Hot To Trot

HOT TO TROT

Barrie Abalard

® www.loose-id.com

Warning This e-book contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language and may be considered offensive to some readers. Loose Id® e-books are for sale to adults ONLY, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase. Please store your files wisely, where they cannot be accessed by under-aged readers.

Hot to Trot Barrie Abalard This e-book is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Published by Loose Id LLC 1802 N Carson Street, Suite 212-2924 Carson City NV 89701-1215 www.loose-id.com

Copyright © April 2008 by Barrie Abalard All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the purchaser of this e-book ONLY. No part of this e-book may be reproduced or shared in any form, including, but not limited to printing, photocopying, faxing, or emailing without prior written permission from Loose Id LLC.

ISBN 978-1-59632-665-1 Available in Adobe PDF, HTML, MobiPocket, and MS Reader

Printed in the United States of America

Editor: Ann M. Curtis Cover Artist: Marci Gass

www.loose-id.com

Prologue

When he brought his head closer to hers, he whispered, “Do you know what I’m going to do to you later?” He noted the goose bumps on her bare arms. His erection strained against his pants. Damn, he was hard. He reached for her hand. “What?” she said, lowering her gaze. When she met his again, he said, “First, you’ll strip for me.” “Umm,” she said, eyes wide. “After you’re naked, I’ll use those black stockings of yours to tie your wrists to the bed. Face up. I’ll do the same with your ankles. You’ll be spread-eagled, helpless, and waiting for me to --” He stopped, drank a little wine. So did she. He wondered if she was getting just as turned on. He continued. “I plan to suck your nipples until they’re so hard, they ache. Then I’ll move my mouth lower. You’ll be under strict orders not to come.” He leaned forward, their faces now only inches apart. “Though I’ll make it damned difficult for you to obey.”

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“Suppose I can’t help it?” she whispered. They each took another sip before he replied. “In that case, I’ll be forced to punish you.” His wife shivered. “How?” “You know my flat-backed wooden hairbrush?” Her mouth formed an "O" for a moment before she swallowed visibly. “The brush. Damn, that’ll smart.” He wanted to throw down cash for the meal they wouldn’t eat and carry her home so that he could ravish her. Screw the striptease. His cock was about to burst. “Of course, and because it will hurt, I’ll have to tie you down to use the brush. And once I’ve reddened your bottom sufficiently --” He stopped, waiting for her to ask. He didn’t have to wait long. “Yes?” she said, panting a little. “Let’s just say I’m going to enjoy a part of you that I’ve never taken before. You’ve been hinting you’d like to be…possessed back there. Or am I wrong?” She quickly drained her glass, then said, “You’re absolutely correct, sir.” “I like the ‘sir.’ Keep it.” He poured a fresh glass of burgundy, touched his glass to hers. “To a fresh start, ’Cakes. Happy third anniversary.” “Right back at you, Dyl,” she said. Leaning toward him again, she murmured, “I’m almost ready to come, just hearing about your plans for my backside. You know how much spanking turns me on. And the thought of you slipping into my back door -- well, my panties are soaked.” He caressed her palm with a finger, knowing that doing so heightened her arousal. She bit her lip, whimpering. “Of course, I’ll take plenty of time to ensure that you are ready for me. I want you to enjoy being possessed,” he said.

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Her eyes became cloudy. “This is it, Dyl? No more fooling around on your part? A real fresh start?” “Sugar,” he said, “there’s only one woman’s back door I want to open, and it’s yours.” Her cheeks lit with fire. She bit her lip again before speaking. “Do we have to stay for dinner?” “My thoughts exactly.” He looked around for the waiter in order to get the bill, only to see Tiffany instead.

Tiffany? Whatthefuck? She was standing at the entrance to the dining room, and she was frowning at him. He shook his head once, slightly, hoping she’d take the hint. Instead, she slapped her hands on her hips and raised her eyebrows at him.

I told her it was over. Why is she here? He looked at his wife. Her face was red, but not from lust. He watched the full glass of ruby liquid fly through the air, splashing his face, his shirt, his brand-new suit. “So much for a fresh start,” she spat, emptying the wine bottle as well over his head. “Don’t bother coming home tonight. I’ll have the doors barricaded. And don’t call me. My lawyer will call your lawyer. Anything you have to say to me can be filtered through her.” “But…” he sputtered. “You don’t have a lawyer.” “I will by tomorrow night,” she said, her tone no-nonsense. He watched her walk away. His wife paused when she reached Tiffany, as if she might spit on her. But she didn’t. She simply shook her head before moving on. Tiffany was heading toward him now, but he saw only his wife. Her backside, walking away. The wife he loved and had so foolishly lost because of his wandering eye. He admitted he deserved every drop of wine, every smidgen of humiliation. But even so, he’d never wanted to spank -- and fuck -- his wife so much in all his life as he did in that moment.

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And, thanks to his damned wandering ways, his chance to spank and fuck her had vanished forever.

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Chapter One

I didn’t mean to lie on my job application. I’m Patricia North, and I used to write for the Boston software industry. Because I needed to support my house and my horse, I applied at DD Technology. So there I sat, interviewing with my two future fellow writers, when the conference room door opened and he looked inside. I had no idea he worked at DD Technology. Who? My ex-husband, Dylan Decker. Seeing him for the first time in five years shocked me silent. He cast his usual spell on my female interviewers. One was older than me, one younger, but both melted as soon as they laid eyes on his chiseled build, his sexy smile, and, when he stepped into the room, his tight butt. I never forgot that he filled out his pants nicely, thank you. The problem was, he never forgot it, either. That’s what had landed us in divorce court. I sat there, mouth open, while Bonnie and Betty giggled like lust-struck teenagers. “Why, Dylan, what brings you by?” Bonnie patted her curls and stuck out her chest, emphasizing her biggest charm. Not that she was large enough for the Deckerhead. As I recalled, you had to be at least a C-cup for this good ol’ boy.

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At least I’m successful in that department. I straightened my back, the better to highlight my own assets. “Dylan, how are you?” Betty, the older one, never lifted her gaze to his face, focusing all her attention on his jeans, or rather, what was in them. Dylan never had to stuff his pants to look impressive. “We must rate pretty highly, to get a visit from a company founder.”

Oh my God, Dylan founded the company? He preened under their verbal petting. I swear I saw his head swell. The head that contained his brain, not the one in his pants. Although, when we were together, he always did a lot of so-called thinking with the other, smaller head. “Betty, how are you doing? Bonnie, will you be in the meeting for the RTW project at two?” He flashed his smile again, peering seductively over the tops of his nerdy, goofy, Drew Carey–style black-framed glasses. Both the women nearly drooled while I sat there, stunned, wondering if he’d recognize me. That’s when I realized I’d lied on my job application. I’d checked the “No” box next to the question, “Do you know anyone who works for DD Technology?” Boy, when I’m wrong, I do it up right. “Either of you seen Harry?” The real reason Dylan had stopped by became apparent. “Not me,” Betty said. Both women batted their eyelashes so furiously you could’ve caught a cold from the breeze. Dylan smiled. With a, “See y’all,” he closed the door. He hadn’t even noticed me. I didn’t know whether to be pleased or disappointed. Maybe I wasn’t sexy enough for him any more. Or young enough. That was a sobering thought -- better not go there.

