Slowly she drifted back, lowering her hips, her thighs unclenching.
“Oh my God,” she panted, sounding dazed. I gave her one last lick, savoring every drop.
I could take her into my arms. We could sit together, her head against my chest, feeling my heartbeat. I could draw her into my lap, keep her warm, whisper to her how much she meant to me. How I would take care of her. She could stay with me and never leave. I’d protect her and give her my home, give her anything she wanted.
What a fool. That could never happen. What the fuck was I doing? She was a virgin, an innocent lass, and I was dragging her into my depravity when I knew it would all end, sooner rather than later. With a growl, I drew up to standing. Pain knifed into me as I made my way out of the room.
The next day she avoided me. When I headed into the kitchen, she headed out. When I spotted her outside, she ducked around the other side of the house. She ate dinner up in her room.
Friday, I finally confronted her in the kitchen. “What the fuck’s going on? You’re acting crazy.”
“Oh, I’m the one acting crazy?” Her eyes blazed hot. She crossed her arms against her chest. She didn’t realize it gave her cleavage, generous and welcoming at the V of her T-shirt. I wanted to lick and suck. But she wanted to fight. “You’re the crazy one.”
“You’re avoiding me.”
“I wonder why? Maybe it’s because you welcomed me back with a spanking and oral sex on the kitchen floor.”
“You didn’t seem to mind.” I could still taste her on my lips. I could do it again, how about right then?
“But then you left!” She threw her hands up, exasperated. Ah, so that was the problem. “You bolted out of the room. What the hell’s going on, Ian? I can’t take all this hot and cold from you.”
I swore, running my hands through my hair. Now that she laid it out, I knew she had a point. I didn’t know shit about wooing a woman, never mind developing a real relationship with one. “So, what is it you want?” I grumbled.
“I shouldn’t have to spell everything out for you,” she huffed.
“What do you want, roses? A dinner date?”
“That’s a start.”
“Fine.”
“Fine.”
I spun out in my wheelchair, knowing I was being an idiot but unable to change on a dime. I was a nearly 30-year-old man who’d never dated. If I was acting like I had no idea what I was doing, it was because I didn’t.
There was a nice restaurant one town over. I called once they opened and got us a table for two Saturday night. Now I just had to keep it together in public, remembering to eat the food we were served and not Annie. That was going to be a challenge.
But I knew I had to figure it out, because something inside me was shifting. I didn’t know when it had started, maybe when she’d first let me touch her. Or before then, when we’d gardened together. Or perhaps the very first night I’d met her, when she’d arrived wearing the hideous hand-knit hat and scarf.
I couldn’t pinpoint when it had happened, but as I stayed awake into the late night hours, I knew something had. I felt as if she’d woken me up from a long coma, or taken me from a black and white world into full, vivid color. I was falling in love with Annie.
13
Annie
After four long days, I’d been so eager to return. I’d dreamed about Ian all day, fantasized about him all night. By the time I’d returned, I’d been so worked up, so excited, I’d been ready for anything. Even him spanking and eating me on the kitchen floor.
After he’d ravaged me and I’d nearly blacked out from the power of my orgasm, I’d lain there on the kitchen floor, so warm and gooey. It had felt as if every limb in my body had relaxed, like I’d soaked in a hot tub after a long afternoon nap and a perfect meal. Only he’d made me his meal. I’d been attacked by a wild animal and I’d loved every second of it.
When I’d opened my eyes, he was gone. I’d drawn myself up to sitting, fixing my bra up over my breasts again, all my euphoria draining right out. Maybe he didn’t know how intense it was for me, how completely I lost myself in his touch.
The feel of his palm on my ass, raining down on it. The warmth that blossomed from his touch, the pain burning into pleasure. I’d never dreamed I could feel anything like it. I’d felt so owned, so possessed. He’d been so driven and bestial, claiming and marking me. I never would have thought I’d enjoy it. Enjoy didn’t begin to describe it. It felt right under his palm, his soothing touch, his mark.
And then he’d left.
Fury had propelled me around the house for a day or so. When he’d finally cornered me, I’d been ready to bite his head off. But then he’d invited me out to dinner. That I had not expected. He almost seemed to listen to my words, accept the criticism I leveled. Maybe he was even going to try to change his ways?
