Melted and Whipped (12 page)

By the time he releases me, I barely remember my own name, let alone what we were talking about.

Porter remembers, though, because he says, “I was a coward.”

“What?” I ask. “That’s not true.”

“Because you didn’t know. This is what I wanted to tell you right before I dragged you to the bedroom for sex. Back in college, I didn’t know what BDSM was. I thought I was a freak. That probably sounds crazy, but it’s true. Around the time you broke up with your high school boyfriend, I met a group of people who knew the local scene. I knew I didn’t want to be exploring that while also getting to know you. But I was a coward, because I worried you would reject me.”

“But you had a girlfriend,” I say, confused.

“I met her through those friends,” he says. “It was a pleasant relationship, but the only thing we had in common was the lifestyle. Which was fine. I needed to learn it, and we taught each other a lot during the time we were together. But the entire time, you were the one I wanted.”

“But I asked you out.” The words sound confrontational, a consequence of their having been bottled up so tightly for so long.

“When?”

“The concert.”

He looks incredulous. “You walked up to me and said, ‘Hey, Porter, funny that I saw you. A group of us are going to see The Riotous Marmots and I found out a few minutes ago that we have an extra ticket. You like them, right? You can have the ticket if you want.’”

“I…” Was that how I said it? I was so nervous, I don’t remember my exact words. I remember his, though. “You said it wasn’t a good idea.”

“I was frustrated,” he says. “If that was supposed to be a date, it went way over my head. You sounded like you got the idea the second you saw me. Frankly, I was a little insulted. Later I wondered if I’d misunderstood, but it was senior spring. It felt too late.”

My mind is blown. I don’t even know what to say. “You would have preferred to be with me? I just assumed, with the other private boarding school kids, you were more comfortable in those circles.”

He snorts. “I preferred you by a landslide. I know we need time to get to know each other again, Emily, but you feel right. You always have.”

You feel right.
I’m so happy that I could burst. “Next you’re going to say you came to the mountain because you knew I was there.”

He shakes his head. “No,” he says, giving me a too-brief kiss, “but I wish I’d thought of it.”

Leaning over me, he opens a drawer of the bedside table and pulls out a condom. He quickly rolls it over his erection.

His hands capture my face, his eyes looking into mine. “I’m so glad I found you again,” he says.

And then he’s inside me, claiming me, stretching me full and ruining me for other men. My back aches, and my pussy is sore. I can’t guess what the future holds for us, inside or outside the bedroom, but I can’t wait to find out.

~Five Years Later ~

I pull my hair back into a ponytail before stepping into the paint-splattered overalls. The afternoon December sun is coming in strong through the window, but if I don’t finish painting now, who knows when I’ll get another shot. In the evening, my dad, Stacy, Greg, and little Jada will be arriving for a two-week visit.

Tomorrow Scooter and his sister will also join us until the beginning of January. They’re coming out so their parents can get a break from having two teenagers in the house.

Scooter still skis, but mostly to impress girls. He and I spend some quality time together every winter. I’m probably the only person he doesn’t give attitude to.

Dipping the roller into the paint, I rotate my wrist side to side.

Dammit. I forgot to take off my rings again. I pull them off my finger and slip them down the front of my shirt, into my bra.

Instantly I feel naked.

I pick up the roller again, but my phone buzzes. I’m planning to ignore it, but what if it’s the babysitter?

But it’s not the babysitter. It’s Porter.

“You know I’m busy,” I say, but I can’t pull off a scolding tone.

“You’re brave, challenging your dom like that,” Porter says. “It sounds like someone wants to get her butt paddled while she’s got an enormous dildo in her ass.”

“Please tell me there aren’t any guests within earshot,” I say, but my pulse has kicked up quite a bit, and excitement runs down my spine.

“I’m in the office,” Porter says.

Opening an inn was Porter’s idea, and marrying it to my tour company made perfect sense. It’s been three years and we’re only just now turning a profit, mainly because we host retreats from February through April. They’re for disadvantaged children who wouldn’t otherwise get an opportunity to spend time in the mountains. That was my idea, when I thought babies weren’t in the cards—I didn’t think it was fair to put Porter through what Greg had suffered. But hosting the retreats only made me want a family more, and the solution was clear. Adoption was right for us.

During the holidays, though, the inn is adults only.

“How’s the painting going?” Porter asks.

“Fine,” I say. “I did it half ducks, half kittens. Both of the girls will be happy.”

“Or they’ll both be furious. We really should let professionals do it,” Porter says, but it’s halfhearted. We’ve talked about this before, and he knows how I feel about letting other people arrange everything in our lives. He also knows I don’t want our girls growing up spoiled.

“I’m almost done,” I say. “You’re so impatient.”

“That’s it,” he says. “I’m coming up. I want you in bed, naked.” He hangs up.

The bed and breakfast is the mansion next door, but it’s still a ten-minute drive. I quickly finish the painting. I check my phone to make sure the babysitter didn’t call, then I strip down and hurry to the bedroom.

I slide the rings back onto my finger and slide naked into bed just as the door opens.

Porter stands there, wearing jeans and a tight T-shirt. His hair is longer now that he doesn’t have a job that requires putting on a suit. The new look flatters him.

He pulls off his shirt as he comes toward me. I spread my legs and cup my hand over my pussy, teasing him.

With a quick pull of his arm, he exposes my pussy. His free arm fumbles with his belt and jeans, but then his cock springs free.

He glances down, probably to make sure I’m wet enough. I am, of course. I’m always wet when Porter is around, but I love that he makes sure of it.

He enters me with a rough push. “I love you, Emily,” he says.

“I know. I love you, too.”

He nods. “So you know I have to punish you.”

My pulse doubles in speed again. I don’t know what kind of punishment he has in mind, but one thing is certain: I’m going to love it.

If
Cleo Peitsche
isn't writing (or reading) erotica, she's probably sitting on her balcony, watching the wind blow through the trees. She loves horses, snowstorms, and piña coladas. If she won the lottery, she would hire an assistant to take care of the technical side of e-publishing so that she could write all day.

Some random facts about Cleo: 1. Thinks life's too short to forgo HEAs and HFNs; 2. Sprained an ankle joining the mile-high club. (Never again!); 3. Favorite writers include Cormac McCarthy, Junot Diaz, and Rachel Caine.; 4. Gets weak-kneed for bookish guys who know how to fix things with their hands. *swoons*

For more information on other books by Cleo, visit her website:
cleopeitsche.wordpress.com
.

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