Chapter Eight

SAM WOKE HER TWICEduring the night.

The first time was with a warm wet cloth moving between her thighs as he washed her.

A bit groggy, she propped up on her elbows and looked down at him, only able to see the outline of his head and broad shoulders in the still dark room. "Is it morning already?"

"No," he replied in a voice gruff from sleep. "But I can't wait that long to have you again."

He pitched the cloth somewhere in the vicinity of the hamper then used his thumbs to spread her pussy. His hot breath wafting over her cleared the sleepy cobwebs from her head quickly, and her desire ignited when he growled, "First, I have to have a taste."

With his lips, tongue, teeth, and fingers, Sam brought her to an arching, quivering, fingers-buried-in-his-hair, keening-loud-enough-to-wake-the-dead orgasm. The last shiver had passed when he kissed his way up her body, trailing his tongue over her belly, nibbling on her ribs, pausing to suck first one hard, rosy nipple into his mouth then the other and dotted more kisses up her throat. She saw a flash of white in the dark when his face hovered over hers and knew he was grinning.

"Now it's my turn." Sam rolled onto his back and lifted her on top. He thrust up when he pulled her hips down with his hands guiding her into the rhythm he liked. She rode him to orgasm, getting another for herself in the process.

The third time he woke her, he was curled behind her, his lips moving lightly over her shoulder, one hand between her thighs as he roused her body as well. When she opened her eyes to see pink-and-yellow streaks lighting up the dawn sky, she didn't protest the hour, or the lack of the caffeine she invariably needed to be functional. Those factors barely registered. She was too focused on his thumb slowly circling her clit, and the two long fingers buried deep inside her.

"Good morning, baby," he whispered in her ear.

With her head resting against his shoulder, she reached up and curled her fingers around the back of his neck. "Mornin', Daddy," she replied, a first-words-of-the-day rasp in her voice. Or it could be from desire, since her hips were already rolling forward to press eagerly against his hand. She turned her face into his neck. "How do you survive on so little sleep?"

"When there's a soft, warm, sweet-smelling woman in my bed, it's a waste of time to sleep."

He slid his fingers from her weeping channel and curled them around her inner thigh, lifting her leg on top of his. With little effort, he found her entrance and slid inside her easily, she was so wet.

"I'll pencil naptime into your schedule today. How does that sound?"

"Will you be here to take it with me?"

He chuckled as he pushed his hips forward, burying himself deep. "If I joined you, we'd have to call it something other than naptime. You're too tempting. I can't keep my hands off you."

He nudged her face to the side, and took her mouth with deep drugging kisses while the steady strokes of his cock brought them slowly to climax like he had all the time in the world.

It was glorious.

After a shower—together—and breakfast they made side by side, Sam took her out to the stable and handed her over to Curtis Pendleton, his stable manager. She spent the morning learning the job of a stable hand, though she felt like she was underfoot due to her daddy's work restrictions. At noon, they broke for lunch, and she didn't have more on her to-do list until her riding lessons at three o'clock. Krista skipped eating and headed straight up to Sam's bed, where she didn't stir until the alarm she'd set went off at 2:45.

The days settled into a routine after that.

Wake up early, morning sex, work until noon then she had time to herself until her late-afternoon riding lessons. She didn't need many. It was like riding a bike, and she soon had both Curtis and Sam's approval to hit the trails, with an escort until she became familiar with them. Her evenings were spent with Daddy, watching a movie, taking a walk down to the corral since—as he predicted—the cold snap had quickly come and gone. If she had a bedtime, as he'd alluded to that first day, she didn't know what it was because their evenings usually ended up with him carrying her to bed.

It wasn't because she fell asleep, but rather because cuddling on the couch turned amorous or a kiss under the stars turned heated. And, it wasn't because he waited until bed to have her, but because she was rubber-legged and unsteady after he fucked her bent over the arm of the couch, on the dining room table with her feet up by his shoulders, or with her back against a tree, her arms and legs curled around him like a spider monkey as he slammed into her so deep and hard, her cries of ecstasy prompting whinnies from the horses stabled in the barnyards away. He'd had her in that barn, too, laid out bare on a hay bale, the only thing between her body and the prickling straw her daddy's discarded shirt.