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Both Betty and Bonnie turned to me, sighing. “Those green eyes!” Betty said. “That black hair!” Bonnie gushed. “That…body!” Betty blushed and rubbed the finger where a wedding band could have been. “Isn’t he cute?” they chorused. I had to come clean. “Betty, Bonnie,” I began, “I made a teeny little mistake on my job application.” After fixing the mistake -- not that anyone at the company would have known, with me using my maiden name since the divorce -- and interviewing for three more hours, I drove home in rush-hour traffic. One thing traffic’s good for is fantasies, and things were so snarled I had time for several arousing fantasies about my ex. Whether I wanted him in my fantasies or not, he was stuck in them like Superglue. Damn, I wished I’d ordered that cute little “commuter vibrator” I’d seen advertised in my favorite sex toy catalog. Then I might have actually looked forward to sitting in traffic on Route 128, the toy buzzing merrily inside me.

Dylan Decker. Five years later, and, even angry with him, I still wanted him to answer my booty call. I shook my head but couldn’t dislodge the images playing in my mind. His crooked nose, courtesy of a jealous man, was only slightly less appealing than his naturalborn crooked smile. His thick, black hair was such that women couldn’t resist touching it. Then there were his piercing, sea green eyes. Eyes that always made me feel like a naughty girl. Mr. Decker adores naughty girls. My wicked thoughts forced me to recall my desire to be soundly spanked by Dylan, the way he used to. And my desire -- still unfulfilled -- for sizzling, sweaty, backdoor sex that would blow off the top of my head.

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If it weren’t for his cheating ways, that last fantasy might have been fulfilled the night of our third wedding anniversary. I mean, you really have to know -- and trust -- a man to allow him to tie you up and take you anally. For all my seeming bravado, I’m chicken when it comes to revealing my more colorful desires. I’m the woman who couldn’t manage to order a vibrator to use in traffic, even though no one else would ever know about it. Well, other than the order clerk. Thinking about Dylan had me wriggling in my seat and entertaining X-rated thoughts about the car’s stick shift. I know, pathetic, isn’t it? I thought about how I might convince my almost-boyfriend, Richard Whiting, to come home with me tonight after our trail ride. It had been such a long time since Dylan, a time of fixer-uppers and casual disasters I laughingly called dates. I’d experienced two halfhearted relationships, and a couple of onenighters with Mr. Wrong and his twin brother, but no one had been in my life or heart since the divorce. Richard would be the first since Dylan, if everything worked out as I hoped. I arrived home, flipped through my mail, and winced to see more bills. Tech writing jobs have been scarce around the Boston area since the tech crash, and I hadn’t worked in seven freaking months. I needed a steady income to continue living in my modest five-room ranch west of the city. Truth be told, I’d live in a cardboard box as long as I could keep my horse, Flash. Horses are money pits, and I wasn’t exactly born with a silver spoon. Mine was more like a tin one filled with moonshine. I flopped on the couch, taking time to pet my calico kitty, Sweetums. She assumed the position that permitted maximum access for her belly rub. With a bachelor’s in technical writing and eight years experience in the business, I hadn’t expected to be grilled as if I were applying for double-secret security clearance at the CIA. I pondered whether I wanted to work at a company where my ex was one of the top executives. But money wasn’t occupying my thoughts as much as it should have. Instead, men and sex were.

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I changed into my barn clothes, nuked and gulped down a Lean Cuisine, then headed out to see Flash and Richard. After months of teasing, I prayed he’d finally take me out on a real date. I needed a distraction from the ex-husband I’d discovered I still wanted. Well, that wasn’t quite accurate. My body still wanted him. I couldn’t help recalling our college days, him at Georgia Tech and me at Northeastern in Boston, and how we’d never had sex often enough, except for the phone kind. We married once we graduated and, as the Boston area hummed with job opportunities, he moved to be with me. The first year, I’d been deliriously happy. The second year, we fought more, and he started coming home smelling of perfume. The third year, I nearly left him -- until he convinced me we could make a fresh start. Our third anniversary was supposed to be it. Then Tiffany showed up, and I was outta there. Since then, I’d tried hard not to know who he was sleeping with, other than Tiffany. I used to hear rumors, though, from my so-called friends. I suspected half of them slept with him. As I turned into the driveway leading to the barn, I wondered if he ever took up riding, the way I finally did. We both grew up in northern Georgia. In our families, asking for something as extravagant as riding lessons would have been met by hysterical laughter, or maybe even a session in the woodshed for showing impertinence. I unfolded my five-nine body out of the Miata I’d bought to salve my ego after the divorce. It was a bit too small for my height, but men looked at me when I drove that little black car, and I liked it when men looked at me. At my age, the looks didn’t come as often as they used to. Being thirty sucks. Richard was leading BlackJack, his dark bay ex-racehorse, into the barn adjacent to the indoor ring. I savored the man’s trim body and dark good looks. He could easily play an upper-class hero in a Jane Austen novel.

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Richard had come into my life when he moved his horse to the same barn where I keep Flash. He taught riding, though he wasn’t my instructor. I trained with an older woman who had patience to burn with awkward adult beginners, like me. Richard and I rode together sometimes, joking, chatting, making out once or twice in the tack room. He was probably the only man besides Dylan that I would let into my bed on the first date. If we ever managed to have a date, that was. Twice, Richard had hinted that he’d spank me if I pushed him far enough. I wanted to push him further to see whether he was all talk, because I craved a man who takes control. Dylan had controlled me sexually, spanking me, but it had been mostly for fun, not real discipline. With Dylan, I experienced a real punishment spanking once, and once was enough. Of course, Dylan deserved to be horsewhipped for the way he cheated on me. My behavioral misdemeanors weren’t in the same order of magnitude. Although I suspected he’d take my discipline for them seriously. I hurried to retrieve Flash, my draft crossbreed. Tonight was one of my nights to ride him. I shared his ownership with another woman, Roberta Aucoin, in order to cut expenses. Flash is an enormous white horse, with the cutest feathery fetlocks, like the Clydesdales’ feet in the beer commercials, and the sweetest disposition ever. However, the person who named him Flash had a sense of humor, because the name Old Joe suits him better. I’ve owned him only a short while, but I’ve already fallen madly in love with him. Flash reminded me of all those farm horses I used to ride bareback whenever I could trade mucking out the stalls of my childhood neighbors for a ride on their draft horses. The horses were so big that wrapping my legs around their sides had been impossible -- I had to rely on balance to stay aboard. And that balance came in handy once I began riding Dylan, who bucked when he fucked like the wildest stallion around.

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I led Flash into the grooming stall opposite Richard and BlackJack. As usual, Richard was way ahead of me in the process -- as the more advanced rider, he always completed his chores faster. Also, as usual, I was grateful I owned a sweet horse like Flash and not one like his Jack, who enjoyed nipping every chance he got. Jack bit my thigh once, and let me tell you, horse bites hurt. I remained wary of “Satan,” which was what Richard called Jack when the horse acted evilly. “Hey, North.” Richard, laconic as usual, nodded to me. I watched him saddle the horse, pondering my life and desires further. Because I worked with bossy, testosterone-filled über-geeks who alternately patronized and pursued me, I needed to be in control in the work world. So, behind closed doors I needed to let go of my control-freak urges. In other words, I craved a real man, one who would protect, cherish, and yes, correct me. I thought I’d had such a man with Dylan, but his adulterous ways had broken my heart. I strengthened my resolve to make my move on Richard later in the evening. Tonight had to be the night, if only because I desperately needed sexual distraction. Seeing Dylan had made me damned horny. For now, though, I’d simply chat. “I interviewed for a job today. I think it’s pretty promising.” He shrugged. “Let’s talk about it later.” “Is something wrong?” His seeming indifference bugged me. “No. I just want to get outside before the sun goes down.” What he said made sense, but I felt a little annoyed all the same. Lately, Richard seemed withdrawn, and I wondered why. My impatience bubbled up, stoking my pissed-off state. My inability to wait for the right moment had started way too many arguments in the past. I knew it wouldn’t do any good to ask him directly -- I’d just have to wait and see what happened.

