Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
Sam
“Come on, babygirl. We are walking.”
“It’s cold,” Mikayla protested, rolling her eyes.
“The fresh air will do us some good. Coat,” I said, leaving no room for negotiation.
“No, I’m Mikayla,” she said, sticking her bottom lip out.
“Put your coat on.” I reached around her and smacked the back of her thighs. “Let’s go.”
“Ugh, you’re in mean Daddy mode…”
She sauntered up the hallway finally listening for once.
Lunch hour gave the clinic a rare lull, and I wasn’t letting her disappear into an exam room and scroll on her phone.
Though she’d settled into a routine with me, the past few days she’d been arguing with everything in reach. Patients, vending machines, gravity.
Walking was happening whether she approved or not. I was fairly certain it was because our time together was quickly coming to an end. Not that our relationship was ending, but it was back to our routines in separate cities.
We stepped into the crisp air and headed toward Creekside Roast. The bell chimed as we walked in. Across the street, Josie from Denver’s Diner waved while handing Rosalie Hawthorne a bag outside the vet clinic.
“Well, look who’s finally stopping to smell the coffee,” Josie called.
“It’s been quite the week!” Mikayla waved back, then slipped her hand into mine like she hadn’t spent the last hour pretending she didn’t need grounding. We ordered quickly.
“They basically scraped that off the bottom of the pot and plopped it into a cup,” she said, wrinkling her nose.
“Listen, little miss double-shot brownie mocha latte. You don’t get a vote.” I laced our fingers together. “More walking, less pouting.”
She huffed but didn’t pull away. We wandered down Main Street, falling into the kind of easy chatter that only existed when she wasn’t thinking too hard. Around the corner, Maisie Plum was lining up pastry boxes outside Poppy & Plum, already dusted in flour.
“Hey, Maisie!” Mickie hurried over for a hug before returning to my side.
“Is she okay? She looks overwhelmed.”
Mickie glanced back, a softer smile replacing the attitude. “Her grand opening is getting closer every day. She’s been living on sugar and panic.”
“We should invite her for dinner and game night sometime this week. Maisie needs a break.”
“Agreed but only because I know she’ll kick your ass at Scrabble!”
I laughed because she absolutely would. Mikayla tucked both hands around my arm as we kept walking, like the sidewalk might take me with it if she didn’t anchor herself. Two weeks had somehow become routine. Long enough to matter. Short enough to hear the clock in every quiet moment.
She still called it her visit. I’d started ignoring that word.
The town moved around us, familiar and steady, and little by little the tightness in her shoulders eased. By the next block she wasn’t tugging ahead or lagging behind. Just walking beside me.
I didn’t say anything about it. Neither did she. But she didn’t let go.
Judd paced outside Denver’s when we passed, phone pressed to his ear, eyes sweeping the street like he was responsible for all of it. He spotted us and gave a quick nod, his expression easing when it landed on Mikayla.
“Is Bonnie keeping him busy?” I said under my breath. I meant it the same way that my girl had me on my toes lately.
Mikayla rolled her eyes. “She hasn’t slowed down since the wedding. Maisie-level overwhelmed. He’s trying to keep her calm.”
“I hate that she’s doing that to herself.”
“The honeymoon didn’t help. Now she’s worse. Everything has to be perfect,” she said quietly observing.
“Bonnie needs staff. More than she’ll admit.”
“She knows that, Sam. Judd knows that. Heck if you already know that, then it’s so obvious. Bonnie just won’t let go of things.”
I squeezed her fingers once and kissed her knuckles as we kept walking.
Juliette Shaw breezed past us toward the square, phone in one hand, tablet in the other, already talking before she reached whoever she was meeting. She lifted two fingers in greeting without breaking stride.
A police cruiser rumbled down the street. Nash Winslow rolled by with the window down despite the cold and tipped his hat.
“Afternoon, Sam. Staying out of trouble?”
“Always.”
“Can’t say the same for Mickie,” he laughed.
“I am not causing a commotion!” She stuck her tongue out at him.
“Your middle name could be a commotion.”
“You better be nice, Nash, or I’ll tell Maisie you’re banned from buying crème br?lée donuts.”
“You wouldn’t dare,” he said, wounded. “Rhett and I barely showed restraint at the wedding brunch.”
Her hand tightened in mine. Not playful this time.
“You’d better sweet-talk her,” she said, quieter now.
“I plan to,” Nash replied, oblivious. “See you later.”
He drove off. I brushed a kiss against her temple. She watched the car turn the corner longer than necessary. Too many familiar faces in one walk. Too many reminders of roots she kept insisting were temporary.
“Come on, beautiful girl. Back to the clinic.”
“Mmmmhmm.” She let me guide her.
The town carried on around us, doors opening, voices drifting, normal and steady.
Mikayla stayed quiet at my side, fingers hooked into my sleeve instead of swinging free.
I slowed our pace. She matched it without looking up.
I didn’t ask what she was thinking but I didn’t press.
I kept my attention on the sound of her steps matching mine and nowhere else.
After dinner and a quick shower, I stood behind her in the kitchen.
Mikayla stirred pudding mix and milk into a bowl, nothing fancy.
Slowly. Deliberately. Like she was coaxing it into perfection.
The house was quiet, the kind of quiet that made me want to stretch my arms around her and stay that way.
Evenings spent with her only made me want to spend them all that way.
Plucking the wooden spoon from the dishrack into my right hand, I nudged my nose into her hair and slipped my other arm around her waist. The sweatshirt she wore, one of mine from college, drowned her small frame, sleeves falling past her wrists.
Paired with the tiny pajama shorts, she looked irresistible.
Mikayla melted into my side, as if my touch alone soothed and relaxed her.