In the beginning, they were having so much sex there were a few times she'd been too tender to ride. She'd had to give Curt excuses for her missed lessons, either that she had a paper due or a test to study for, which wasn't true since school had only just started.

Those were the only days her routine really varied.

The first day of class, Sam had driven her to campus. When she was done, and she spotted the Super Duty truck with the Longleaf Ranch emblem on the side, she'd been disappointed to find Curtis behind the wheel after Sam had gotten tied up with work.

Near the end of her first week, around four a.m., before the chickens even thought about getting up, the phone rang. They needed the sheriff on the scene for another narcotics bust, where the drugs had to be measured in pounds, not ounces. As he got dressed, she heard him mutter about a goddamn crime spree under his breath, like they lived in fucking New York City, not a barrier island with limited access. Sam was angry, but she could also sense the building frustration at their lack of progress.

When he leaned over to kiss her goodbye, he tempered his speech. "Go back to sleep, darlin'. The crew won't even arrive for another hour."

"Be careful, Daddy."

"Always, little bit," he said against her lips then dotted a kiss on her nose and forehead. "See you tonight."

"You'd better," she called after him, her concern turning her voice sharp.

He turned at the door. "I haven't heard that snippy tone since you arrived. What's wrong?"

"They could have guns. Do you wear Kevlar? If not, you should."

"We haven't found weapons in any of the drug caches. There's no reason to think this one will be different, but we take precautions, baby, just in case."

She nodded, nervously clutching the sheets. "I'm sorry, but I know from experience, no matter how much you prepare, drug deals can go bad fast and people get killed."

"What experience?" he asked, returning to the bed to gaze down at her.

"My mom dealt with some really scary people. A few of them came to the house. One guy was in our living room alive and breathing one night, and the next they were loading his body bag for the medical examiner and broadcasting the hit on the five o'clock news."

"In Sweetwater?"

"Yeah, it's not as sweet as the name leads you to believe."

He sat on the edge of the bed and pulled her into his arms. "I'm good at what I do, and my staff is well trained. Don't let the sun and sand fool you." He kissed the top of her head. "I gotta go. Try not to worry."

Easier said than done.

One of the hands took her to school that morning, and, expecting one of them to pick her up after class, she found sexy Sheriff Sam wearing his white Stetson leaning against the side of his SUV. She could see appreciative gazes cast his way and felt an odd mix of pride and jealousy.

She hurried to him, not stopping until she was close enough to wrap her arms around his lean waist. As she hugged him tight, his arms came around her. Her head fell back, and she smiled up at him. "This is a nice surprise."

"I thought I'd take you to lunch before we head home."

"We?"

"Yeah, my shift started at 4:00 a.m., remember?"

"I do. I was there. So, does this mean you've solved the case?"

"Hardly, but less tired eyes are working on it for now. Are you hungry?"

"Starved. I didn't eat much breakfast."

He released her and opened the passenger door, waiting until she was buckled in before going around to his side. The engine rumbled to life with the push of a button. A half hour later, they had crossed the Wanaker bridge to the island and were pulling into a parking space at the Seaside Café. When she peeked through the windshield at the building and, a few minutes later, walked inside to the overwhelming smell of fried food, it seemed like any greasy spoon you could find anywhere. Her opinion changed when they slid into their booth and she was treated to a spectacular panoramic view of the ocean.

"The food is even better," Sam told her knowingly. "Which is why we locals do our best to keep this little gem a secret from the tourists on the strip."

After gazing out at the glistening blue water, watching one after another of the whitecapped waves rolling onto shore, and squinting to make out the ship just barely visible on the horizon, she pulled herself from the view, unable to imagine ever tiring of it if she lived to be one hundred. When she picked up her menu, she noticed his still resting on the table, untouched.

She glanced up to find him studying her instead. "Do you already know what you want?"

"I'm a regular. I doubt the menu is any different from the previous hundred times I've been in here. If you like corned beef, I recommend the Reuben, or their Spicy Shrimp Sandwich with Chipotle Avocado Mayo is also good."