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We finished the workout portion of our rides an hour later. Richard had practiced some fancy dressage moves in one outdoor ring, while I cantered Flash over some two-foot fences in another. Sunday would be my first big horse show, and I needed all the drilling I could get. Flash was fine -- I was the idiot, losing my balance three times. After that, we gave the horses a breather by heading out on a short trail ride. “Now, Patti, what’s your news?” he asked, wiping a bit of sweat from his forehead. “I interviewed at DD Technology today. I hope they offer me a job.” “Sounds great.” He peered over at me. “But you don’t seem happy. What’s the problem?” “I don’t know if it’s a problem, but my ex-husband works there. He’s one of the founders. Maybe it wouldn’t be a good idea to take the job.” Richard pulled Jack up short. “Patti, I can’t believe you would turn a wonderful opportunity into a problem. Don’t you need a job? And the money?” “Yes. And it’s a good job.” I gazed into the distance, frustrated with his lack of understanding that working for my ex might cause complications. “So, if they offer it, take it. Always go for the money. That’s what I do.” I said nothing, and Richard sighed. I’d heard him exhale like this before, when he was training a clumsy rider. Not a happy sound. “What’s wrong now?” he said. “You seem so distant lately. I thought you were my friend.” “Stop your pouting this instant. You know I can’t stand it.” I stuck my lip out farther, hoping for a certain response. “What are you going to do about it?” “I’m not in the mood to play games tonight.” Frowning, he slapped at a bug.

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Damn, I’d almost blown it. I stopped my pouting and shot him a sultry look. “How about some dinner together after we finish at the barn?” “Okay. Do you need advice or something?”

Oh, yes, I need some “or something,” Richard. More than you know. I nodded. “If we’re going out, we’d better turn back. I’m teaching an early lesson tomorrow.” My mood lightened considerably when we returned to the barn. I finally had an opportunity to get close to Richard and make my desires known. That is, if my lily-livered soul could pull it off. Forty-five minutes later, chores done and horses put away for the night, I primped in front of the tarnished tack room mirror, waiting for Richard. He called me from the hayloft. “Patti, come on up here so I can show you something.” My hopes rose when I thought of what he might want to show me. The barn’s owners tended to look the other way when boarders used the loft for more than just storage of horse bedding and feed. I climbed the ladder and hurried over to the farthest corner of the loft, where Richard was sitting on a bale of straw. I stood in front of him, hands clasped behind my back, and batted my eyes in a come-hither manner. At least, I hoped it looked that way. My flirting was rusty. “Here, sit next to me,” was all he said. I did as I was told and turned to him, blood rushing through my worked-up body. I closed my eyes and waited. Taking the hint, he enveloped me in his arms, his lips covering mine, his tongue demanding entrance, which I gladly yielded. Thrills of heat rippled through me as he teased and probed every square inch of my mouth. His hands wound themselves in my hair, then slid down my neck, my shoulders, my back, pulling me to him. When he pressed his muscular body to mine, I moaned. When he drew away, I clutched at him. Years of nothing but mediocre sex will do that to a woman.

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“That was nice, but I thought we were only friends,” he breathed into my ear. Despite Richard’s words, his hand began a sneaky insinuation under the bottom edge of my sweater. His warm fingertips brushing the skin of my stomach made me shiver. “We are friends. Can’t we be more, though?” I asked as his fingers snaked toward the bottom edge of my bra. “If that’s what you want.” He gently pushed me back, his hands seeming to be everywhere at once. His lips wandered down my neck, then back up to my earlobe. I didn’t notice he’d unhooked my bra until his mouth landed hotly on one breast. Sweet Jesus! He suckled, firmly latched, while the tip of his tongue teased my nipple. Just the way Dylan used to do. When he wandered to the other breast, his tongue and lips left a trail of fire, causing thrills to rocket through me. My breathing quickened, and the fresh smell of hay filled my senses as I pulled back, making his tugging on my nipple grow stronger. He bit the nipple sharply three times. I squirmed with the pain as if his hands were in my pants. Which, shortly, they were. “You’re a naughty girl, you know that?” He breathed in my ear as he began to unsnap my jeans. He pushed them down, pulled me toward him, and slapped my butt twice. It stung so nicely. “Ooo,” I said. “Is that for pouting?” His middle finger invaded me, his thumb teasing my wet little clit. “You like being spanked, huh?” he asked while I cried out, moving my hips in time with his fingers. Flipping me partly on my stomach, he smacked my bottom, harder than Dylan had ever spanked me with his hand. After five wallops, I was desperate to rub away the sting. I complained, “Stop, it hurts, it hurts.” “In that case,” he muttered. I opened one eye and noticed he produced a condom. My first glimpse of his cock proved he wasn’t hung in the manner I preferred -- thick -- but hey,

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he would do. The straw chafed my smarting sitting area when he turned me over and pressed me onto my back. Disappointment washed through me when I realized he was donning the condom. Although I was wild to screw, I wasn’t ready, not even close. He’d barely touched me between my legs and, as much as I wanted to be thoroughly fucked, a quickie in the hay loft didn’t appeal. Call me a romantic, but I desired a long, slow ride some place private, with at least one orgasm. I had high expectations for my first time with Richard. Difficult as it was, I stopped him as he hovered above me and looked him in the eye. “Let’s not do it here our first time -- I want more than a roll in the hay. How about we pick this up at my place, after dinner? We were going out, remember?” He groaned. “I get it. You want me to eat you, right? You’re one of those women who can’t come unless the man licks her?” “No, no, I just need more -- well, more, before you screw me.” With a put-upon sigh, he slid his torso south to line up his mouth with my pussy, giving me two halfhearted licks that didn’t even land on the right spot. “You don’t have to lick me. You could use your fingers again, you know,” I said. “Come on, just a little, then we can do it.” He raised his head, staring at me, then jerked up his pants. As we both rearranged our clothing, he muttered, “I’m not really in the mood for dinner now.” My temper reared its ugly head, and my voice rose. “Not in the mood? Why, because I wouldn’t fuck you right now, not ready and all? I like to relax when it’s my first time with a man.” He looked away. “I’m not, uh, feeling well.” I narrowed my eyes. “I thought we were friends.” “I thought we were more than ‘friends,’” he countered. “That’s what you want. Don’t go all self-righteous on me.”

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“I want more than friendship, and I also want more than just a quickie in a hayloft.” “And you wait to say this until I’m naked and poised to fuck you silly?” Richard gave me an incredulous look that I took for bullshit. “You’re nothing but a cock-tease.” His accusation stunned me to silence. He pulled his hands out of his pockets, gesticulating. “You’ve been sending out signals for weeks. Seems to me a roll in the hay’s exactly right for you, if your bitchiness is any indicator.” “You’re saying all I really need is a good fuck?” My mood shattered. Some friend! “Hey, if the riding boot fits,” he spat, turning on his heel. Something flew out of his pocket. I picked it up.

Hey, that’s strange. I held up the square package to the light. It held a condom, but it had several holes poked in the middle, as if by a needle. Richard dashed back, snatching it from me. “Give me that!” Astonished at his vehemence, I let him take it, not understanding his anger. The condom was useless. Why would he want it? “Is that yours?” I asked. “No,” he snapped. “Then why do you want it? A condom with holes is no good.” I shook my head. “Must you ask so many questions?” He stalked away. In a pique, I pulled off one of my boots and threw it at his retreating back, but missed. Just my luck. I sat there until I heard him leave. The business with the damaged condom puzzled me. Why did Richard want it? The damned thing produced questions I couldn’t begin to answer. But even the mystery of the ruined condom couldn't distract my wounded heart.

