Chapter 16
BECKETT
Damn.
“I like that part a lot, too, Lenny. It’s always nice to know you have people who care,” Clover tells her. I nod in agreement, because if I say anything, the frog in my throat will be a dead giveaway.
Clover ruffles my daughter’s hair and says goodnight, leaving Lennon and me in the room. “You really are pretty powerful,” I tell her. She nods confidently.
“I know, Dad.”
It makes me chuckle. I tell her goodnight, but she’s only interested in the damn cat now that he’s jumped up there with her. I close her door most of the way and make my way upstairs. I would give anything for a hot shower right now.
The light from Clover’s lantern is spilling through the crack of her bedroom door. I pause for a second and scratch at my beard, contemplating whether I should talk to her or not. Was what Lennon said too heavy for her? Is she excited to go home tomorrow? Would she stay if I asked her?
Fuck it.
I take long strides across the loft and knock gently. “Hey, CJ,” I call out softly.
I hear her sniffle and clear her throat before she tells me to come in.
I push the door open and find her already in her bed, covered up, browsing a farm equipment magazine. Allegedly.
“Debating which combiner you want to buy next?” I ask, closing the door before lowering myself down on the side of her bed.
She huffs a laugh and closes the catalog. “I’ve actually already got the newest models, I was just seeing what was outdated already,” she says with a fake snooty tone.
“Ah, I see,” I play along, taking it from her and tossing it onto the nightstand.
“About tomorrow,” I start, and she puts her hand up to stop me before I can even get out a thought.
“As soon as the bridge is done, I can ask your parents for a ride back to town with them, so you’re not bothered,” she rushes out, like she’s apologizing
“What? No,” I say. “That’s not what I was going for. I was just seeing how you felt about going back to the real world and not being stuck on a ranch anymore.”
She gives me a smile, but I’ve known her for so long that I immediately know it’s fake as shit.
“Yeah, excited to go back to my impromptu renovation that started on my first day back,” she retorts. “Speaking of which, I borrowed your battery bank to charge my phone so I can call the landlord when we get back into service. It’s over on the dresser. It should be done by now.”
I stand and cross the room, unplugging her cell.
“You should save my number,” I say casually. “You know, in case you fail to break into someone’s house again. I could come get you.”
I’m hit in the back with a pillow.
I spin on my heels and find Clover standing there, the corner of a pillow clenched in her fist.
“Damn, packed on a ton of muscle since I last saw you, I see.” She hadn’t, but my plan works. She hits me with the pillow again. I take a step towards her, and she takes a step back.
“Careful, Lucky girl,” I warn lowly. “You might hurt someone.”
She swings harder, but takes another step back.
“You’re predictable, you know that?” I ask her, my voice still teasing. I watch her eyes shift from side to side, trying to figure out her next move.
“Am not,” she retorts. “And stay away. I’ll whack you again.”
Her threats are cute, and my dick is definitely interested in something being whacked.
“It’ll be hard to hit me when—” I take another step, knowing she will step back again.
As predicted, she does, and she’s this close to the wall.
She winds up to swing the pillow again, but this time, I catch her wrist, pushing her gently against the wall.
When she thumps against it, her grip loosens on the pillow, dropping it to the ground.
She breaks her focus briefly to look at it, and that’s when I grab her other wrist, pinning both of them against the wall above her head.
“You’re pinned against a wall,” I finish my sentence. Her head tilts up, and I hear her breath catch in her throat. My girl’s face is red as hell, and it’s exactly what I want.
“What’s your next move, Lucky girl?”
I watch her eyelids flutter shut and open back up, her pupils dilated. She likes this game. Good. So do I.
I move in closer to her and put my lips against her ear.
“Do you remember your colors, Clover Jane?” I can feel how scratchy my voice sounds, and I wonder if she can tell how badly I fucking need her.
“Yes, Sir,” she whispers, and god damn, why does that turn me on so fucking much? The thought of this chaos gremlin submitting to me has me reeling.
Sure, BDSM is the genre of porn I’m into, but I’ve never really dabbled in it in person. The married couple I’m partial to are extremely communicative and also have side videos where they discuss the ins and outs of a real BDSM dynamic, and a lot about the respect side of it.
The last woman I was with, shit, was it four years ago? She claimed it’s what she was into, but what she wanted sounded toxic, not respectful and consensual. I’ve done enough research, and I know that what she was after didn’t align with what I wanted.
There’s no way Clover would be into this . . . right?
“Good girl,” I mutter, snapping back to reality.
She whimpers softly, and I press my forehead to hers.
I adjust my grasp so both of her wrists are trapped by one of my hands, and slide the other hand down the column of her neck with a feather-like touch.
I study her face as I keep moving my hand down her body, and when I reach her stiff nipple and flick it carefully, she sucks in a breath, her eyes full of fire.
“Do you like that, Lucky girl?” I ask her, checking in, allowing her time to use her color code if she needs to.
“Yes, Sir. Green.”
I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep myself from beaming at her, and to direct my attention back, I do it again, a bit harder. She shifts around, but I press her wrists tighter against the wall and move to flick her other nipple.
She squeaks, but when I raise a brow at her, she repeats the color green.
After going back and forth between the two, switching between flicking her nipples and pinching them, tugging them through her shirt, I groan.
I’m so fucking turned on, my cock is leaking.
“If I let go of your hands and take your shirt off, will you put them at your sides and leave them there unless I say?”
She nods and gives me another verbal approval.
I release her wrists, and she surprisingly does as I asked.
I pull her shirt up over her head, and her breasts have the perfect drop.
The natural bounce of them has me groaning, and I immediately take one of her blush-colored nipples into my mouth, biting down gently as a moan rumbles out of her.
I flick the tip with my tongue before repeating the process on her other one.
I love that my girl isn’t shy about her body.
She is proud of her shape, her curves, the vessel that carries her day after day.
I kiss my way down her soft tummy, wishing I had all the time in the world to kiss every dimple and stretch mark of her skin.
Every inch of this goddess’s temple that she’s allowing me to serve at.
I’ve reached the waist of her sweatpants—my sweatpants —and I’ve never been more irritated at a piece of clothing. I hook my fingers into the waistband and look up at her. She pouts out a single word, and I’m at her mercy.
“Green.”