The sound of so many of her favorite things in one sandwich made her mouth water. She didn't need to look further. "I'll take the shrimp with sweet tea, please."

"A true Southerner," he said with a smile.

When the waitress came by, he ordered for her. No man had ever done that before. It was nice, not that she couldn't do it herself, but it seemed like something a gentleman would do, and was another of the many intriguing facets of her daddy. After the woman left, their order committed to memory rather than jotted down on a ticket—something she'd tried once, ended up with a huge confused mess, and never attempted again—Krista looked around at the crowd and the view and considered how much her situation had changed in two weeks. She'd just left a class paid for by a man who was essentially her jailor, who had spanked her for cursing, worried over blisters that were nothing compared to the burns from the hot plates and grease spatters she was used to, and shared his home with her as well as his bed. In light of all of that and more, this had to be the strangest legal remedy on record.

Though she doubted Wanaker Landing society kept records on this sort of thing.

Her eyes came back to Sam. "So, lunch out, is this like a reward for a mediocre job and good behavior?"

"Don't sell yourself short, darlin'. Curt says you're a fast learner and work harder than some of his men. He wants to put you on the payroll."

"If it pays better than the Peerless, I might take him up on it."

"He was kidding. Besides, the work is during the day, and you've got school, soon to be full-time when your financial aid comes through. You won't have time for communing with the horses, and it's a long twice-daily commute from the city, especially when you calculate the delays at the toll stations."

From the city, when she moved back, after she'd served her sentence. How could she have forgotten? She loved ranch life—waking in her daddy's arms every morning, working in the stable, riding the breathtaking acreage and watching the sun set over the water, and lying down next to Sam at night feeling the good kind of tired that came from hard work, fresh air, and sunshine. She could easily live the rest of her life there, but the offered hadn't been extended, and her remaining days were dwindling.

Things were going so well between them, or at least she thought they were. Sam wasn't as serious as in the beginning. He smiled and laughed, and seemed to enjoy spending time with her. She'd even turned him into a passable cook. At least he wouldn't have to live on frozen or fast food if Lucinda decided to retire. And, best of all, the sex was phenomenal.

Considering all of that, she'd gotten it in her head there might be more for them beyond day thirty. Or maybe he wanted more.

What they'd done so far was basically vanilla stuff. For her, anything was an improvement over Brett, especially an orgasm, which Sam had no problem getting from her every time, and usually more than once. But there was none of the kinky stuff she knew he was used to. It was more than missionary in the dark—he took her on her knees, or he put her on top and had her ride him, and several times she took him in her mouth while kneeling at his feet, Yet, for a man who spoke of spanking for pleasure, there had been nothing going on in that arena.

Maybe she needed to prove she could be adventurous, too. Or, perhaps, give him a reason to take her over his knee. But did she dare?

"Krista, where did you go?"

She glanced up. Their drinks had arrived without her noticing. "Pardon?"

"You seemed far away. What were you thinking about?"

No way could she tell him. Furthering what they had to see where it could go was what she wanted, not what he'd signed on for.

"I was thinking about Curt's offer. He was just being nice." It was a little white lie, but to pull it off, she didn't dare look him in the eye, so she busied herself with her tea, first, unwrapping her straw then taking a long sip.

"You don't agree with his assessment?"

The waitress came with their food, which she didn't have much of an appetite for anymore. She waited until she'd left before answering.

"I work four hours a day at most, and they give me the easiest jobs, which is gender discrimination, but you won't hear me complaining. I get to work with the horses, which I adore. This is more like a vacation than a punishment. Again, not a complaint."

"You pull your weight by cooking breakfast and supper—"

"So do you."

"I help, with you directing. You also do the dishes, laundry—don't think I haven't noticed, although I pay Lucinda for that, too—have your riding lessons in the afternoons, and not least of all, your classes—"

"Which you paid for," she put in.

"Krista, I know you're used to being on your own and burning the candle at both ends, but what you were doing was too much. While you're with me, what's on your daily schedule is enough, and I think is deserving of a little reward."

While you're with me. Clearly, he wasn't looking beyond day number thirty.

