Читать книгу A Weston Wedding - Gray Gardner - Страница 6

I finally understood. He loved me. Cared about me. And I didn't just have to guess anymore because he was finally explaining everything.

Weston Hamilton had changed. For me.

Granted, I was sitting on the covered nail head bench at the foot of our bed awaiting a nighttime spanking, like that was a common thing in the real world, but still, I felt good. I felt like we were on the same page.

"And I'm sorry I started a brush fire. I know it could have easily gotten out of control and burned down the whole ranch," I repeated, having to apologize for my July fourth roman candle incident every night before he, well, you know.

He shifted his stance as he stood before me. He'd already lectured me. Again. Then, like the six nights before, he'd sit down and pull me over his lap and spank me. Then he'd stand and lecture me some more. Then he'd get really tender and make love to me. Creatively, I might add. It was something to look forward to, but it didn't mean that I felt completely good about it.

Conflicted about the dynamic of our relationship? No. I understood West. It was just his way. And it was a little bit like foreplay in a weird kind of way. I just felt guilty about nearly destroying his beautiful ranch and the majestic national park that ran adjacent.

"You still think I'm mad about the destruction of property," he stated, his voice low and rumbly. He was all ready to get through the punishment and start the lovemaking. I liked that voice.

"You kinda sound like a cop," I murmured, a little embarrassed that he had me sitting on the bench with my pajama pants at my knees while he was still fully dressed in jeans, boots, and a blue, pearl snap shirt.

"Well, you're kinda talking to me like I'm one. Like I exist only to enforce rules. Like I don't care a thing about you," he responded, hands on his hips now.

"But I don't know how else to apologize to you," I sighed, looking up at his gorgeous face. Seriously. It would make David Beckham cry out of jealousy.

"Think," he stated, tilting his head.

Christ, what else could he possibly want out of me? I was humiliated and humbled. Wasn't that enough? I didn't want to snap at him, though, since I'd been in the wrong. So, I went to my go-to back up plan. Being cute.

"Is this about the 1-8-7 of your tool shed?" I asked, wide eyed. In the wake of the roman candle blowing fireworks into a dry brush pile, his toolshed full of Grainger tools had gone up in flames as collateral damage. I hadn't known how expensive tools could be until I saw the insurance claim.

Then it happened. For the first time all week during this disciplinary stuff, he cracked a smile. He looked at me adoringly. Then he sat down, pulled me over, and began smacking my uncovered and already quite tender skin.

"If you think this is about money or land or insurance or anything as trivial as that, then maybe I haven't been getting through to you," he calmly stated between smacks.

I squeezed my eyes shut but had to cry out. He was not being as gentle as before.

"West!"

"This is about you. Being stupid. Not taking care of yourself. This is about me losing you in a fire. Do you understand now?"

"West!" I cried out again, unable to concentrate on anything at the moment.

He stopped and flipped my legs around so that I was on my back. He lay on top of me, hands in my hair, his thigh between my legs, looking right into me with his aquamarine eyes.

"Don't ever make the mistake of thinking I care about anything more than I care about you," he growled, so close that his warm breath made my skin prickle. His face pleaded with me to understand, to know what I'd put him through when he'd run out of the back door to find a fire spreading and no sign of me.

"I won't ever do anything that stupid again. I promise." I nodded, breathing heavily as his leg pushed up between mine. My voice was weak, either from guilt or lust, I couldn't tell at the moment since my stomach was knotted and my eyes were focused only on his. Would he keep scolding me, or would he satiate our needs?

He stood and unbuckled his belt, eyes on me. He toed off his boots, tugging off his jeans, underwear, and socks next. My mouth watered when he finally stood tanned, hard, and naked in front of me. He gently pulled off what remained of my pajamas and tossed them aside.

His hands were everywhere. I was soaking from the feel of his fingers, the promise of his cock, and the anticipation of an orgasm neither of us would soon forget. He pressed his mouth to mine with a growl, a sure indication that he was about to enter me. He continued to tease me, though—hot lips around my nipple, a finger circling my clitoris endlessly.

I responded by taking his large erection in my hand and slowly stroking from root to tip, loving the hitch in his breath as he closed his eyes, mouth open. He ran a hand down my back, over the curve of my backside, and stopped there as he smiled. He liked to admire his handiwork. It was a turn on for him which turned me on, an endless sex cycle that I loved.

He flipped me back onto our bed and crawled over me, lust and need in his eyes as I'm sure were evident in mine, too. The feel of my warmed ass on the cool comforter and the feel of his hard body pressing between my legs was just delicious.

Nuclear holocaust couldn't have stopped this sex train.

His mother, however, most certainly could.