Page 31 of Home in the Country
She was one of the first people to really show me any kind of warmth and compassion. Texas born and raised, she comes from a family of ranchers and a lavish lifestyle. Her husband, Harrison, is almost fifteen years her senior, and their quick nuptials raised more than a few eyebrows, I’ve been told.
In fact, as far as I know, no one actually knows the story of how they met, and I’ve always found that oddly romantic.
Rumors circulated that she married him for his money and status, but she has more than enough of both all on her own. I’ve never seen her be anything less than a doting and loving wife, and Harrison the same in return.
By the time we say goodbye, it’s well after eleven, and I know I’ll be tired in the morning.
My phone vibrates twice in quick succession, and I expect to see a message from Bianca, but I couldn’t be more wrong.
The first message from Otto is the address to his house and a time for Friday night. The second message is something else entirely.
OTTO: Dress. No panties.
10
OTTO
Fallon pulls into my driveway on Friday night, and I wonder for the millionth time if I’m doing the right thing. I cooked dinner and I still don’t know why exactly.
She rings the bell, which no one ever uses, and I open the door but don’t step aside.
“Are you sure this is what you want?” I ask.
“Yes.” My gaze drifts down her body and the deliciously innocent-looking dress she’s wearing. It’s red with little white polka dots all over it and a line of buttons that run down the entire length of the dress.
Allowing her entry, I close the door and step around her into the kitchen.
“Well, you wore a dress. What about the other thing I asked?”
“It was more of a demand, don’t you think?”
I glare at her because I, along with a shot of whiskey late that night, had been pretty bold. “I’ll take that as a no.”
Taking a step forward, I hold out my hand. She eyes it cautiously before meeting my gaze.
“Now, Fallon.”
My tone is hard, and her mouth forms a surprised O. Taking another step into her, I hear her breath catch in her throat. She has to tilt her head back to look at me.
Submissive.
And right now, she’s mine. “You got to call the shots last time. Now it’s my turn.”
Her swallow would be audible had it not been for the blood pounding in my ears. Moving back, I watch as she moves shaking hands up the hem of her dress to move her panties down her legs. She steps out of them, and I glance down at my outstretched hand. Obediently, she places the small scrap of lace in my palm.
I don’t think about how I can still feel how hot she is for me, and Idefinitelydon’t think about how the smell of her arousal is now imprinted on my brain. I toss her panties onto the counter beside me—like I’m unaffected by this exchange, like this doesn’t tear out my insides.
Face impassive, I lead her to the table I have set for dinner. Her body stills as she sees I’ve gone all out.
“Otto, what is all this?”
“My conditions.”
“Dinner?” The word is almost a squeak, and I’m happy to know that she’s feeling a fraction of what I am. I spin on her so fast, I startle her and she stumbles just a bit.
“You want to fuck and run? Go find someone else.” The words are out of my mouth before I can think better of them. My mother would use a bar of soap on me, but I couldn’t care less in this moment.
“You’re acting like you have some hold on me or something. Like you took my virginity or whatever. We have an agreement, and dinner is already pushing it.” She’s trying to act tough, but even after all these years I still know her.