She looked around to make sure the nearby customers were occupied, then lowered her voice and accused him of something else she wasn't going to protest too forcefully. "You're going easy on me because I'm sleeping with you."

"Oh, no," he said with a grin. "You won't catch me admitting to something that will get me accused of being gender biased."

"Fine, if you're satisfied with my performance—" She stopped when he laughed, and realized how that sounded. "My performance at work," she said pointedly, narrowing her eyes at him, though she wasn't upset—more like brokenhearted. This easy back-and-forth banter was another thing she'd miss. "I'm going to let this go since you were the one who told me early on I only had to please you."

He laughed louder at the double entendre.

She picked up a fry and bit into it, muttering, "You know what I mean. Just don't ask Lester about my job performance or what I did to his hat yesterday. It was an accident, although he probably thinks otherwise."

Folding his arms on the table, he leaned in, an amused look in his eyes. "This I gotta hear."

"He called me a pest."

"Did he have reason to?'

She leaned in, too, and in a soft, teasing voice reminded him, "I said don't ask, Daddy."

"Oh no! You brought it up, little girl. Now you have to tell."

"Well, he was teaching me how to use the curry comb, but Laredo wasn't cooperating overly much. I think he might have been nervous about me in the stall and all the talking."

Sam chuckled, which she ignored. Her dad had called her magpie as a kid, for good reason. When thoughts of him popped in her head at unexpected moments, she felt the invading ribbons of sadness even after all these years. She pressed on. Distraction, she'd learned, was the best way to deal with it.

"Anyway, he told me to give it a try, but Laredo didn't like the idea. He tossed his mane and sidestepped, pushing me off balance. I fell into Lester, knocking off his hat."

He was laughing by this time.

"It's not funny," she protested, biting back a giggle because it was, in the retelling. In the stall, earlier, with the angry grandfatherly man glowering at her, not so much.

"Do you want to hear the rest?"

"There's more?"

"You have no idea."

"Oh, I think I do."

She doubted it. "To keep from falling and ticking of Laredo even more, Lester and I kind of...well, danced out of his way. I stepped right on his hat, flattening it. But the worst part was, it had landed in a rather large pile of—"

"Horse crap!"

"It was beyond redemption, I'm afraid."

"That's why he was bareheaded yesterday when I saw him."

"Yes, poor man. No wonder he wears a hat all the time." She sailed her hand over her head with a low whistle. "I think even Mr. Clean is more generously endowed."

Sam roared with laughter, turning heads.

While he'd been stern faced and serious when she met him, he'd still taken her breath away.

This man in front of her now stopped her heart. His brown eyes gleamed with delight, his teeth flashed a brilliant white, and he exuded a joyful energy she doubted anyone could resist.

Krista certainly wasn't able to and couldn't keep from smiling.

"Sam?" So caught up in her story, she hadn't noticed when Judge Peterson had come up to their table. He was staring at Sam like he'd never seen him before. "I, uh, thought I'd come over and see how things are going with Miss Evans."

"I think they're going well, George. Just don't ask Lester Jones." Another peal of laughter burst from his chest, and this time, Krista couldn't contain her mirth. She giggled, covering her mouth, even though she knew it was rude since the judge was left out.

"I don't understand."

"It's a private joke."

"What's all the commotion?" another man asked as he joined the judge, also staring at Sam in wonder.

"Nothing," Sam said, while wiping his eyes. "I've forgotten my manners. Krista, you remember Jerry, my senior deputy."

How could she forget? "Deputy Stillman," she said, feeling the heat of a blush rising in her face.

In a gentlemanly fashion, he lifted his hat. "Krista."

Although he couldn't be more than a few years older than Sam, Jerry was as bald on top as could be, with a little fringe of dark hair on the sides. With their recent conversation about hats, Lester, and Mr. Clean, fresh on her mind, she had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from bursting into laughter and insulting the man. The wheeze from across the table didn't help, however.

She looked at him, eyes deliberately wide, trying to get him to stop, but his funny bone had been tickled. Clearing her throat, she also subtly shook her head, to no avail. To stop him, before she broke into laughter along with him, she kicked him under the table, not hard, but out of sight of the two men who must think they were losing their minds.

