends, right? So it doesn’t matter if you’re a sadist and I’m a brat looking for a Daddy figure.”

“You want a Daddy Dom?” he asked.

“Hmm. Maybe? I don’t know. I like what one represents, but I’m not . . . I’m not a Little. I don’t necessarily need to call someone Daddy. But I like the idea of someone who isn’t afraid to call me out when I go too far. Who can handle my sassy side but also realizes that . . . that . . .”

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