Wary, on guard, I still dressed up for our dinner Saturday night. I wanted to look my best. No matter what happened, it would give me confidence. I wore a black dress, simple, but it clung to my curves, emphasizing the fullness of my breasts, the tapering of my waist. It ended at my knees and I wore heels, making my legs look long and shapely.
At seven o’clock, I walked downstairs. He was waiting for me in the hall wearing a fitted pinstripe suit. My mouth went dry. He looked so good, so powerful, every inch the CEO. He must have gotten a haircut, too, and a shave. As much as I loved the wild man, this cleaned up Ian took my breath away.
The heat in his gaze about burned a hole through me. He swallowed before saying, “You look amazing.” Naughty me, suddenly I didn’t even want him to take me out to the restaurant. I’d been the one trying to get us to act like a normal couple, but seeing him there, his broad, powerful shoulders, the desire in his eyes, I wanted him to push me up against the wall, lift up my dress, slide my panties down and do whatever he wanted all night long.
“Shall we?” he asked, offering me his arm.
“No wheelchair?” I probably should have bit my tongue, just going with the moment, but I said what was on my mind. He was walking me toward the SUV parked outside, slowly, but walking nonetheless. From what he’d told me, that hurt him a hell of a lot.
“Not a long walk,” he insisted, making it to the car. His injuries were such that he had enough strength and sensation in his right leg and foot to be able to drive. He played some music on the radio. Conversation began to flow as we neared the restaurant, the darkness of the evening creating our own little world in the front seats.
Ian knew the owner of the restaurant, and he welcomed us, having reserved the best table in the house. He insisted on gifting us a bottle of the finest wine he carried.
“Don't be ridiculous.” Ian tried to stop him, but the owner wasn’t listening. Apparently over the years Ian had become the restaurant’s most faithful—and only—"to go" customer, paying handsomely for the service.
I relaxed more over the course of the meal, my laughter growing frequent and easy, my eyes starting to shine again as I looked at him in the romantic lighting. I could really get used to sitting across a table and seeing him there. He gazed at me as if I were the most beautiful woman in the world. Sitting there with him, I almost believed it myself.
“When you were a kid, what did you want to be when you grew up?” I asked him, playful.
“A drunk recluse confined to a wheelchair,” he answered, deadpan.
I nearly spit out my wine laughing. “I think that usually tops most kid’s lists,” I agreed, wiping back a tear from my eye.
“Right after firefighter and rock star,” he added
“But seriously,” I persisted. “What did you want to be?”
“A fireman like my friend Liam's dad.” He counted that on one finger on his hand. For the next finger, he added, “Rock star.”
“Do you play an instrument?” I perked up at the prospect.
“We're talking about when I was around eight years old. Details like that didn't really concern me.”
“Right.”
I smiled.
“I think if someone had asked me the question seriously, before the accident, I would've said I wanted to be just like my dad,” Ian reflected. “He always impressed me so much, rushing around in his pinstripe suits.”
“You look good in a suit.” I reached out and touched his lapel. It was the first time I’d touched him since he’d devoured me on the kitchen floor. He reached out and covered my hand with his. “What about eight-year-old Annie? What did she want to be when she grew up?”
“I think I wanted to be bustling around in a suit as well.” I rolled my eyes at my former naïveté. “I pictured myself working in some sort of modern, all glass building, wearing fancy clothes and taking important meetings.”
“About what?” he asked
“I don't think I got that far.” I chuckled.
The waiter offered us desserts, and Ian insisted we order three. “You need to indulge more,” he chastised.
“I have a really strict boss,” I lamented.
He gave me a heated look, and I knew him well enough by now to know all sorts of dirty responses were crossing his mind. He’d probably love to show me how strict he could be, how good I could be at following orders. All of it should make me angry or embarrassed. Instead, I wanted to learn everything he had to teach.
Driving home, I talked much more than I had on the way out, telling Ian stories about a camping trip that had gone terribly wrong with my family a couple of years ago. A skunk had wandered into our campsite. Jess had been stung by a bee. My mum had undercooked the hamburgers and Liv had not been able to stop throwing up.