"George, I'm ready." An attractive woman about his age stood at the end of the aisle, waiting for him. Grateful for a reprieve, from anything to do with hair, or the lack thereof, she gave her a little wave as she asked, "Is that your wife, Judge? She's lovely."

"I, uh, yes. Louisa, we have errands to run or I'd introduce you. Next time." He nodded at her and Sam, and, still appearing dazed, as if shocked by their encounter, walked off, glancing back once or twice with a puzzled expression as he went.

"I need to go, too," Jerry said. "Will we see you at the mansion this weekend? We missed you on Saturday night."

His humor evaporated, and he gave his deputy a barely noticeable shake of the head. If she hadn't been watching him so closely, she might have missed it.

Jerry's gaze cut to her briefly before it returned to Sam. Then, he nodded once, as if clued in on something, and left.

The waitress brought their check, so she could ask right away, but once she was gone, she did. "Why don't you want to go to the mansion? Is it because of me?"

"I have my reasons." He nodded at her food, which she hadn't touched since the judge walked up. "Are you finished?"

No longer hungry, she pushed her plate away. "Yeah, I've had enough."

His head down as he studied the check, he also shifted and retrieved his wallet out of his back pocket. He pulled out cash which he dropped on the table for a tip. While he did this, she stewed over his answer that really wasn't one at all.

"Are you embarrassed to be seen with me because I'm a thief?"

He glanced up, frowning. "Don't be silly. I'm neither ashamed of you nor embarrassed to be seen with you. Case in point, the very crowded restaurant I brought you to for lunch."

"Then, I don't understand. What happened to all that talk about me being submissive? I mean, after knowing me for a few hours, the judge was convinced I was one of you. And what were those guarded looks with Jerry? You obviously didn't want him to discuss anything about the mansion in front of me."

"Are you telling me you want to go back to the mansion to play?"

Good lord, did she? The paddling had hurt a lot, but that was punishment. What would it be like with a different goal? From all the moaning and cries of pleasure, the other women seemed to be enjoying themselves.

"I guess I do, if you do."

He reached across the table for her hand. "There is more to BDSM than public scenes and impact play."

"I thought it all went together."

"Often it does, but there are couples here on the Landing who never play at the mansion. They prefer privacy."

"What do they get out of being here, then?"

"A community who supports them and doesn't judge how they choose to live especially since the practice is a diverse as the people involved, whether it's as dom and sub, master and slave, or daddy and little girl. And the dominant doesn't always have to be a man. We have dommes, mistresses, and mommies, as well as several same-sex couples. The common thread being one partner is in control and the other surrenders power."

"And the kinky play."

"Yes. Floggers, bondage gear, and clamps often come with it."

Just the notion of the clamps made her nipples hurt.

"We have a few doms who'd rather bind their sub with rope than take a paddle to them, and daddies who never spank."

"A daddy who doesn't spank?" she repeated in amazement.

"Kind of hard to wrap your head around, huh?" he asked, grinning. "They prefer other means of discipline, but they are the exception to the rule, Spanking, in whatever form, is fairly standard."

"What other means, for example?"

"Writing lines, like, I won't ever kick my daddy under the table again, five hundred times."

She had hoped he'd forget about that. "I didn't know how else to get your attention. When he took off his hat... Well, I didn't want to offend him by laughing."

"I get that, Krista, as did my shin. Maybe, when we get home, we'll conduct an experiment. Five hundred lines would give you a good sense of whether it's effective."

"That sounds awful."

"Yeah, that's why it's a useful tool to learn compliance."

"I think I'd rather take the spanking."

Her answer sparked another burst of laughter, though not on the same scale as before. "Which is why, in your case, another method of discipline might be best. Although the memory of your previous punishments may have faded. Other than the point of your shoe in my shin, you've been a very good girl since that first weekend."

"Thank you. I've tried."

"I've noticed," he replied, an easy smile playing at the corners of his mouth. He slid out of the booth and extended his hand to her. She took it but wasn't nearly through with her questions.

"What are some of the other tools a daddy might use besides writing lines?"

"You know the choice wouldn't be yours."

"Yes, but I'm curious."

