Page 34 of A Shot in the Dark
My heart pounds faster at even this little bit of information he’s providing. “Like a tractor trailer or…?”
“Not a tractor trailer. Don’t like the way they handle. Had a beast of a pickup.” He shrugs.
“I like that.”
“Had a dog, too.” His gaze flicks to mine and he arches one beautiful eyebrow at me.
“What was your dog’s name?”
“Spot.”
“I knew a dog named Spot once.”
“Hasn’t everyone?”
“True. I used to have a horse,” I return. “Nutter Butter. ”
“I ride. Well, I did.” There’s a note of regret in his voice that’s unmistakable. “Played around at rodeo. Briefly.”
It takes all of my self-control not to visualize him on the back of a bucking bronco. It’s surprising the mirror hasn’t filled with fresh steam from the heat rolling out of my imagination.
“No more truck?”
“No more truck, no more dog. I’m a bit like a country song, I guess,” he remarks wistfully.
“Sounds like a sad one—so much loss…”
“Mmhm,” he murmurs. “Did I hurt you?” he asks, lifting my towel-dried hair up off my neck to inspect his earlier handiwork.“Shit.” He lowers my hair gently. “Sorry… I was…” His volume drops to a bare and breathy whisper. “Shit. I kinda lost my head there for a moment.”
I snort. “Oh, I knewexactlywhere your head was the whole time,” I tease.
His lips curl. “You dirty little vixen…” he growls, eyes glowing as he presses tight to me, herding me out of the bathroom and backwards until the backs of my legs brush the bed.
“I’m okay right now. You don’t have to…”
He grabs the top of the towel and opens it, looking me up and down appreciatively. “Maybe not everything’s always about you,” he says, throwing me onto the bed and mauling me like I’m raw meat and he’s a ravenous beast. The way he lavishes every inch of me with such relentless and worshipful attention, I know he’s wrong.
It’s allalwaysabout me.
Chapter 11
Boots’ belt chafes against my wrists but the light touch of his heavy hands skimming across my bare breasts holds more of my attention. I have discovered that among the things which stoke my desire is the knowledge that my words, my consent or lack of it, is the axis on which an entire world of pleasure turns. The power of handing over my consent is headiest when I know I can reclaim my agency at any fucking time. That level of control…that’s hot. And for all the times Boots has suggested I have the option of deploying my safe word, I have never yet felt a need.
But who doesn’t tap the brakes on a car before taking it out for a spin?
“Mercedes.” It takes all my power to force the word out—it’s so close to a lie… I shove it out of my mouth and at first, I’m worried he may not have heard it because it’s spoken so softly, so reluctantly. He is absolutely attuned to everything about me, hearing each groan, each breath, and has discovered what the tone of each means.
He immediately scrambles back—out of me, off of me—asking, “Are you all right?” as he rushes to release the belt. Myarms drop at my sides and I simply lie there, watching him. “I’m fine…”
“What happened? Did I do something wrong? Did I hurt you?”
“No, I…”
“What?”
It sounds so stupid now. “I needed to know…”
“Know?” His expression is one of absolute confusion. “Know what?”