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I climbed down the ladder and headed to Flash’s stall to kiss him good night, something Richard hadn’t even done for me. My horse’s nickering comforted me, and he rubbed his head against me. “At least you still love me, huh, buddy?” Before I went home, I cried into Flash’s neck about Richard. I also listed the pros and cons of taking a job with DD Technology. To his credit, Flash let me talk it out. Why can’t a man be more like a horse?

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Chapter Two

Ringing. There was a ringing somewhere, and it wasn’t only in my head. The bright September sun sliced through the blinds, directly into my brain via my bloodshot eyeballs. Little by little I recalled the night before -- driving home in a haze of loneliness, stopping on the way for a bottle of wine to drown my sorrows, and then drinking to damn, in order, my celibate state, Richard, and my annoying desire for my ex. Or at least for his body. I fell asleep in an awkward position on the floor -- passing out will do that to you -and awoke with a vicious headache, an upset stomach, and a cat who wouldn’t shut up. Sweetums, my lovely calico, has the worst whiny meow in the world, and that’s what she was doing -- whining for breakfast. Even so, I adore my little complaining fur ball. I peeked at the clock on the VCR. Nine thirty. Only an hour late serving Her Royal Highness her chow. “All right, Sweetie, breakfast is coming, uh, in a minute.” I stood up and dashed for the bathroom as the room began to spin. The toilet became the recipient of what little remained in my stomach.

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Of course, Sweetums didn’t care. She continued meowing. With cats, it’s always all about them. An hour later, with my kitty fed and me showered and suffering, I tried to decide what to do with my day. I hadn’t come up with much so far. My head still hurt despite coffee and aspirin, and my stomach rolled. Breakfast had been out of the question, though I chanced a few saltine crackers. I remembered the ringing I’d heard. When I checked my phone for messages, Dave Chadwick from DD Technology boomed in my ear. I winced, holding the receiver an inch away from my aching head while he offered me the job and needed to hear from me right away. Other candidates, and all that. Did I want to work for my ex, or not? Did I like eating regularly and sleeping under a roof? The last question put it all into perspective. Dave was thrilled I could start the next day. “But how did you decide you wanted to hire me so quickly?” I asked. “One of the founders, Dylan Decker, said he knows your work. He more or less ordered me to hire you.” Hmm, maybe he had recognized me yesterday after all. It would be just like Dylan not to let on that he did, in order to torment me. I hung up the phone. What to do with my last day of freedom before becoming a wage slave once again? For starters, I could pick out what I would wear for my first day at DD Technology. Then I could call Roberta, Flash’s co-owner, to celebrate my newfound employment. For a first day, the unofficial dressy high-tech outfit -- khakis and a polo shirt with running shoes -- would do, especially if I added a jacket. But I don’t look hot in baggy pants and a mannish shirt, and I wanted to look hot for you-know-who. I wondered whether he

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was still married to the buxom blonde five years his junior. The ink was still wet on our divorce agreement when they tied the knot. Tiffany, that was the witch’s name. All of twenty-one. A very nubile, flexible-looking twenty-one. She’d had the nerve to show up at our third anniversary dinner. I couldn’t put all the blame on her, though. How’d she know where we’d be if Dylan the Bastard hadn’t told her? I’d bet he planned my humiliation all along. And I wanted to look hot for the jerk? Obviously, I was terribly confused, maybe even stupid. Stupid with lust. I braced myself for the stupid, naked me in my full-length mirror. I clean up well, but my body from the neck down will never be a size ten -- never has, never will. Not unless I gave up eating permanently. I took solace in my old-fashioned, hourglass figure, and that at least my waist was small. I dug through my two closets, and soon an outfit -- black jacket over a black velvet bustier, a micro leather skirt, black stockings, and three-inch black stiletto heels -- lay on the bed. Now this outfit would make Dylan take notice. After I put it on, I shut my eyes and slid my hands down my body, over my breasts and hips, and up under my skirt, pretending my hands were his. I walked in front of the mirror, swinging my hips, thinking of Dylan, of how much I wanted to taunt him with what he couldn’t have. Oh, please. He could have me any time he wanted. And that made me one sorry-assed female. I was soooo turned on, thinking about Dylan having me in any position he wanted. My hands clutched my breasts, gently kneading them. My clit stirred in response. I was horny and frustrated over the nonscrewing I’d received the previous night.

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The jacket was the first thing I lost, shrugging it off my shoulders and down my arms, where it puddled on the floor. Fingers flying, I unzipped the bustier in the back, and it fell right beside the jacket. I kicked it away and looked at myself in the mirror. My nipples could have cut glass they were so hard. Wishing I had a tongue as long as that KISS guy, Gene Simmons, so that I could lick my own breasts, I settled for tugging on my nipples, then rolling them between my fingertips. My pussy responded. Oh, yes, yes, more! I continued pinching my right nipple, the one that’s consistently more sensitive, while sliding my left hand toward my miniscule skirt’s hem, then back up to my pussy. It didn’t have to travel far. Eyes shut, I leaned my head back, imagining that the hand was Dylan’s. He used to tease me by toying with my clit through my panties, the silky fabric that separated his fingers from my pussy dampening with his every stroke. I felt that wetness now, both under my panties and on the finger touching the fabric. I let the fantasy roll in my head. Me naked on our bed, my hands restrained. Him barely touching my panties, the almost-no-touch-at-all ratcheting up my arousal until he quit fooling around and pushed the panty’s crotch aside. Me, wildly fucking the air. My fingers claimed my pussy, one going inside, another massaging my swollen nub. Oh, God -- I was going to -No, not yet. It was a bitch to stop touching myself, but I wanted a dildo, and I knew which one. I’d bought it after Dylan and I divorced. I couldn’t have asked for a better replica of his cock if I’d made a plaster cast of his. A loud moan escaped my lips when I couldn’t find it right away. My entire crotch pulsed, and if I didn’t find that damned dildo --

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Finding it under a bra with holes where the nipples should have been, I shoved the dildo up me. I think I lasted a dozen thrusts, fingers chafing my clit, before I came. My legs were so weak I ended up on my back, half on my bed. Later, I realized I’d actually sobbed, so welcome was the orgasm’s relief, so intense the sensations. So sad that I’d never have Dylan’s amazing cock again. Hell. Feeling punch-drunk, I stood, the fake dick still inside me, skirt hiked up, breasts hungering for a mouth, stockings and heels still on. As sanity -- and blood -- returned to my brain, I regarded the bustier and jacket on the floor with regret. Shaking my head, I removed the dildo. Man, I looked mega-hot in my outfit, but it wasn’t exactly meant for nine-to-five. Nowhere in my job description was the phrase “must dress like a hooker.” I took a break, poured myself another mug of coffee, then got down to the business of finding a first-day outfit that didn’t make me look like I worked the street. An hour later, I came up with an acceptable variation on the sexy outfit -- the same black blazer and black stockings, but paired with a top-of-the-knee wool pencil skirt and a periwinkle sweater that looked businesslike, yet didn’t hide my frontal assets. On my feet were two-inch black pumps instead of the three-inch spikes. It was a good look for me, especially the sweater. The color brought out my eyes. I wondered what Dylan would say when he saw me at DD Technology, and I smiled despite the nonstop hammering in my head. Screw Richard and his thigh-biting horse. I was going to win back the best lover I’d ever had. My brain screamed that I was flirting with danger personified, but as I said, sometimes I’m stupid with lust. Besides, no one said I actually had to sleep with him. Just seeing him drool over me would be enough. That’s the ticket -- make him beg for it, then shut him down. I imagined chuckling, Payback’s a bitch, ain’t it, Dylan?

