Exposed to You (12 page)

He finally turned around, holding up a black T-shirt and
a pair of boxer shorts. “Put these on; you’re staying the night.”

“I… can’t,” I stammered, grasping his red duvet in my
fist.

“You’ve had too much to drink, Amy. Arnold has gone home
for the evening and I’m not putting you in a cab alone and you’ve made it clear
you don’t want me going to your place.”

“I’ll be fine,” I said in a small voice.

“No, you’ll put these on and stay in the guestroom. I’ll
leave you alone to change,” he said, ending the discussion. He placed the
clothes down on the bed before leaving the room.

I looked down at them. If it were anyone else, it
wouldn’t be a strange request—I knew that. I’d spent the night with boyfriends
and slept in rooms with guy friends on ski trips during University. But
something about being this close to Dallon, wearing his clothes, made me both
excited and nervous. Still, he didn’t need to know how much he intimidated me.

I quickly changed out of my clothes and pulled on his
T-shirt and boxers. Both items were too large; the shirt completely hid my
chest, and the shorts hung off my hips, but miraculously stayed on. I folded my
clothes and put them on the dresser before leaving the room.

Dallon sat directly in front of me on the couch in the
living room, holding a glass of wine. When he saw me, his eyes darkened.

“You look sexy in my clothes, Amy.”

I stepped forward and then hesitated, leaning against
the doorframe, afraid to get much closer to him. “They’re a little big.”

He laughed. “I’m a little bigger than you. Come here.”
He patted a spot beside him on the couch.

As I approached, he held up a glass of water. I accepted
it and sat down, stretching my legs onto the coffee table. Even in my drunken
haze, I noticed the way his eyes traveled up my legs before stopping at the
shorts. He took another sip of his wine and swallowed hard.

“Your admission pleased me, Amy.”

I frowned questioningly.

“That you enjoyed it when I spanked you.”

Oh god, I’d forgotten about that. I looked down at my
water, took a long gulp. He put a warm hand on my bare leg and my head jerked
up.

“Don’t feel ashamed for being who you are.”

I licked my lips, unsure what to say.

He smiled. “I’m at war with myself here, Amy. Part of me
knows I should wait until tomorrow to have this conversation, but another part
of me has noticed that you are more forthright with me after a few drinks.”

“What do you want to talk about?” I asked hesitantly.

“I want you to work through it with me. That’s what
lovers do.”

“We’re not… lovers.”

He smirked. “We will be.”

I shook my head as if trying to shake off the confusion.
“Well what about you? Is that something you do with all your women?”

He frowned. “Be careful what you say, Miss Clair. A
statement like that belittles you and disrespects me.”

My heart beat faster at his warning. Why was it that he
was so hot when he was angry with me? “I mean, is that what you like? In bed?”

He responded without hesitation. “Yes.”

I nodded, having expected the answer but still surprised
he’d given it to me so willingly.

“Is that what you like too, Amy? I want you to say it
out loud.”

I looked down at my hands. “I don’t know,” I whispered.

He put a finger under my chin and tilted my head up.
“Look at me when you speak to me, Miss Clair.”

“I don’t know,” I repeated, struggling to maintain eye
contact with him. Why wouldn’t he just leave it alone?

“Your body told me that you did.”

“I know, but I might have just been nervous.”

He smirked. “There’s only one way to find out.”

Before I could react, he flipped me over his lap and
pulled his boxers down my legs. I tried to sit up, struggling against him and
demanding that he tell me what he was doing, even though I already knew.

“Shh.” He ran his hand over my bare skin slowly,
sensually. His left arm was pressed against the small of my back, holding me
down firmly. “Tell me how you feel right now.”

In response, I squirmed below him.

His hand came down sharply, and I cried out but stopped
struggling. I grasped the blanket and pressed my face into it, grasping the
material tightly. He began rubbing where he had spanked me, soothing the pain.
“Answer me, Amy.”

“Angry!”

“Is that all?”

“Embarrassed,” I added in a small voice.

“Hmm.” He began to trail light fingers along my skin.
“Tell me what you thought when you received the picture. The truth. If you
don’t, I’ll spank you again.”

“The same. Angry and embarrassed. But also… surprised.
By how I looked.” I was speaking quickly, my breathing coming out in pants.

“And you realized that you liked it. Or did you already
know when I pleasured you the other night?”

I didn’t respond, and he spanked me again.

“Both! I guess I realized then but started to know for
sure when I saw the picture.” I flushed with embarrassment at my confession,
glad that he couldn’t see my face. I’d just admitted to him what I hadn’t been
able to admit to myself.

Dallon gently pulled my shorts back up and placed me
between his legs so that I was kneeling before him. He pulled up my shirt just
enough to expose my midriff and inserted a hand under the waistband of my
shorts.

“Time to find out.”

I inhaled as his fingers slipped between my legs. A
smile spread across his face. “You’re very wet. You liked that. Didn’t you,
Amy?”

I blushed crimson. My face had never felt so hot.

“Didn’t you?”

I nodded, biting my lip.

He stopped touching me. “I want to hear you say it.”

“I liked it,” I whispered. I didn’t want him to stop; I
was beyond aroused and there was no point in denying it. When he leaned forward
to kiss me, I returned it, kissing him deeply and moaning into his mouth. At
that point, I would have admitted anything if he’d asked him. Would have done
anything.

He smiled and began stroking me again. “You’re so receptive
to me. I love it.”

I looked down and saw the bulge in his pants, and that
just pushed me further. As the pleasure grew, I leaned forward and pressed my
mouth against his shoulder, stifling my moans as I shuddered into my climax.

