Chapter 3

Chapter

Three

A very woke and stretched as she sat up. A typical, beautiful Arizona sunrise streamed through the French doors leading from her back garden into her bedroom. The entire back of the house was glass—either French doors, folding glass doors, or floor-to-ceiling windows. Avery loved the light; she supposed it was part of the reason she loved to fly. There was something so perfect and peaceful about being up above the clouds where it was only her, the blue sky, the blazing sun, and the hum of a well-tuned engine.

She showered, grabbed a Diet Coke, and headed out to her garage. In addition to her Indian Roadmaster Dark Horse, she was working on restoring a 1947 Indian Melbourne Chief. Restoring vintage Indian motorcycles had become not only a passionate hobby, but a lucrative one as well. Avery had developed an ardent following among collectors of vintage Indians. Whenever she found a new project bike, and often before she’d really begun work on it, she had people clamoring to purchase it once she had it fully restored. As soon as she had a projected completion date, she would allow up to five collectors to ante up a ten-thousand-dollar deposit along with proof of funds to cover the estimated sales price. With the deposits safe in an escrow fund, she would then auction off the motorcycle. Anyone who wasn’t successful had their deposit plus interest returned to them, and off she’d go in search of another project.

This current one had been found in a barn under a tarp, where it had probably been for at least forty years. Mice had chewed through all the electrical decades ago, but there was no point rewiring that until after she’d rebuilt the engine, so that was what she was doing. She was consumed by that detail-oriented work when the crunch of footsteps coming up the gravel driveway to her open garage door caught her ear.

Avery snapped her head up to look at the security monitor on the wall, and sure enough, there he was, a male figure heading for the garage as if he owned the place. That he hadn’t also set off the alarm at the mouth of her driveway surprised her. Hers was a state-of-the-art security system that Thom had installed years ago. He was constantly checking and upgrading her system, so for someone to have bypassed it meant they were absolutely up to no good.

Avery reached into her toolbox and withdrew a Sig Sauer P238 handgun. It was a small handgun with only six rounds, but for close work, it was more than adequate. She turned to face her intruder, moving quickly toward the door to get the wall to her back.

His shadow entered before he did, which gave her a huge advantage. He was carrying something. That it didn’t look like a gun from the shadow it cast was the only reason she didn’t pull the trigger the instant he stepped into the garage and came into sight.

Thom caught sight of her out of the corner of his eye and immediately jumped back. “Whoa!” he barked, then laughed. “I come in peace.”

A red and white box from her favorite bakery extended back into view around the side of the garage door.

“Uh oh,” she only half joked, lowering the gun. “What’s in the box?”

“Hazelnut-dipped French crullers.” Stepping back into view, he propped his shoulder against the wall, smiling as he added, “Your favorite, if I remember right.”

“Yeah, they are. So, the fact that you’re bringing them must mean you’re bearing the kind of bad news that only pastries can soften. How bad a trouble are we in?” When she turned to head back to her work bench, he pushed off the wall to follow her.

“As far as I know, we aren’t in any trouble, but I do think we need to talk about yesterday.”

Yesterday? Her stomach clenched. Afraid her face might give away the nervous direction her brain was now racing in, Avery turned away. “What about it?” she asked, walking back to her work bench to put the gun down. She immediately whipped back around again before it was even out of her hand. “Back up just a minute, buster. How the hell did you get in here? I know for a fact I set my alarm.”

His grin widened and her stomach clenched again. When exactly had she become such a huge fan of that wicked little smirk?

“You did, but I’m the guy who installed your system. I left myself a back door in the code in case of emergencies, just like I did with everybody else.”

“Hmm, not sure I like that.” She was also pretty sure she didn’t want to find out what part of yesterday he wanted to discuss. “If we don’t have a problem, I’m pretty busy today. So, if you could just show yourself back out the ‘back door’ in which you came…” She trailed off, setting the gun on the table and waiting for him to take the hint, still hoping he didn’t know about Casey the—crap. He’d opened the bakery box and pulled out her clown wig.

“Really, Casey ?” he emphasized. “I think you might want to make time for what I’d like to talk about.”