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Revenge really is better when it’s had years to freeze solid. Errands filled the rest of the day, at the end of which I picked up an inexpensive bottle of champagne to celebrate my new job. I called to invite Roberta to share it with me. She dropped by after visiting our favorite equine friend. When I answered the door, she held up a bottle of Laurent Perrier Grand Siecle Rose 1997. “I wanted to make sure we had enough. I know how long you’ve been looking for a job.” The woman’s a vice president for a regional grocery store chain, so obviously she can afford the good stuff. I hugged her. “Thanks for carrying my share of Flash’s expenses for the past three months. I swear I’ll pay you back a hundred dollars at a time, each and every paycheck.” “Hey, no sweat, no hurry, I’m rolling in it and don’t have anyone but Flash to spend it on. He’s a great horse, isn’t he?” “The best,” I agreed. Roberta and I had met one Sunday morning after my riding lesson with Amy, the instructor who’s very forgiving of adult doofuses like me. Roberta was looking for someone to share her horse. Not because she needed financial help with the expenses, but because she wanted Flash to be pampered and petted when she couldn’t be around. She traveled a lot on business. I took one spin on the humongous darling horse and was won over for life. Flash knew what he was doing -- perfect for a relatively inexperienced rider like me. Bombproof, too, which meant he wouldn’t jump at an unexpected noise or sight, like the horse that dumped me off several months back. It had taken two weeks for my swollen, black-and-blue back to heal. Riding was great fun, as long as you weren’t thrown or bitten or kicked or stomped. Then, it hurt like hell. “So, did you land a good job?” she inquired while I poured.

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“Great job, fun technology, lots to learn. Only one problem.” “Asshole boss?” she said, raising her eyebrows. Roberta really knows how to cut to the chase. “No, no, great boss. But my boss’s boss -- one of the founders -- is my ex.” “You have an ex?” Roberta and I don’t talk much outside of horses. “An absolute gift to women.” I sipped my champagne. “So why’d you divorce?” “He was a gift who kept on giving -- to every woman he met.” I took a much bigger sip, remembering. “Ouch.” She winced. “Yeah. Sucked to be me back then.” I shook my head as if clearing away bad memories. “Anyway, he’s still damned hot.” “And you still want him, right?” “Unfortunately. Though I’m thinking it might be fun for his radar to detect me. Then I could turn him down flat when he started in with the heavy breathing and cow eyes.” “Not a good idea to trifle with the affections of the man who owns the company, kiddo. Take it from me.” Roberta’s about fifteen years older than me and single. “Sounds like you had a nasty learning experience,” I said. “Want a refill?” I poured more sparkly stuff for us while she continued. “It was back when I was young and dumber than dirt about men and business. Whatever doesn’t kill you, et cetera.” “Did I mention that Dylan and I grew up together? We were lifelong friends till our vicious, horrible divorce.”

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“What’d you do, take him to the cleaners?” “No. We had no assets to speak of, and what we had, we split down the middle. No, it was vicious and horrible because he wouldn’t leave me alone. He kept trying to patch it up, said it was over between him and Tiffany --” “Oh, Lord, he cheated on you with a Tiffany?” “But for me, Tiffany was the last straw. You’ve got to understand,” I said, a little tipsy and warming to my subject, “Dylan’s breathtakingly handsome. I’ve put up with women coming on to him all my life. They would actually walk up to him and run their fingers through his hair, give him their phone numbers. And worse. One woman tucked her panties into his jeans pocket. Jesus.” “And he didn’t turn them down? Bastard.” “No, actually he did turn them down, at least initially. But the situation drove me crazy with jealousy. I would throw a hissy fit and stalk off. Then, to console himself, he’d pick up a woman. Though he swore he never actually did the dirty deed with any of them.” I emptied my glass and poured another as we moved on to my cheaper booze. “Huh. I’ll bet.” She sounded like Flash snorting. “No wonder you want revenge.” “Actually, I’d like to have sex with him again. Just once. Then I want revenge.” “Trust me, Patti, you do not want to go near your ex with sex on the brain. Not as long as he signs your paychecks.” “I know.” The idea of avoiding Dylan depressed me. “Hey, cheer up,” she said. “You’re employed again, and you have a great future in front of you. Plus, you own half of the best horse in the world. Are you going to enter the October show, the one down in Milford?” We talked horses for a while, as we love to do, while I drank two more glasses of bubbly. The talk eventually swung around again to men. Doesn’t it always? We women are hornier than we let on.

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“Y’know,” Roberta said, giggling, “I don’t know why you’re all stirred up about your ex. I thought you were doing it just last night with Richard the Ramrod. In the hayloft. Let me tell you, he can clean my pipes anytime he wants. Even though he’s younger than me.” I dropped my head into my hands. “Oh, crap, who told you?” “The whole barn knows you’re hot for him. There was actually a pool on when you two would do the deed.” “A freakin’ pool? As in bets were laid?” “About when you’d get laid, yep.” She laughed again. “Did you two do it? If so, I won.” “Et tu, Roberta? Shit, I can never show my face at the stable again.” I moaned. “Besides, we actually didn’t -- we came close, but we didn’t.” She looked puzzled. “Why not? Don’t tell me he couldn’t. Suzanne said his cock never got soft the whole night they spent together.” Stables are just like every other place where men and women congregate -- sex happens. But I hadn’t heard about Suzanne and Richard. “When was this?” “Last month. Remember the show up in New Hampshire?” I grabbed the calendar. “While I was plotting how to get him into bed, Suzanne waxed his pole. Son of a bitch.” “Richard is Richard.” She shrugged. “An absolute stallion, and just like a stallion, he’ll do it with any filly that catches his eye.” She studied me. “Oh, honey, you weren’t expecting a relationship with the guy, were you? He’s the original hard man who’s good to find, not the good man who’s hard to find.” My ignorance of Richard’s true nature embarrassed me. Yep, stupid with lust. “Like I said, I’m an idiot when it comes to men.” “No, you’re not. You just need to develop a better sense about which men are keepers, and which men are just for fun.” She stood up. “I need to get home. I have an early meeting.”

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She hugged me good night and wished me luck at DD Technology the next day. After Roberta left, I killed the rest of the second bottle while brooding. She was right. I had to quit fooling around with the hot men to whom I didn’t mean more than a casual evening’s entertainment. Either that or I had to “go casual” as well.