* * *

Dallon trailed his fingers along my legs before taking
my right foot in his hand and beginning to rub it. I was lying on the couch
with my legs resting on his lap, my body still humming. I was in way over my
head and I knew it; Dallon had just found a way to make me admit what I hadn’t
wanted to admit to anyone. There was no hiding now.

“Do you feel more relaxed now that the truth is out and
everything is okay?”

I nodded. It was kind of freeing to have given in and
admitted it to myself.

“Good,” Dallon smiled, picking up my other foot.

I watched him work away at my arch, a small smile on his
face. His touch was amazing, and my thoughts wandered to what else he might be
pro at. It was obvious that Dallon had experience with satisfying a woman. He
was so experienced; he could read me better than I could read myself.

 I wished I knew as much about him.

“So, your fantasy woman—the one that looks like
me—that’s your… type,” I said, trying to sound casual.

He shrugged. “I guess so.”

“Why? I mean—why that look?”

He smiled with one side of his mouth. “I’ve thought
about that. I think it’s because I’m looking for something opposite to myself.
I’m large—almost six foot four—and dark. I want small and light.”

I didn’t respond and he took another sip of his wine,
this time sounding sad or bitter, I couldn’t tell which. “An angel to my devil,
perhaps.”

“That sounds deep.” I was still tipsy and suddenly
tired, struggling to keep my eyes open after the earlier events. “Do you see
yourself as a devil?”

“Sometimes.”

“Because you like to spank women?”

He laughed, but it sounded sad. He ran a finger up my
leg again and shivered under his touch. “Because I like to
control
women.”

I tried to stifle a yawn and failed miserably. “But
why?”

He sighed. “I appreciate your willingness to discuss
with me, Miss Clair, but we’re heading into territory that should probably wait
for another day. I don’t want to make you run when I’ve finally made progress,
and you need to go to bed. It’s late.”

Dallon moved my legs off his lap and bent over to pick
me up. He carried me to his bed, pulled back the covers and placed me down.
When he put the covers on me, they felt as heavy as my eyelids, which I could
no longer keep open.

 “Sleep well, Amy,” he said and kissed me on the
forehead.

When I awoke the next morning, it took me a minute to
remember where I was.

I was in a large bed with a dark red duvet and brown
sheets. I sat up and looked around the room. It was sparsely decorated with a
leather reading chair and a dresser. From my vantage point, I could see a large
closet and beside it, a bathroom.

Instead of putting me to bed in the guestroom, Dallon
had put me in his bed.

I peeled back the covers and tip-toed into the bathroom,
my jaw nearly hitting the floor. All I noticed was marble: marble floors,
marble counters, marble shower. The floor was warm beneath my feet. There was a
note on the counter and a robe and towel folded beside it. I walked over and
picked up the note.

“Amy, feel free to shower and use this robe.”

Dallon must have written it and left it there last
night. I glanced at his shower. It was large with multiple dials and a
bench—much nicer than the shower/tub combination in my apartment. I’d cleaned
it a million times but was still tempted to wear sandals when I used it.

I stripped down, turned on the water and stepped in,
exhaling with pleasure when the warm water hit my skin. A washcloth was folded
on the bench. Dallon had thought of everything, and it was hard not to be
impressed. I washed my face and then tried pushing the different buttons,
shrieked when a cloud of mist shot out around me. Next, I shampooed my hair,
lathering it around until the entire space smelled like Vanilla.

A long time later—I’d guess a half hour—I finally forced
myself to get out. I toweled myself down and pulled on the robe. Then I ran a
brush through my hair so that it would dry straight.

When I stepped out of his room, Dallon was in the
kitchen and the smell of bacon wafted toward me. He was just showered as well
and wearing a black, long sleeved shirt with the first few buttons undone. When
I walked toward him, he glanced up and smiled. “Enjoyed your shower? I heard
you singing.”

Oh no. I hadn’t realized I’d been singing. I smiled down
at my feet as I climbed onto the stool in front of the breakfast bar. “You have
a nice shower.”

“I do.” He added after a beat, “The one in the guest
bathroom is nice too.”

The guest bathroom was probably that one that would have
been mine, if I’d accepted his job offer. The thought made me uncomfortable so
I changed the subject to the food. “I love bacon.”

“I’m glad,” he smiled broadly. “Did you sleep well?”

“Very. I think I was out when my head hit the pillow.”

“You were. I changed and grabbed a pair of clothes for
today, and you didn’t move an inch.”

I smiled and looked down, secretly disappointed that I
hadn’t been able to sneak a glance at him changing.

“You didn’t sneak out in the middle of the night this
time,” he said with a half-smile.

“No, I didn’t.”

He made his way around the breakfast bar until he was standing
in front of me. “So does that mean you’re not going to run anymore?” He said it
like it was a joke, but I could sense the need behind it.

“I don’t think there’s a point anymore.”

“Because I will continue to pursue you?”

“Because you already have me,” I said softly. “There’s
no point in trying to pretend otherwise.”

He grinned, picked a grape from the bowl on the counter,
tossed it into his mouth. “So you’ve realized I’m not all that bad.”

“You can be all right when you want to be.”

He placed his hands on my knees and leaned down so that
his face was inches across from mine. “I can be
very nice
when I want to
be. With people I care about.”

“Exactly,” I whispered. His hands were pushing my legs
open and I wasn’t wearing anything underneath my robe. I was pretty sure that
if he glanced down, he would see everything.

Instead, he kissed my nose and stood, walked back around
to his side of the breakfast bar. “Would you like a glass of orange juice?”