Page 250 of On A Manhunt: Complete Series

MELLY

My mouth dropped open, but I didn’t say anything. He cocked an eyebrow and with the corner of his mouth tipped up, he seemed bemused.

By me. I had a feeling–based on his far-from-vanilla attitude toward sex–that he was serious but brought it up now to get me to react. At least blush.

Which worked.

“Maybe we should start with our names and work out the particulars later,” I suggested. I wasn’t going to admit first thing that I read a really hot anal scene in a recent book and wanted to try to enact it.

He snagged a pen which rested beside the paper. “Right. I think we know our names. It’s not like we’re sharing this with anyone else.” He paused and met my gaze with his dark one. “Unless you’re into being shared.”

I immediately laughed and took off my coat, suddenly overly warm. He took it from me and tossed it on one of the breakfast bar stools. “Shared? As if. One guy at a time.”

“Good. I’m not sharing you.”

He wrote something down, then held the paper up. In neat, all capital letters, it said NO SHARING.

I eyed the whisky but shifted my gaze to Daniel.

I drove here and was inside his house. I wanted this.

My vagina was telling me to go for it. “How about exclusivity?” I wondered, pushing on.

This wasn’t a relationship, but I wasn’t thrilled about him hopping out of bed with me and into another with someone else.

He wrote some more. “No… one… else.”

That was reassuring. Even if it was only for a few days, it was exclusive. I wasn’t one of many.

“Good. How about length of contract?” I suggested. That was tame. Didn’t involve butt stuff or taking two guys at once.

He nodded. I just noticed his hair was slightly damp, as if he’d recently showered and it slid over his forehead. “Right. I leave Saturday.”

“So this will last until then.”

He kept his head down and continued to write. “Termination… plane leaving. Got it.” There were no sentences or fancy language in this contract, only bullet points.

“Okay.” There was that lip quirk again as he looked up. “On the phone, you said you were afraid of the unknown and that you didn’t know the rules. The rules are whatever we make them. Just you and me. No one else. Like… I don’t like to be tickled.”

My eyes widened and I couldn’t help but smile. This was a surprise. “You’re ticklish?”

He set a hand on his chest and had a look of mock shock. “What, a big guy like me can’t be?”

This I had to see. Daniel was actually ticklish? I approached. At first, his eyes hooded, then heated. Then he saw me raise my hands, fingers wiggling and caught on.

“Mellllllly,” he warned, and took a step back.

I had no idea why I was bold. I had a feeling it was Daniel himself. He–Mr. Lumberjack–was on the retreat.

He had his hands up as if to ward me off. “Don’t even think about it.”

“You really are ticklish?” I asked.

He stopped, then tipped his chin down to look at me closely. “Maybe you are.”

“Me?”

He took a step toward me, turning the tables. Uh oh.

I didn’t like to be tickled either. What happened if I peed my pants? God, what if I farted?

Now it was my turn to retreat.

I couldn’t miss the gleam in his eye. “You. If I catch you–”

And I was off, spinning on my heel and dashing around the center island with a laugh.

“Run, sweet girl, but when I catch you…”

He didn’t finish and I didn’t wait for him to do so and circled around the dining room table.

I aimed to go around the leather couches in front of the fireplace.

An expert with the layout of his furniture, he cut me off, caught me from behind.

A thick arm banded about my waist and lifted me off my feet.

One second I was airborne, the next I was on my back on a plush couch.

Daniel had one knee on the cushion, the other foot on the floor and he hovered over me.

His dark hair fell over his forehead. Little crinkles formed by his eyes.

We were breathing hard, and we were both smiling. I adjusted my glasses.

Earl gave a deep woof from the dog bed where he was curled up, Fred at his side, but neither moved.

“Please don’t tickle me,” I said, knowing he could do it now and there was no way to escape. I wasn’t scared. Okay, maybe of farting. Perhaps my words were a subtle test to see if he respected my wishes.

“No tickling,” he agreed. “It’s now one of the rules.”

His gaze dropped down my body and I realized my top had drifted up. His finger brushed over the bare sliver of exposed skin.

Just the softest of caresses had me sucking in a breath. Heat shot through me, and I waited for what he’d do next. If I’d like it. But what if I did it wrong?

“Touching, however–”

“What if I touch you in some other way you don’t like?” I blurted, then bit my lip with worry, not even realizing that was a concern.