***** “Oh, shit!” The alarm had not gone off, and I was about to be late for the first day of my new job. I flew around the house, fed my feline queen, took a record three-minute shower, and threw on the outfit I so carefully selected the day before. Despite my frantic dash, I took a moment to check myself out before I dashed out the door. Although overdressed for the software world, I did look hot. I wondered what Dylan would say when he saw me. I smiled despite the constant ache in my head. Too much alcohol two nights in a row. Not the most auspicious way to start a new job. I wasn’t usually such a lush. While waiting in the drive-thru line for a breakfast sandwich and some much-needed coffee, I brushed my hair into place and applied some shadow that complimented my blue eyes. After a bite of sandwich and a gulp of coffee, I alternated driving with putting on the rest of my makeup. I had sworn that I’d never, ever do that, but I was frantic to arrive on time. I pulled into DD Technology’s lot just moments before nine, lucking out when I found a space close to the door. As I rushed toward the entrance, I never noticed the broken brick. The next thing I knew, one of my heels caught and down I went on my left hip and buttock, hard. Have you ever tried to get up in a tight skirt and heels once you’re flat on your back? There’s simply no ladylike way to accomplish it. “Are you all right?” The unmistakable scent of masculinity wafted over me as large, strong hands grasped my upper arms and pulled me upright. Embarrassed beyond belief, I

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brushed myself off and turned to thank my helper, only to stare straight into the sea green eyes of Dylan Decker. “Dylan, oh, well, thank you,” I breathed. “Patticakes?” His old endearment for me sparked a tingle of pleasure. His surprised face turned frankly appraising as he ran through the old up-and-down he gave every woman who appealed to him. “You are looking very good these days.” He craned his neck, his gaze checking out my backside, and lingered there. “Very good. I heard you were starting today as the new writer.” I had to look up to be eye to eye, and in heels, I was nearly six feet tall. His left hand held no rings. Tiffany must be history. Or, maybe he still cheats and quit wearing his wedding band? I’d made it a point to avoid him since the divorce, the better to get over the bastard. “That’s me.” “Welcome aboard.” His firm handshake and steady gaze told me that he was back in control, and things were all business. Or so I thought. We walked together to the front door. “Oh, Patricia, you’ve got something on you where you fell. Better brush it off.” He reached out to do the job, but dropped his hand when he realized that he’d been about to lay hands on an employee’s backside. Even though said employee was an old friend and ex-wife, it flustered him. I smiled smugly and brushed myself off, but my smugness quickly disappeared. Ouch! I grabbed my left cheek instead of knocking the debris off. “Something wrong?” Dylan’s amused smile pissed me off. “Not at all.” My voice would have frosted a window, and I willed myself to finish slapping dirt off without wincing. “I’m perfectly fine.” For a woman with bruises on her butt and her dignity.

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I swiveled and bounced as I walked into the building, giving him a little taste of what he was missing. “This is my first day,” I explained to the receptionist. “I’m supposed to see Dave Chadwick.” She directed me to a chair, but after my fall, I preferred to stand. “Patricia, we’re so glad you’re working for us.” Dave said, coming down the hallway toward me. His warm smile and handshake took some of the sting out of my discomfiting tumble on the sidewalk. “And I’m glad to be here.” “Come with me. We’ve got a lot of introductions to get through before we throw you full tilt into our latest project. You’ve done embedded online help?” “Well, just a small project for learning purposes. I never said that I’ve done anything substantial,” I protested. “You’ll learn fast, I’ve no doubt. At least, according to your references, you will. Come this way,” Dave said as he led me down a maze of halls, “and meet the project manager. He’s also the chief technical officer, and the one who told us to hire you. Where did you two work together?” “Um, around,” I said, glad that we’d arrived at the office of someone who was obviously a top executive. I found myself face-to-face once again with Dylan. He smiled innocently at Dave. “The new writer. Excellent.” I knew that he had put on his best Mr. Burns’s accent for me. We both loved The

Simpsons. “I understand you know each other?” Dave asked. “Oh, we may have run into each other a time or two in the past.” Dylan’s slight drawl intensified, as did his grin. “How nice to see you again.” I kept my voice polite and distant. He winked at me when Dave wasn’t looking. Damn the man!

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“She’ll be in the two o’clock meeting with you, Dylan. For now, it’s on to other folks.” With that, Dave bustled me out Dylan’s door. He called out after us, “Y’all take care on those sidewalks, now, y’hear?” exaggerating his drawl for effect. I tossed my head and pulled my shoulders back as if I didn’t care while I continued down the hall with my new boss. After a few more introductions, Dave directed me to my cubicle, right between Bonnie and Betty, across from his office. Both women made me feel welcome, and I felt a little guilty for some of the less than charitable thoughts I’d had about them the day I interviewed. I sat down at my empty desk -- no computer, of course. High-tech companies are notorious for not having your equipment ready for you on the first day. Ironic, eh? “Here are the specs for the new project,” Bonnie said, placing a thick document in front of me, “and hard-copy documentation for our existing products.” A larger pile of documents landed on my desk. “Of course, you’ll be doing only online help, so as soon as IT finishes configuring your laptop, you can see what Betty and I have done in that area.” She sighed, sinking into my cubicle’s guest chair. “You are sooo lucky.” “Why? Because I’ll be working with the latest technology?” Because I had the choicest plum to work on, I was worried about jealousy among my peers. “No, silly, because you’ll be working so closely with Dylan the Delicious.” All I would let myself say was a noncommittal, “Hmm,” before she walked out. If she only knew how delicious, and yet how flawed. My phone rang. Now what? “Hey, geek girl.” “Dylan,” I snapped. I remembered that he signed my paychecks, more or less, and softened my tone. “How can I help you? Sir.”

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“You could come down to my office and let me brush off that dirty skirt of yours. Even better, bend over my desk and let me raise it to kiss the ‘owie’ on your butt. Lord knows you told me to pucker up to your ass enough times when we were married. Here’s your chance.” “You,” I muttered through my teeth as quietly as I could, “have got a mind much dirtier than my skirt.” He chuckled. “That so?” “Dylan, please. Today is hard enough, and I need this job --” “I have something that’s hard enough for you.” I gritted my teeth. “I’d like to be treated as a professional and will treat you the same. Can we agree to do that?” “Sorry, Patti. I was just having some fun. We used to be able to goof around together, and it’s been so long since I’ve seen you.” His tone went in the direction of wistful before turning firm. “Of course I will treat you as a professional, and I would never embarrass you in front of anyone else here. I just thought we could have a little fun, too. We’ve known each other since we were toddlers.” “I’m a bit overwhelmed on my first morning. With all due respect, sir, is there a business purpose to this call?” A beat of silence. “No, I guess not.” The receiver clicked. Feeling vaguely guilty, I hung up the phone. Had he really done anything except treat me like an old friend? Was I an impossible meanie, ridiculously prudish? The rest of the morning blurred as I worked to come up to speed on terminology while simultaneously tried to learn enough about my project so that I wouldn’t make a fool of myself in the afternoon meeting. At one point, Dave stopped by to tell me I’d be going out to lunch with the company’s president. Apparently, taking a new hire out for lunch was a tradition at DD Technology. After he left, Bonnie popped her head up like a prairie dog, peering over the top of the wall separating our cubicles.

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“Hey, nice ‘gophering,’ Bonnie.” “I know something you don’t.” Her sly grin held a touch of envy. “What’s that? “You’re having lunch with Dylan.” “That can’t be. Dave said I’d be going with the president, Adam.” “Yeah, well, Dave’s wrong. The grapevine says Dylan asked Adam to change with him.” Her expression grew shrewd. “Say, just how well do you know him, and how do you know him, anyway?” “He’s my ex-husband. Very ex,” I said. Bonnie’s head disappeared, only to have all of her appear in my cube. “No kidding! You guys used to be married?” I spread my hands and shrugged helplessly. “Everyone makes mistakes, you know.” “Some mistake, being Dylan Decker’s wife!” “Bonnie, trust me, that might seem attractive, but you don’t know what he’s really like.” Oops, that was the wrong thing to say. “I’m all ears,” Bonnie chirped as she settled in to hear dirt I knew I’d better not reveal. If it got back to Dylan, I’d probably lose the job I needed so badly. Besides, it was no one’s business but his and mine, and old, finished business at that. Fortunately, my phone rang at that moment. I spoke briefly, hung up, and stood, in that order. “Bonnie, I’ve been told to report to the lobby for lunch. I have to go now.” “All right, but I hope you’ll give me the lowdown later.” The woman practically drooled. I had to stop her questions, so I decided to risk honesty. “It wouldn’t be professional for me to kiss and tell about another employee, let alone one of the company’s founders. What happened between Dylan and me is over and

