Page 186 of Dirty Discipline, Vol. 1

“You do? How?”

“I know everything, little one. Everything about you is innocence and inexperience. It’s beautiful. Do you know my name?”

I shake my head. “No.”

“Stephan. Kirby.”

I peer up at him, and he pulls me tighter. I feel oddly warm and safe. “Stephan?” I taste the sound, letting it hiss over my tongue and lips. “Like Steven?”

“I’m of German descent. Stephan.”

“Oh. Have you visited?”

He shakes his head. “Not yet. I have relatives there, but I don’t expect… Never mind. Maybe one day. Who knows.”

What isn’t he saying? Why does he live alone? I see someone who has been deeply wounded, and it scares me, because I’m pulled to wounded, pulled to nurturing. Most of the time, it’s plants. On occasion, Mom. Sometimes, someone who’s lived with us until they got back on their feet. I tend to give my every ounce of energy. It will be my demise one day unless I learn to conserve it.

“I’ve never been abroad.” A pinch of envy nips at my chest.

“But you’ve traveled.”

“I have but… you can’t possibly know that.” From state to state. My whole life. Mom isn’t one to settle down. A year here, a year there. I’ve learnt a lot about geography and psychology, about surviving on nothing, about fixing broken cars, seeking temporary shelter from the cold and the rain, about finding the good people among a sea of broken and even dangerous. I’ve learned that I hate the damp heat in Florida as much as the bone-numbing cold in Colorado. I’ve learned that I love mangroves, the Mississippi delta, and redwood forests.

Yeah, I’ve traveled, but never for the pure fun of it.

“I recognize a fellow vagabond, Summer.”

My heart aches, for him as much as for myself. I do, too.

And that’s part of this big great pull I feel. The dangerous, all-consuming turning-my-life-on-its-head pull. He’s a true adventurer. I’m one, too, or so I consider my restless soul. I want to see, be, learn, experience. I want to hop on that bike of his, wrap my arms around his waist, lean my cheek against his back, and inhale the rich scent of leather.

And I’m dreaming up ridiculous things about a man I don’t know.

Chapter Four

Stephan

She arrives the next day, like I commanded her. She’s flustered, and filled with nervous energy, sweaty as summer progresses and the days get hotter. She’s been out trekking for an eternity. I woke up an hour ago. I put her in the shower. She comes out with nothing but a towel, and the sight makes my balls ache.

Her third lesson is to not tease a sex-deprived monster.

When she leaves, I’m literally in pain from needing a release so bad, and by the look on her face, her worst pain isn’t the one on her ass cheeks.

Her fourth lesson is to always eat a nutritious breakfast before she heads out. From that day forward, she always tells me what she ate.

Her fifth lesson is to dress more sensibly for long days in the forest.

“You don’t get to decide what I wear!” Her cheeks blossom with her indignation.

I move in on her and back her up against a wall. “You have promised to obey me, Miss Jones.”

“Like… yeh, but—”

I put my mouth to her ear and a palm loosely on her throat. “Is this your limit? The hill you want to die on? Because I can promise you will find more worthy battles.” I move my hand down her chest to cup her breast, then further down and push it between her legs. My little bunny whimpers and grinds against me.

The electricity between us, the pull, increases each day. When I touch her, caress her to the brink of release, she turns from an ethereal angel to a horny slut. Horny for me.

I’m used to experienced women. I’m used to taking what I want with no hesitation.

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