“Thief!” Her heart jumping, Avery snatched the wig from his hand. “Give me that! Who do you think you are, breaking into my home and stealing my things?”

“I didn’t steal anything. I bypassed your security because I thought I’d give you a chance to explain what the hell you think you’re doing playing slap and tickle with bucking bulls.”

Give her a chance to… Like she owed him… Avery stared up at Thom at a complete loss of what to say or how even to react. On the one hand, if she were anyone else, or if he were, she might be getting mad right now. On the other, she kind of wanted to double-check herself to make sure she wasn’t still standing in the shower, fantasizing all this.

Giving herself a stern shake, she immediately opted for the former. “Not that I owe you an explanation, but I guess I’m doing the same thing as Tom Without-An-H Stiles thinks he’s doing.”

“Drop the attitude, little girl. This will go a whole lot better for you if you take the crullers and we sit down and talk.”

Little girl? Oh, Jesus. His proprietary term kicked her libido into instant overdrive—her nipples beaded, and her pussy began to pulse. Thom had never called her, or anyone else as far as she knew, little girl. But the second those words slipped passed his lips, she realized just how badly she’d longed to hear them. Not from just anyone, either. It was those words, spoken in his scintillating tone, uttered from his smirking mouth that were doing this to her. And yet, Avery stubbornly reminded herself, he had no right to call her that and no way of knowing how fiercely she wished that wasn’t true.

For her own sake, she had to go on the offensive.

“What did you just call me?” Both her throat and her chest felt weirdly tight. “Don’t you ‘little girl’ me like you’ve got the right. So I have an interesting hobby that I may or may not have necessarily shared with the rest of the team, so what? The last I checked, I’m under no obligation to share anything about my life with everybody and their brother, or the company IT guy. In my book, you are barely one step up from being the cable repairman as it is. And before you go getting all holier than thou on me, I don’t recall you informing our fellow co-workers that you’re one of the top rodeo cowboys on the circuit.”

“We’re not talking about me,” he returned. “Also, I don’t play tag with a ton of pissed-off bovine. Don’t think you’re going to turn this around on me. As to what I called you, that’s why I decided to drive all the way out here instead of waiting to confront you at work. Now, I know I’m being a little high-handed about this, but that’s why we need to talk. If you stop freaking out long enough to think about it, I really feel you’re going to like at least some of what I have to say. So please, be a good girl for me, get yourself a cruller, and let’s go inside.” Turning away, he started out of the garage toward the house. Pausing when he reached the open door, the look he shot her over his shoulder set every already tense nerve in her stomach to quivering. “Now, Avery.”

The authoritative timbre of his command sent the most delicious chills dancing down her spine. She wondered if he even had a clue as to what he was doing to her. Could Thom have latent dominant tendencies she’d never recognized? Had she somehow, instinctively, known that given the opportunity, he could provide what she yearned for? She had expended a lot of time and effort trying to repress her submissive side. After all, it was that side of herself that had gotten her into so much trouble once before.

To this day, Avery had no idea what had raised that final red flag that made her, minutes before her final encounter within her last serious relationship, risk calling Noah, but he’d come through the door like an avenging angel. Her avenging angel. From the moment he’d cut her down, covering her with his own coat before carrying her out of that place, she’d promised herself that she’d never put him through that again.

It was a promise she’d kept, too. She would by far rather settle for vanilla or nameless sex than to risk another BDSM relationship that might result in anyone having to come running in order to save her. Especially Noah.

But… that didn’t apply to Thom, did it? Surely not. Mac never would have hired him if he’d been anything like her last dom. Not to mention, having survived what she had, she’d come out of the experience with new finely tuned instincts for spotting assholes. She’d worked with Thom a long time now. She was pretty sure she’d have picked up on at least one or two red flags if he’d had them.

Except that she hadn’t picked up on his being a dom, had she? He was throwing out those feelers now, though. That steely look in his eyes when he’d said ‘now’ had the neglected submissive inside her wanting to weep for joy. But the woman who had emerged from her last hellish relationship wasn’t about to be taken in by ‘what ifs’ and ‘surelys.’ Every alarm bell in her head was blaring out in warning. It was as if part of her wanted to fan the small spark of hope his tone had ignited into the hottest of flames, and yet this other part was determined to douse that tiny ember in bucket after bucket of ice-cold reality.