"You're not planning to be naughty, are you?"

"Does anyone actually plan to be?"

"Oh, baby," he said, still sounding amused. "You'd be surprised. But to answer your question, I suppose a plug is pretty standard."

"A plug." She repeated the word slowly as though it were foreign. To her it was, other than in books.

He leaned down and whispered, "An anal plug inserted into a naughty girl's bottom is a common punishment, and sometimes, serves as an excellent reminder to be good."

"Do you... I mean. Well, I've read about it, but that was fiction. I didn't think it was a real thing."

"Fiction, huh. Let me guess," he said while grinning again. "Fifty Shades, again?"

She frowned as she tried to recall. "It's been a while, and I've only read the first in the series, so I can't speak for the sequels, but I distinctly remember her saying no to any butt stuff when they were negotiating their contract. But later... I guess there could have been lube stashed in his red room."

Krista was so engrossed in the topic, she hadn't noticed they were next in line at the register or that several people were staring at her while she spoke of butt stuff and lubricant.

Holy moly! She wanted to crawl into a hole.

Sam chuckled, while several others burst into laughter. The cashier reached over and patted her hand, appearing sympathetic to her plight unlike her daddy who couldn't seem to get a handle on his amusement today.

"You're new here, aren't you, hon?" the forty-something platinum blonde asked. "Don't worry. We've seen and heard it all."

"And most of us have done it all, or are planning to the next chance we get." This comment said in a loud resonant voice came from a grinning man behind her. It prompted a wave of laughter from everyone in the immediate vicinity and made Krista wish for a shovel to appear in her hand so she could dig that hole deeper and wider.

Sam paid, and, with the conversation continuing around them about what most of them hadn't done, he walked her to the door with his arm draped around her shoulders.

In the truck, on the short ride back to the ranch, she just couldn't let go of the nagging worry.

"Why don't you want to take me to the mansion? What do you like to do at the mansion? With a sub, that is."

"I'm not going to discuss other women. The same way I don't want to hear about the asshole and your other men."

"Man."

"What's that?" he asked while making a left turn onto Wanaker Blvd, the main road at the entrance to the private residential section.

"Man, as in one. Other than Br—" She stopped just in time. "Other than the asshole, I've only been with one other guy, and he was a high school kid like me at the time. I'm na?ve, I get that, but you said you like to teach."

"I also said I have my reasons for not taking you to the mansion, Krista. Drop it."

"You expect total disclosure from me, but I don't get the same? How is that fair?"

"Watch that tone, little bit, or you'll get a taste of what you've been asking about."

She shut up and looked out the window.

"My reasons include something painful from my past. I don't talk about it."

She twisted and gaped at him. Oh, the irony. "You had me spilling my guts!"

"Our positions in this arrangement are a bit different, Christina. You're in my custody in lieu of jail."

"I was putting the money back. I wouldn't have gone through with it," she muttered for at least the twentieth time.

"After what you've been through, I wouldn't have blamed you if you had."

"Yes, you would have because you did."

They arrived at the house, and, before the SUV had fully stopped, Krista was out the door and on her way inside.

"Krista, stop."

"Fuck off, Daddy," she muttered angrily, doing so only because her back was to him and he was out of earshot—she wasn't a complete idiot. She marched up the steps, through the front door, and was halfway up the stairs when he stormed in behind her.

"Get your butt down here."

She froze but didn't turn or descend.

"Now. Or you'll be riding this afternoon with a very sore bottom."

Angry, frustrated, and hurt, she stomped down the stairs like a petulant teenager then made things worse by crossing her arms and glaring at him.

"You can lose the attitude, too. It will get you spanked nearly as fast as jumping out of a moving vehicle. Got me?"

A short, "Yes," was her grudging response.

"Try again, Krista."

"Yes, Daddy."

He nodded curtly. "That's better. Come over to the couch, and let's discuss this."

She eyed the roll-arm sofa with the thick cushions and fluffy pillows and wondered if discuss meant what she thought it did. "I'm due out in the barn for my lesson. I'll be late."

"I'll explain to Curt something came up." He crossed to the couch and took a seat.

Her feet dragged as she followed. She perched on the edge, but on the opposite end, as far away from him as she could get.