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done, and in the past. It won’t affect our working relationship with each other or with anyone else here.” “You’re right, I’m sorry,” she said, looking at the floor as a scolded child would. “I have no right to pry into your personal life. It’s just, well, you know how cute he is.” She was clearly flustered, with a giant-sized crush on Mr. DD. I started to like Bonnie more. I felt sympathy for women who found him irresistible, because I still did myself. “It’s all right, Bonnie. I understand your curiosity. But I have to go now.” “Enjoy your lunch,” she said, sounding sad. “Patricia,” Dylan greeted me formally in the lobby. “We’ll be going in my car.” “My car” turned out to be a steel gray Mercedes S-class sedan, the biggest one they make. Definitely the car that says you’ve arrived in the world. Dylan opened the door for me. Before I climbed in, I looked him in the eye. “You’ve come a long way since Beavertown, haven’t you?” I indicated the luxury vehicle with a sweep of my arm, but had something else in mind. He knew what I meant. He held my gaze and, with more seriousness than I thought possible for Dylan, said simply, “Not far enough, I fear.” The car door closed on his remark. I wondered exactly what he meant.

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Chapter Three

“Wow, are all new hires taken here for lunch?” I marveled at the marble expanse, the fountain, the piano player. This was not exactly the local software geek hangout. The hushed atmosphere crooned money, money, money. “No, only the ones I used to be married to.” I whirled around, eyes narrowed. Dylan raised his hands in surrender. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding. Yes, all new hires are taken to Bernard’s for lunch.” I found myself staring at his raised hands. I remembered so well what delights those hands were capable of bringing. As the maître d' led us to our table, I focused first on Dylan’s denim-clad backside, then his broad shoulders so well defined by his knit shirt.

Stop it. This is a business lunch. The boss is your ex-husband, a real hottie, but still your boss. And you need this job. Think of Flash. We were seated by a window overlooking a stunning garden. My thumb wasn’t quite green enough to achieve more than daffodils and zinnias, but I adored flowers. Gardens such as this one, a tiny bit overgrown in an old-fashioned way, took my breath away. Dylan noticed my rapturous look. “You like it, huh?” “It’s incredible! Look at those hydrangeas. And the dahlias!”

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“Then my asking specifically for this table was worth it.” I couldn’t read his expression. Was he just acting like the benevolent boss, playing on some past knowledge to relax me on my first day, or was he trying to send a more personal message? We both started when the waiter spoke. “Hi, my name’s Ken. Would you care for something to drink?” “Yes, two Pellegrinos, please.” Dylan’s face lightened. “I don’t dare chance wine. Remember the last time we shared a bottle?” He grinned. I half laughed, though the memory of our last night together, our anniversary, pierced my heart. “Yes, an expensive burgundy. You ended up wearing most of it.” “So I did. It was one of our more memorable arguments.” “You deserved every drop I poured on you.” I locked gazes with him, the old hurt and anger inside me flaring into a bonfire. “I did, it’s true. But you also deserved something for throwing a public tantrum. In fact, I made a vow that I’d never put up with your bad temper again without you feeling the consequences.” The corners of his mouth quirked up, but his eyes darkened the way the ocean does just before a storm. “What do you mean, feel the consequences?” I said. The waters arrived. I took a sip, my mouth cottony while waiting for him to answer my question. I had an inkling what he’d meant. Then again, maybe I was just fantasizing, because in my mind, I was already over Dylan’s lap, butt-up. “It means just what I said. Sometimes you have to feel consequences quite keenly in order to learn a lesson.” He flexed his hands. “Did you know I took up handball? My palms are as tough as saddle leather.”

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His stare bored into me. A wave of warmth swept over me, turning my nether regions wet. I looked away and drank more water, overcome from the intensity of the images playing on the screen inside my head. The skin on my sitting area tingled. Yep, he meant what I thought he did. I dropped the subject. After it was clear I wasn’t going to press him on the topic, he cleared his throat. “Well. I’m probably supposed to talk up the company, rah, rah, DD Technology, but I’ll leave that to others. I’d rather know what you’ve been doing for the past five years. But if you have questions about ‘DDT,’ our affectionate name for the place, I’ll be glad to answer them.” He sat back, lazing like a cat, and produced one of his megawatt smiles. And me? Well, heck, yeah, I’d like to talk about me, especially seeing as how he was so interested. However, I figured I shouldn’t appear too eager to discuss nonwork topics right away. “I have a few. First, is the company named for you? The ‘DD’ part? And when did you found it? With whom? And why? The last time I saw you, you had hair halfway down your back, you rarely wore anything but casual clothes, and you scorned money, instead living for the thrill of the unsolvable coding problem. When did you decide you wanted to be rich? Not that there’s anything wrong with earning scads of money.” He nodded. “I’m just plumb lucky I ended up rich. As you said, I used to live for the thrill of solving the unsolvable. That’s still true, by the way. It’s just that my partner, Adam Dzyzinsky, and I solved the unsolvable once or twice, and it made us pots of dough. Let’s see, have I left anything out? Oh, yes, the ‘DD’ part represents both our last names, Decker and Dzyzinsky, not both of my names, and the ‘when’ was almost four years ago in Adam’s basement. We worked on it part-time at first while supporting ourselves at our day jobs. The why? Well, the thrill of solving the unsolvable of course, but also the desire to have my own shop. I was tired of contracting for bean counters who wouldn’t know good software if it bit them on the --”

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“Are you ready to order, sir?” Once again, the waiter made us jump. I glanced at Dylan. “Are we?” “Sure.” His smile was careless but deadly, and he ordered while beaming it straight at me. “Let’s see, the lady will have the jerk shrimp, while I’ll have the jerk chicken, two salads, house dressing on the side, more Pellegrinos to drink when these run out. Oh, and we’ll probably have dessert, something in pie,” Dylan added, over my incredulous stare. The waiter took our menus without comment and left. “Do you always order for all your new employees?” “No, only the female ones whom I know enjoy it -- or used to. Was I wrong?” “No, I still enjoy it.” My smile was wide, now that the surprise had worn off. “I’ve always assumed most women would castrate me for even offering to order for them, so I never have. But you, Patti, you always liked it. Why?” I watched my fingers slide up and down my Pellegrino bottle. “Dylan, you shouldn’t have to ask why.” “I know. And I probably shouldn’t ask the question, this being a business lunch. But I did, so will you tell me, so I can hear it again?” I met his gaze and exhaled softly. “Because I like it when a man takes control, especially you. Because I like a masterful man who also lets me be my own person. Because it makes me feel cared for, cherished in some strange and wonderful way.” “Have you ever let another man order for you without consulting you first?” He spoke softly, leaning across the table, bringing his face near mine. I felt strangely lightheaded, and warm and tingly all over, down to my core. I crossed my legs, reminded myself to breathe, and admitted, “You’re the only one I’ve ever let do that. Or ever would.” I felt as if I’d just admitted he would always be my only true love, which actually wasn’t far off the mark. I could feel my face growing hot; Dylan’s looked a bit pink as well.