Her back stiffened; her legs locked against that involuntary tickle that itched to make her step back. She refused to retreat from Thom. She faced down charging bulls; she didn’t retreat from anybody.

“You do remember I’ve got a gun, right?” she asked sarcastically.

Somewhere on his person, she was pretty sure he had one too, but he didn’t reach for it. He did, however, come back into her garage. That tickling need to keep distance between them only grew stronger as he came toward her. He wasn’t sauntering, he was stalking her. Slow and steady, every inch of him the dom she hadn’t realized until now that he was.

“Is that the way you want to play this?” he softly asked.

No, but no way was she going to admit that to him out loud. She couldn’t. Her vocal cords had just become every bit as frozen as her feet, rooting her to the hard cement floor until all she could do was watch him stalking right up to her, the lion facing down one very stupid gazelle.

“I had a conversation with Noah last night after I found out. If what he and Zara both say are correct…”

Her vocal cords became unfrozen much faster than her feet did. “You talked to Noah and Zara? About what?”

“About you and me, and the fact that it’s long past time I stopped carrying this silent torch for you, especially if you’re going to go playing with bulls in the absence of someone ready, willing, and able to lay down a few rules. Daddy’s not very happy with you right now, little girl. This is all part of what I was thinking we might talk about. Are you sure you don’t want to grab a cruller and come with me into the house?”

“Rules?” she echoed, but her mind had completely jumped from that incredulous anomaly and landed instead on the other one. Daddy? Her pussy pulsed hard. A mini convulsion so astoundingly pleasurable that it felt more like a mini orgasm.

“Would you like a sample?” he asked, except it wasn’t asking. It was smooth, like a statement. He was laying down the law, the first of many. “How about we start with—yesterday was Casey the Clown’s final performance.”

That wasn’t a question either, but it did drive home the realization that she needed to spend more time in the shower. Her poor pussy was just neglected enough to want to pulse and throb all over again, turning that edict of his into yet another flutter of a mini orgasm.

“You think you’re going to make rules and what… I’m going to follow them?” Avery managed a derisive snort, but inside it was all she could do not let him see her shiver. Goosebumps raced over her skin, pebbling her nipples into points eager to be taken in hand—Daddy’s? God help her—and played with. “You’re out of your mind, Thom.”

“Watch your tone, missy,” he shot back. “I freely acknowledge this isn’t the way most doms go about introducing themselves or their romantic intentions to the little they like?—”

Little? She’d have snorted and laughed again, except her throat had already choked up. This wasn’t high school, but… really, he liked her? As in, like liked? She stared at him, her eyes huge, her face pale, and her belly awash in wave after wave of tingling, fluttering, warm-pulsing, nervous-erotic energy that stubbornly kept trying to interpret all this as arousing as hell.

“—however, in as much trouble as you’re in right now, I’m not inclined to tolerate much sass from you.”

“Have you met me?” she heard herself ask. She pretty much only had two modes: sass and sassier. “And who are you calling missy? Seriously, Lyndon, or should I call you Stiles? Are you daft? You don’t get to walk into my house out of the blue and declare that I’m in trouble.”

Thom’s smile never left his lips, but it did leave his eyes as his gaze wandered over her in a critical once-over. “Your nipples are erect.”

She snapped her head down to look, just as quickly folding her arms over them to hide that telltale fact from sight.

“Your face is flushed,” Thom continued. “Your breathing has quickened and your pupils have expanded. In short, you’re aroused.”

Her gaze immediately dropped to his hands as he unbuttoned and turned up first one cuff of his long-sleeved linen work shirt, and then the other. Her bottom tensed. So did her thighs, but there was no quieting the insistent throbbing of her clit and pussy.

Especially not when he said, “Since it seems you like to protest, I’m going to let you protest all you like. Your safe word is mustang. So we’re both very clear on this point, if you don’t use it, I’m not stopping. Do you understand?”

Again, she tried to laugh but no sound came out. “I understand you’re crazy.”

“I think I prefer the term determined.”