His finger stilled, but the contact remained. He glanced at me through long lashes. How did a man get such amazing eyelashes? Totally unfair.

The look he gave me wasn’t cold. In fact, it was very, very hot. Scorching. “Any way you touch me I’ll like, sweet girl. I promise.”

I felt the words, the weight of them. The truth. “Okay.”

“I’ll never forget you mentioned toys.”

Closing my eyes, I wanted to hide. NO MORE WINE!

“For our contract, yes or no to toys?” he asked.

With him? Would he feel threatened by them? “Do you want to play with toys?” I asked in return.

“Do I want to watch you spread your gorgeous thighs and fuck yourself with a huge vibrator? Fuck, yes.”

Okay, totally hot. “Then yes.”

“Oral?”

“Do you want–”

“My answer is yes to everything.”

“Then yes.”

“Giving oral?”

“Yes.”

“Receiving?”

“Yes.”

“I know you like fingers.”

My pussy clenched remembering how much I really did like his. “Yes.”

The corner of his mouth tipped up. Those fingers were on the move, sliding back and forth across my lower stomach. “You’re saying yes to everything.”

“But I want to try everything,” I admitted.

He lifted his hand and moved away, dropping onto the end of the couch near my feet.

I pushed up onto my elbows. What was he–

“Have at me,” he said, using both hands to point at his chest. “Touch me how you want. Kiss. Suck. Lick. Fuck. I’m all yours.”

Those words had me sitting up all the way, my legs tucked underneath me. There had to be four feet of sofa between us. “What? Just go over to you and… kiss you and take your clothes off and then–”

He nodded. “Whatever you want.”

Yikes! “I can’t do that. I don’t know how and I would be lost and–”

“And you’d be worried and thinking too much.”

I sighed. He understood. “Exactly.”

“So you want me to be in charge.”

Did I? He’d dragged me into the storage room and then touched me. He’d talked me all the way through it but had definitely been in charge. Then… yes. I did. I wanted to be told what to do. I nodded. “Yes, please. Clear instructions. I follow them very well.”

“I like things a little dark. A little dirty. You learned that last night.”

Did his voice get deeper?

A shift came over him, as if he was already slipping into a mode where he was the boss. Like the night before. He asked for my consent more than once. Asked if I liked what he was doing. At the same time, he was whispering filthy things in my ear while touching me in the boldest and potent of ways.

That was what I’d craved all day. What had silently and subconsciously lured me here tonight.

“I… I liked it,” I admitted.

“But?” he prodded.

But should I like that? I looked down at my hands in my lap, folded them together.

Daniel hadn’t gone running the night before.

Or laughed at me letting out this passionate and uninhibited side of myself I never knew even existed.

Reading steamy romance novels and imagining sexy things while using my vibrator was one thing.

Actually doing the stuff in those books with Daniel? Hot, yes. But– No buts. Only butts.

I tipped up my chin. “No. I liked it.”

“But you’ve been wondering all day if liking it was wrong. That going into a bar’s storeroom with a man who finger fucks you isn’t what good girls do.”

I blushed, then nodded. I wasn’t sure how he knew that, but he did.

“You want a contract to know that anything we do is okay. That you don’t have to wonder if it’s wrong or I won’t like it or anything else. That you don’t have to be a good girl with me.”

Wow, he understood. “Yes, that’s right.”

He shook his head. “How about this? Skip the paper. Anything we do in this house is okay. You don’t have to worry about doing anything right or wrong, if it’s too naughty to share.

You can scream. Whimper. Beg. Sweat. Cream.

Hell, you can squirt. All good. Any hole.

Any fantasy. Any naughty word that falls from those lips. All good.”

I glanced around. “So this house is the contract.”

“Yes. If you don’t like something, you say so. I stop and we talk about it. Period.”

“Just like that?”

“Yeah. Just like that. And I’m in charge.”

I could climb on his lap and touch him and it was okay. I could tell him I wanted to be bent over the dining table and it was okay. Whatever I wanted and craved wasn’t going to be shamed or laughed at. I was relieved and comforted and turned on with it.

“No relationship. It ends when I leave town. In this house, whatever gets you hot goes. It’ll be my job to give it to you.”

Was this actually happening? It seemed insane, but my vagina was telling me yes, yes, YES!

So I said, “Yes.”