"Krista, you're trying my patience. Come sit with me."

She moved to the cushion next to his but hugged the edge with at least a foot left between them. With a low growl, he plucked her up and deposited her in his lap.

"In the future, this is what I mean when I say come sit with me, not beside me, or by me, or across the goddamn room. Understood?"

"Yes, Daddy."

"Want to tell me why you're upset? If it's this perceived double standard, you'll recall this is a power exchange—one person has it, and the other gives it away. I don't think you need me to define which of us is who in our situation."

"I gave it away," she said quietly.

"Yes, but not in the usual manner. Submissives here on the Landing want this life. You got a thirty-day mandatory exposure to it. That's one of the reasons I haven't taken you to the mansion to play."

"Really? That's it? You're trying to preserve my vanilla innocence?"

His eyes narrowed on her.

"That's not sassin'. I'm just trying to understand."

His face relaxed, but his hold on her didn't. "I am trying to protect you, Krista. Punishment is one thing, but exploring a new lifestyle is another. If you want to explore, you should have the choice, but later, when not under the duress of pending legal charges."

Her hand rose to his cheek. "I appreciate you defending my right to choose. That means a lot, but the judge said he hoped I'd stay on after this is over." That was hard for her to say. With each passing day her desire to remain on the Landing grew stronger, and she could admit, at least to herself, she wanted stay at Longleaf with him. But she tamped down her reaction and got to the point. "How do I decide whether to stay or to go if I don't get the experience?"

He caught her hand in his and kissed the palm, not breaking his hold on her gaze. "Are you sure that's what you want, darlin'?"

Holy crud, wasn't that what she kept asking herself? Still, she heard herself answering, "Yes, and I want to experience it with you."

He sighed and leaned back, rubbing his face with both hands.

Taking it for reluctance, she added quietly, "If you'd rather not, I understand. This was all kind of forced upon you, too."

He took her hand and pressed it to the front of his jeans. "Does this feel like I'd rather not?" His erection was long and thick and felt like a steel rod beneath her palm. He caught her chin with his other hand and angled her face down to his. "I don't do anything I don't want to do, darlin', and that includes taking you on." He studied her face a moment, his eyes searching. "If you really want another taste of what you'll find at the mansion, I'll give it to you, but we'll do it here where we have privacy."

"Here?" she asked in surprise. "What? Do you have a dungeon I don't know about?"

"Now that right there is definitely sass, but I'll take care of that tonight. As for a dungeon, the equipment is nice to have, but we don't need it."

"We don't?"

"This is a ranch, Krista. We have leather in just about every length and thickness I could possible need, but even more than that, we have rope, lots of it, and a variety of whips.

"Whips!" she exclaimed.

His hands slid up her back, and he pulled her close. "Don't worry, we'll go slow and work up to that. No whips until you're ready."

"Um, thank you?" she squeaked, though she knew she'd be screaming red if he so much as looked at a whip while around her.

He chuckled. "Fear not my innocent one, I'll take care of you, and we'll discover what you like, and don't—which I'll like. We will, however, have to wait to start anything until tonight." One hand dropped to her bottom where his fingers curled, and he squeezed. "I don't like to put things off, but you have a riding lesson, and I've got work to do."

Which gave her time to mentally prepare for ropes and leather—oh boy!

Now that it looked like she was going to get what she asked for, maybe some fence-mending was in order. "I'm sorry for acting like a snot earlier, but I'm glad you told me your reasons. Thank you for that, Daddy."

A shadow crossed his face, and his deep-brown eyes turned suddenly turbulent.

"Was there something else? Or did I say something wrong, again."

"No," was his succinct reply without the slightest explanation. Instead, he lifted her from his lap and rose with her. "We'll see to your punishment and your first lesson tonight when I get home."

"You want to do both, in the same night?"

"Yes, and don't expect me to go easy on the rule breaking. I owe a considerable number of swats for the sass you've been slinging."

"But—"

His long fingers over her lips stopped her protest. "You know you were pushing it, little bit." He leaned down and kissed her forehead. "I'll come fetch you at six o'clock, and we'll further your education."