“I think I prefer to get my gun, then kick your sorry ass out of here and get a new security system installed.”

His hand paused mid-turn of his shirtsleeve. “I also think Daddy is done putting up with your backtalk.”

Avery finally found her laugh. “Oh, I have not yet begun to talk back. I?—”

“Am one more snarky word away from getting your bare little bottom paddled a bright red,” he smoothly finished for her.

The smile returned to his eyes when she gasped. She stared at him, calmly studying her, waiting to see if she would call mustang.

She didn’t. She couldn’t. All she could do was stand there, desperately hoping she looked outraged instead of wildly aroused. She also couldn’t stop the surge of desire and raw, pulsing need that shot straight up from her nether regions, up her spine, and out throughout her entire body. Her toes curled, and her knees kept trying to buckle. She was pretty sure even her fingernails wanted him. The worst part was that she didn’t just want to feel his hands on her body in a lover’s caress or the sizeable bulge of the cock she could see pushing hard at the front of his jeans stroking her sheath, but she wanted— needed —the bright red bottom.

She had to know this was real. Before she did something as stupid as risk the friendship and working relationship they already had for a shower-based masturbation fantasy-come-true, she had to know that he wasn’t all talk. She had to be every bit as crazy as he was just for standing here, but she didn’t think she could move. Not without knowing for certain that he could, and would, hold her accountable no matter what, and spank her when she needed it.

“Avery, honey,” he said in a softer tone, but one that still had steel lying just below the surface, “did you hear me? When I ask you a question, I expect an answer and one without sass, snark, or snarl. Do you understand me?”

Not knowing what else to do, she shivered as she said, “Go back to your computer, Thom. This is one eight-second ride you’re not man enough to take. Not without someone getting hurt.”

More and more, she was starting to fear—or was it hope—that someone would be her.

“Little girl,” he admonished. “Eight seconds is for horses. When it comes to you, both in matters of loving and disciplining, I plan to take a whole lot longer from start to finish. Now, do you really want me to bend you over that work bench, strip your bottom bare, and spank you to tears right here?”

She never backed down. She never retreated. But what was wrong with her right now that she couldn’t seem to make herself hold his stare? Her gut alternated between knots so tight that it felt as if she were about to be sick and the kinds of somersaults that would make a gymnast envious. She dropped her gaze to the floor, scared that if she met his eyes then everything would change. Thom would be able to read all of her thoughts, all her emotions, all of her needs and secrets.

She shook her head.

“Use your words, Avery.”

“N-no.”

“When it’s just the two of us and when you’re in trouble, I expect you to answer with either yes or no and you’ll punctuate those sentences with Sir or Daddy. Do you think you can do that?”

Her shallow breaths were coming faster now. The pulse between her legs was going wild just at the thought of calling him either. She nodded, shifting her gaze as far from him as the floor would allow.

“Avery, I just told you that I wanted a spoken answer when I asked you a question. Did you not hear me?”

“Yes, S-Sir,” she stammered. “I heard you.”

“All right then. Do you need me to spank you before we sit down and talk about your rules?”

Yes .

She shook her head. “No, Sir. I don’t think so,” she whispered.

He held out his hand and waited for her to take it. “Come into the house with me, so we can talk.”

“You won’t spank me?” she asked, dreading the answer no matter which way it went.

“I didn’t say that. I might, and I emphasize the word might, not spank you this afternoon until after we’ve laid out your rules and agreed on what consequences you can expect when you break them.” The corner of his handsome mouth quirked when he chuckled. “But I’m quite sure you’ll break at least some of them right off the bat, so my spanking you at some point before I go is pretty much a given. Don’t you pick that gun back up, Avery.”

Might. Might meant no, he would not be spanking her. It wasn’t just disappointing, it was depressing.

Without raising her head, she did as she’d been told. When she did look up, all she saw on his face were his smiling eyes and steady countenance. He beckoned her to follow. “Good girl. Let’s go into the house.”

She didn’t resist when he took her hand and led her back to the house. For him to take her straight back into her bedroom would have been like a dream come true, but he didn’t. Of course he didn’t. If he wasn’t going to spank her, no way was he going to throw her down on her bed and have his wicked, albeit highly anticipated way with her.