“If this pudding tastes like garbage, handsome? You’re still going to eat it and say thank you.”
I chuckled, pressing a kiss to her temple. “I doubt you can mess up box pudding mix, sweetheart.”
Her eyes sparkled with mischief. She rolled them at me. “I’m following a recipe. It’s not just dump powder, add water. That I can do without instructions, you goof. I’m not completely incompetent.”
I reached out, fingertips brushing the worn fabric of her sweatshirt at the small of her back. Then I tapped the wooden spoon gently against her hip, hoping she’d give me a reason.
“Hands on the counter, brat,” I said, voice low and steady. “Now.”
She turned just enough to flash a flirty glance. “You gonna make me?”
I brought the spoon down sharply on her exposed thigh. She jerked, her smirk melting into a pout.
“Now you may call me ‘Daddy’ or ‘Sir’ for the rest of the night.”
“Good thing you don’t control my mouth, Sam,” she said, tossing her brat at me like she’d been waiting all day. Maybe she had.
“Oh, you’re asking for it now.” I traced slow circles with the spoon on her skin but this wasn’t the start of a punishment. “You think this sweatshirt makes you invincible?”
She arched her back. “Maybe it does. Maybe it protects me from spankings.”
“Not a chance.” I pressed the spoon under her chin, lifting it. “Hands on the counter, little girl.”
Her lower lip wobbled between her teeth, eyes wide as she studied mine. My little wildflower obeyed, moving herself to a clear spot. Hands flat, elbows bent, ready.
“Good girl. Bend more.”
She obeyed, ass popping up in those barely-there shorts.
“Yes, Daddy.”
“Dessert can wait, babygirl. You obviously need my attention first.”
“Please put the bowl in the fridge, Daddy? It has to be chilled to set, and I don’t want to ruin it.”
“Where did my little brat run off to? Asking me so sweetly before you’ve even been spanked.” I nibbled her ear, then did what she’d asked. When I returned, she stayed exactly where I wanted her.
“I do need your attention, Daddy. But I don’t ever know how to ask for it.”
Stepping behind her, I ran my hands over the glorious expanse of her ass, thumbs grazing her hips. “You just did, babygirl. Maybe you’ve finally been hearing all the things that come out of Daddy’s mouth.”
“I do listen, Daddy. Mostly. Don’t look at me like that. Okay, only sometimes.” She babbled, sweet and teasing. “I didn’t even brat. You have zero reasons to spank me.”
“I don’t need a reason. But I’ll give you one.” I tugged her shorts down slightly and caressed her through her panties. “When your bottom is hot and pink, your ears listen better.”
“Your logic is flawed, Sir,” Mikayla snipped.
My palm came down several times, no-nonsense, and she mewed.
“What was that, babygirl?”
“Mmmmmm.” She arched upward off the counter.
“Tell Daddy.”
“Sometimes I do need a spanking for no reason,” she confessed.
Tugging her shorts off, I left her panties in place. For now. “It’s not for no reason, Mickie. I think you needed a reminder…”
“A reminder that you’re in charge, Sir?”
“Yes, sweetheart. That’s right.” Plucking the wooden spoon from the counter I cracked it once off her upper thigh. Mikayla hissed, jerking her body away from my reach. “Oh, did I find a sensitive spot?”
“You’re mean.”
“No, babygirl.” I aimed the spoon at her sit-spots. “This would be mean,” I said, chuckling.
“Ouch! It hurts there. Please use your hands and not the spoon!”
Giving into her plea, I spanked all over her gorgeous ass, caressing and kneading my fingers into her warmed bottom in between rounds.
Dancing her panties off her legs, I ran my hands along her body avoiding her pussy on purpose. She whimpered her disapproval.
“Does my girl need more?” I leaned into her back, kissing her neck. It was barely reachable at this angle and my sweatshirt was in the way. Finding the hem, I yanked it over her head before realizing she had no bra on. Mikayla glanced at me out of the corner of her eye.
“Yes, Daddy.”
“More spanking or something else?”
“Something else,” she cooed.
“Hm.” Stroking my fingers along her slit, I found her dripping wet. “Well, now. Your pussy is soaked. Do you want Daddy’s fingers?”
“No, thank you.”
“No fingers.” I slid my pointer finger upward to tap against her clit. “How about Daddy’s mouth here?”
“Oh, as much as I’d love that, right now I want something different. Please?”
“Such a sweet little thing. Tell Daddy what you need.”
She shook her head, burying it against the counter under her hands.
“Uh, uh.” Without warning I pushed two fingers into her sopping core. She clenched around me whining in protest. “Tell me. Right now, or I’ll just have to stay like this.”
“Your cock, please, Daddy…”
“Good girl,” I withdrew my fingers. “Here or in our bed?”
Mikayla gasped. It wasn’t from the lack of sudden heat where my fingers had been inside her. No. It was from my slip of the tongue. Or was it a slip? Since she’d come back, I envisioned her with me all the time. Pictured our life together and what it would look like.
“It’s your bed. Not mine.” Her voice was strained.
I hated that she sounded upset. I wanted her speechless from dozens of orgasms rolling through her not from worries.
“If you’re in it, it’s ours. Here or there.
Last chance to choose.” There. I hadn’t gotten into an explanation or tried to put any sort of spin on it.
Though regardless of what she said or how she acted, it was ours since the first time she slept in it.
Ours since the first time I’d made love to her after the wedding.
Ours since she’d woken up in my arms almost every day since she came home.
“You aren’t very clever. I don’t think you’d even be able to do anything on this counter,” she said sassing hard.
“I thought we adjusted your attitude. Guess I’ll have to try something else. Stay right there.”