Chapter Thirty-Five - Westin

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

WESTIN

I'm shaken by the sex we had last night, so shaken that I go into the office downstairs and take out the contract I drew up around the time I bought that ring. I think it's time to come clean with her and talk about what I want this relationship to look like. She told me what she wants. It's time for me to do the same.

Working quickly, I rewrite it, keeping it simple, straightforward, making sure it focuses on giving her what she needs most.

She's still sleeping when I find her. I lay it on the bedside table and shut the door behind me.

When I come in from morning chores, she's in the kitchen. Our eyes meet, and her cheeks go pink.

"Come here," I say.

She dries her hands and obeys. I take her by the back of the neck and kiss her mouth, tasting the coffee on her tongue. I move my kiss from her lips to her neck. She moans, and her hand grips the front of my open coat.

"Westin," she whispers.

I pull back. "What is it, darling?"

"I need some real clothes."

I shrug out of my coat and lay it aside. "I like you naked. "

She gives me a look, her lips pressed together. "I'm being serious."

I watch her body, covered in just my t-shirt, sway to the sink. The stove crackles, and the house smells like breakfast. I haven't asked her to make food—I don't mind making it myself, but she does it anyway. She's a good cook, better than the Garrisons deserved.

"Sovereign and I should have the drive cleared by the end of today," I say. "The roads are clear enough to get to South Platte."

"Can I make a list?"

I sink down at the table. "I thought you liked calling me sir. You don't do it outside of sex much."

Her forehead creases. "I didn't agree to anything yet, despite the…papers you left in the bedroom."

"You saw those?"

"They were a bit of a shock."

I cock my head. "So you read the part where I said I'd like you to address me properly."

Her mouth is doing that thing again, that little twist, like she's fighting against herself. She's balking at the idea of being submissive. Her pride appears to have decided that desire isn't enough.

I push my chair out and pat my thigh once. "Come here."

She sits. The shirt hitches up, and I'm acutely aware of her bare pussy against my work pants.

"Do you want to give up control to me?" I ask.

Her brows knit. "What does that mean?"

"It means you let me be the Dominant in this relationship, and I'll care for you," I say. "But you're still in control. Your submission is always voluntary, darling."

Her eyes are round. "What's the purpose of that?"

I brush her hair back and touch her chin. "You're afraid of losing control, Diane, but you want to know how good it feels to give it up. I want that too."

Her breasts heave. Under my shirt, her nipples harden. She's at war with herself, but I know I'll win out. I won last night when I went down under the sheets. I saw her give in. Maybe she doesn't know it yet, but her armor is cracked .

"It's a deal, Mr. Quinn," she says hoarsely.

"I'll hold you to that, Miss Carter. Now, go on upstairs and get the contract. We're going over it while we eat."

She obeys. I wash up in the sink and fill two plates with sausage and eggs before setting them on the table. The coffee is poured, and I'm waiting with a pen when she returns. Her eyes move over me, like she wants to hesitate, but she sinks down in the chair beside me.

"Open it up," I say. "Show me any questions you have."

She flips through. The contract is short and contains the usual things—safewords, honorifics, aftercare, indicators of consent. There's one page at the beginning with specifics. She flips to it and points.

"That. What is the point of that?"

I have to bite back a smile.

The submissive agrees to be used freely by the Dominant, before and during the night, two days a week, on Tuesdays and Thursdays. These sessions will be followed by aftercare, as per usual. An anklet will be worn to indicate consent.

"Oh, that's just for fun," I say.

Her brows arch. "Maybe I don't want fun."

I slip my hand between her thighs and find her clit. A little gasp escapes her as my fingertip works it.

"You're holding so tightly to control with both hands, darling," I say.

Her eyes are round, her lips are parted. I've struck a chord. She drags her gaze back down to the second page, and her shoulders sink as she releases a long breath.

"I don't even want what I'm holding onto," she whispers.

"Diane," I say quietly, "this contract gives us a space that's just for us. You want to heal, to be safe and let go. This is the safety net that lets you do that."

There's a long silence. She wraps her arms around her body. I reach across and pick her up, putting her in my lap.

"You read the contract front to back upstairs?" I ask .

She nods, eyes down, like she's guilty about something. I take the pen, put it in her fingers, and flip to the last page.

"Sign it," I say.

Her lips part as she glances over her shoulder. I bury my face into her neck and inhale. She smells like soft sunshine. My hand slips into her lap and slides beneath the hem of my shirt.

"Spread your legs, darling," I whisper.

She does as she's told. Her eyes flutter shut.

"No, keep your eyes open," I correct, finding her clit between her thighs. It's warm, and her pulse thrums beneath my fingers. My halfway hard cock hardens the rest of the way.

"Pick up the pen," I say.

My touch goes faster, ghosting over where she's most sensitive. She hovers the pen over the paper.

Her muscles flutter around me, soft like velvet.

The ink touches the paper. She has a beautiful signature, laced across the page. The pen hits the table, and her head falls back. Her soft mouth parts, and a moan slips out.

"Good girl."

My hand leaves her pussy, and her eyes open. She turns and fixes me with a crestfallen gaze.

"I'll give it to you when you're ready," I say. "Now, go eat."

She sinks back into her seat. She's a little drunk with arousal, but not too drunk to finish her breakfast. I'm quiet as I clean my plate.

"What happened to Thomas?" she asks, after a while.

I set my fork down and take a sip of coffee. "He got shot," I say.

Her face stays the same. "How?"

"Keira shot him," I say. "Sovereign's woman. She used to be Clint's wife. "

"I know who Keira is." Her brows rise. "How did that happen?"

"Well, I brought you back and went out to find Sovereign," I say. Part of me wishes I could keep ugliness away from her, but she deserves to know. "Thomas broke free after Avery was shot, ran out and took a horse from the barn. Sovereign and Jack went after him."

"Is Jack the man with the covered face?"

"He is."

"How do you know Jack?"

I work my jaw, unsure if I'm ready to tell her that. Truthfully, the day I had my back branded, one person showed up to help, and that was Jack Russell. He appeared as quickly as he did when we killed the Garrisons, and he was gone as soon as the action was over—the antithesis of a fair weather friend.

"I just do," I say.

She purses her lips. I take another sip of coffee.

"Keira went after Sovereign in the morning and found him up by the river," I say. "Thomas was there; he shot Sovereign, just grazed him, so Keira shot him."

I can tell she's thinking this over. Her dark eyes are hard like stone.

"I wish I was brave like that," she says finally.

"What you did to save your farm was brave."

She shakes her head. "But I didn't save it."

I take her hand. "You've carried this long enough. I'm carrying it the rest of the way."

Her eyes flick to mine, big and sad. "What are you going to do?"

"Trust me," I say.

She looks away. Truthfully, when the snow has melted from the mountains, I'm going to find David Carter and finish him. When he's done, I'm moving on to Corbin Buchanan and putting a stop to the road. If I have to do that with a bullet, I will.

The gunslinger will do what he does best.