Sadly, he took her straight into the living room via the folding glass doors instead.

“I’d never seen anything like these doors until I installed your security system,” he said conversationally, as if she were giving him the grand tour. “I knew you had a helicopter, but I didn’t know you were into motorcycles. You know I have one too, don’t you?”

“I… I know. You ride a Harley; I ride an Indian.”

“Is the second one you’re fixing an Indian as well?”

“Yes; a vintage one. It’s my other hobby. I find all the parts, restore them, and then auction them off.”

Walking her over to the couch, he took a seat and patted the cushion next to him. She sat. “I take it the non-motorcycle hobby is bullfighting?”

“Yeah,” she said, staring back through the house toward her bedroom. She felt foolish, first for wanting him this badly and then again for thinking there could ever be something other than friendship between them.

“Little girl,” he censored. “How are you supposed to answer Daddy when he asks you a question?”

“Oh, stop,” she cried.

Flustered, blushing hot, Avery leapt off the couch. He didn’t want to spank her; he didn’t want to have sex with her. What point was there in going through the motions of… whatever this was if she wasn’t even going to get her needs met? Her instincts were right. He wasn’t a dom, and although she had been intensely attracted by what he’d been saying, she wasn’t a little. She tried to walk away, but he caught her by the wrist.

“Getting spanked this afternoon is becoming more of a done deal,” he said, refusing to let go although she tugged, subtly at first, and then with increasing insistence to break free.

“Let go, Thom. I mean it, you’re being ridiculous!”

“Why, because I want you to listen to that part of you that knows who we should be to each other?”

“No, because this”—she gestured between the two of them—“can’t possibly work!”

“How will you know unless we at least try talking to one another? Tell me about yourself. Do you have any hobbies other than restoring vintage motorcycles to sell and bullfighting?”

Grinding her teeth, she stopped pulling, but she did not sit down. “If you’re looking for a girl who cooks or does cross-stitch, you’re looking at the wrong girl. Seriously, Thom, let’s not do this. Why don’t you just take your crullers and leave, and we’ll pretend this never happened. You keep on rodeoing, I’ll keep on bullfighting, and neither of us will tell our friends or ruin what relationship we already have.”

Thom said nothing, did nothing, until she’d finished.

“You done?” he asked quietly.

If anything, that heightened her embarrassment and anger just that much more. “Depends,” she snapped back. “Are you planning to get the hell out of my house and never come back without an invitation? Because that’s what I would recommend. And I wasn’t kidding about a new security system. I do plan to tell our friends about that, and you can bank on the fact that they won’t be any more thrilled about it than I was. But hey, if you give me your word that you’ll reprogram all our systems to get rid of your back-door code, I’ll add that to the lists of secrets I’m willing to keep about you.”

His grip on her flexed, but he didn’t let her go. “Done?”

Considering she’d probably said more than enough already, she nodded. “Yeah, I guess that about covers it.”

It wasn’t until his grip tightened that she realized he’d never let go of her wrist. He was still sitting on her sofa and she was slightly off balance from all the pulling she’d done. Had she been paying more attention, she would have been better prepared to resist Thom’s sudden tug as he yanked her down across his hard thigh. A quick shift of his other leg had both her thighs clamped between his own and before her mind could process her predicament, his hand came crashing down on her jean-clad rump—not once, but several times in rapid succession.

Seriously, now he wanted to spank her?

“You motherfucker! Stop!” she hollered.

“When I’m done, we’ll write down the rules so you’re clear about what I expect from you and what you can expect in terms of punishment when you break the rules.”

“Bastard! Stop it!” Avery cried as his hand continued to connect with her bottom in sharp, staccato strikes.

“First rule I think we covered but let me repeat it. When we’re alone and you’re in trouble, you will say yes or no, Sir or Daddy.”

“I won’t!”

When his hand connected with the part of her backside that sloped into the back of her thighs, Avery yowled. Her attention instantly divided between the steady tempo of the spanking and the same steady pulsing that just feeling his cock underneath her belly sparked. She had trouble deciding if her pain or her arousal was greater.

“You will,” he calmly corrected. “Second, you will modify your language and keep your swearing at a minimum. In no event will you swear at me. Break rules one or two and you can expect to get your mouth washed out before you get spanked. Three, you will not level a weapon at me. Four, your days as a bullfighter ended yesterday. Violate rules three or four and I’ll only use my hand as a warmup. Your actual spanking will be with my strap or belt, whichever is closer at hand. At no time will I ever use a whip or flogger of any kind. If I find it necessary to restrain you, I will never do so in any way that might be injurious to you.”

Every smack of his flat hand jolted not just her body, but her brain. This was… amazing, and slightly crazy. It had been such a long time since she had last felt the heat and comfort and pain of this rhythmic, unending—ow! Ow! She gritted her teeth. This was really starting to hurt. More than that, however, the things he was saying were starting to make sense in a shockingly weird way. He’d never use a whip or flogger? If he restrained her, he’d be careful about it? It suddenly clicked.

“Noah, that motherfucker,” she exclaimed. “I’m going to kick his balls all the way up to his teeth!”

The spanking abruptly stopped, and not a second too soon, really. Struggling to bring her breathing back to normal, she was glad it had ended. Had it continued much longer, she ran a real risk of succumbing to both the rapidly growing pain and her wayward emotions. Thankfully, it had stopped before she started crying and promising him anything just to get it all to stop.

“I see I’m going to need to step up my game if I’m going to get through to you.”

She cupped her bottom, wincing and rubbing as he helped her up. Thom put a stop to the rubbing by capturing her wrists. He pinned them in one large hand before turning his attention to unfastening her jeans and stripping them down to her knees. She gasped, every nerve in her body startling while he smiled his appreciation at her uncovered mons.

“So, my baby girl likes going commando… I think I like it—one less thing to have to pull down when you need to be spanked.”

Having given up wearing panties a long time ago, her attention was so focused on the hard length filling out the front of his jeans that she didn’t react fast enough to stop him from pulling her right back down across his knee. He clamped her thighs between his legs again, pinning her hands behind her back so she couldn’t interfere and then it started all over again. Swat after hard swat that flattened every part of her bottom, and all with more intensity and strength than she knew how to respond to.

“Rule five,” he announced. “You will not threaten or carry through on injuring any of our friends or co-workers, most especially Noah. And in case you missed it, that last little outburst means you’re owed a mouth full of soap.”

“No!” she wailed, every inch of her fighting to break free of his controlling hold on her. She couldn’t twist, she couldn’t buck. She could barely kick her feet or move her hands in defense of her fiery, painful bottom. “Thom, stop!”

“No, Avery. You earned this spanking and I mean to see you get it. When I’m through, you can stand in the corner while I make up the complete list of the rules and consequences.”

“You can’t do this to me!”

“If you can’t tell that I already am then, apparently, I’m not spanking you hard enough.”

The force of the strikes against her derriere increased and she bit her lip, focusing everything she had on the Native American rug on the floor just to keep from crying. His hard cock throbbing underneath her was the only source of distraction from the fury of the fire Thom had lit in her blazing hot flesh.

“Go ahead and cry, baby girl,” he told her, turning his attention from the ache in her bottom to the highly sensitive tops of her thighs. She shrieked when he spanked her there now too. “You’ll feel better once you’ve let it all out, and Daddy will know for certain he got through to you.”

That’s what finally broke her. He wasn’t angry; he wasn’t calling her demeaning names like slut or whore, just a relentless, even-tempered spanking given while he scolded her in steady tones. Avery managed to hold out only five smacks more before her resolve crumbled and the tears started to fall. “Stop!”

But he didn’t stop. Instead, the spanking got harder, the swats falling faster, paddling the tops of her thighs, the curve of her fiery bottom, all over her sit spots until sitting was the last thing she thought she’d ever be able to do again.

She didn’t want to break down, but she couldn’t stop it. She didn’t give in. She didn’t retreat. She just plain didn’t, and yet she couldn’t stop herself. Throwing back her head, she wailed, “Daddy, please stop! I’m sorry, Daddy! Please, I’m sorry!”

Finally, the spanking stopped.