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For a moment, there was only the sound of our breathing, our faces mere inches apart, our lips so close… Our waiter materialized once more. I knocked over my Pellegrino, water flooding the tabletop. Dylan jumped back just in time, escaping most of the spill. He stood up, brushing himself off with his napkin. “Lord, Ken, would you mind giving us some warning before you just appear? We’ve got some heavy discussion going on here about, er, the state of chip packaging paradigms.” Ken smiled in apology. “I’m so sorry, sir, I’ll get two fresh waters, on the house, and clean this up with some dry linens. I truly didn’t mean to startle you. Please continue discussing your paradigms.” He winked at me. After the waiter left, I couldn’t help laughing. “Dyl, really, paradigms? As if that fooled him.” His sheepish grin and little boy gaze over the top of his nerdy black glasses melted me. “I know. It was the best I could come up with on short notice.” Our salads arrived with the two replacement water bottles, but this time we managed not to give ourselves heart attacks when Ken appeared. I pondered the questions I wanted to ask Dylan, but hesitated, wondering if the intimate moment we’d shared scant moments before was lost. He cleared his throat, saving me the trouble. “So, are you, ah, um, seeing anyone?” “Well, sort of.” I didn’t want to lie, but I also didn’t want to discourage him. Spearing a cherry tomato from his plate, intending to underscore our intimate connection by taking his food, I continued. “But, actually, that hasn’t been going well lately -- wow, that’s some tomato!” My eyes closed as the intense, sun-splashed flavor exploded in my mouth; I opened them to find Dylan gazing at me, lust glazing his face. “I was just thinking the same thing.” His voice was husky with wanting. “Some tomato.” His gaze dropped to my snug sweater, then rose again to my flaming cheeks. It had

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been a long time since my nipples stiffened from a mere look. His fork waved the other tomato on his plate in front of my mouth. “Have another? Please?” One of our favorite games from the old days had begun. He would feed me scrumptious morsels from his plate, and I would react orgasmically. Obliging him, I enjoyed the tomato so emphatically that, at any moment, I expected the woman at our neighboring table to hail the waiter with an, “I’ll have what she’s having.” I finished the tomato and teased, “Was it good for you, too?” He groaned in a way that sent electric shocks to my core, reminding me of the last time I’d heard such a noise from him. The memory made my face flush again. “If you only knew. It’s a good thing this table hides me from the waist down,” he said. “So, are you, uh, er --” I stumbled, no longer able to contain my curiosity over his love life. “Yes, I’m seeing someone, too. Sort of. Not really. Oh, hell, what I want to say, Patticakes, is --” The damn waiter chose just that moment to show up with the food. Eyeing our halffinished salads, he asked if he could take them away, then murmured, “I see you liked the tomatoes.” Both Dylan and I regarded our steaming plates of spicy food until the waiter left. “Wait. I need to say this.” Dylan touched my hand to prevent me from picking up my fork. The heat his touch produced generated a slow pulse south of my belly, and I crossed and recrossed my legs in a vain attempt to ease the sexual torment. I met his gaze, shivering under his scrutiny. “Patti, I’ve wanted to look you up. I can’t stop thinking about you, and I’d be the happiest man in the universe if you’d give me another chance. I don’t think I’ll ever find what we had with another woman as long as I live. Believe me, I’ve tried. Let me beg you to

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come back to me. Give me a chance to prove my worthiness. You don’t have to answer now. Just hear me out.” I longed to believe him. My stomach fluttered as if I were on a roller coaster, which, emotionally, I was. I parted my lips, waiting. His index finger gently traced my pouty lower lip, and I shuddered at the thrill of his touch, just as good as I remembered. He continued tracing my mouth with his finger. I darted my tongue out, licked his fingertip, and was rewarded with a heartfelt groan. “I was a total asshole to you, I know. But you have to believe me. I never had sexual relations with any other woman while we were still living together. Well, I’ll admit to Tiffany, once in her car, but that was just before you threw me out, and I ended up marrying her. Before that, no way. I know you think I did it with every woman in town, but the truth is, I didn’t.” I fell back in my chair, arousal gone, angry as hell. “Excuuuuse me, but I do recall finding you in flagrante delicto more than once, with your tongue massaging some floozy’s tonsils and your hands either up her skirt or down her pants. Are you using a former president’s definition of ‘sexual relations’?” “Now, don’t get all riled up. Yes, I kissed a few, and felt them up pretty good, too.” At this he smiled, pissing me off even more. “But not one of those women brought me to any, um, ultimate satisfaction. It’s God’s honest truth. I’m not saying what I did was right. It wasn’t. Please, Patti, if it would make you feel any better, I’d let you humiliate me any way you chose for my wrongdoings. But I truly did not have sex with any of those women. I always saved that for you.” “And you expect me to believe this?” I was half out of my chair, my voice rising. “Please, lower your voice. I take full responsibility for my horrible actions, but you have to bear some of the blame. You were always so jealous, and your temper often had you storming off and leaving me behind in some restaurant or bar or dance club. When you

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didn’t return for me, I would start to drink. The women would start to come around. I’m weak, yes, especially when I’ve drunk too much. But you set it up by having tantrums, and I always made a point to come home before I went too far to control myself. None of what I’m saying excuses what I did, but if we are to have a chance, you have to manage your temper and take some responsibility yourself.” “You son of a --” My ire flared, and my glass of water hit him square in the face. I spun on my heel to leave, but his words chilled me. “Miz North, if you want to continue working for DD Technology, you will get me a towel, then apologize. That is, if you value your paycheck and your reputation in this business.” Oh, Lord. I had just thrown water on the one man who could get me fired on my first day, no questions asked. Berating myself for my idiocy, I went looking for Ken the waiter, who of course, now that I desperately needed him, was nowhere in sight. Another waiter provided a towel. By the time I returned, Dylan had mopped himself a bit with his napkin. I kept my eyes lowered from the curious stares coming from neighboring tables, ashamed of my behavior. Glowering, he grabbed my wrist none too gently and dragged me to a quiet alcove near the rest rooms. Gingerly I blotted water off him, afraid to speak beyond a squeaky, “I’m sorry,” which I repeated several times. Finally, he seemed to relax, but only a little bit. “Listen to me,” he hissed. I nodded, still scared of losing my job. “Patricia, if you ever, ever lose your temper in the workplace, or in public, with me again and do something like throwing water -- or worse -- as God is my witness, girl, either you’ll be fired on the spot or you’ll take a sound spanking to retain your job. It’ll be your choice, but you’ll have to accept one or the other. Remember that.”

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“Why a choice? Why not just fire me? And why spank me, yet keep me on?” I could hardly believe I mustered the nerve to comment, but the conditions were odd. I could easily see myself choosing a spanking over getting fired, though. He sighed, cupping my chin so I’d have to meet his gaze. “Because good workers are hard to find, and you’re one of the best. Good workers deserve another chance when they mess up, but they’ve also got to pay the price for their screwups. Besides, I’ve had a hankering to spank you ever since I saw you this morning. I think I’ll quit resisting temptation.” He walloped the area sore from the morning’s fall, and I yelped. A passing waiter stared while Dylan went to work, methodically ensuring that every inch of my backside was whacked at least twice. My face flooded with embarrassment to have the cofounder of the place where I worked spank me in semipublic. He stopped, but only to move us to the farthest reach of the alcove, where no one would see us until they were practically on top of us. Bracing a foot against the wall, he tucked both my wrists behind my back, holding them with one hand, forcing me to bend over the braced leg. The other hand busied itself with smacking my sitting area. “Dylan, oh, jeez, ah!” He stopped spanking me. “Hurtin’ a little, sugar?” “Yeah, but it’s hurting in that good way.” Somehow I managed to get the words out before what happened next. He dropped my wrists, grabbed my shoulders, and spun me around. He pushed me into the corner. His mouth punished mine, his tongue forcing its way inside, lips pressing mine hard. The heat. God, the heat, from his mouth, and from his steel-rigid cock pressing against my belly. My pussy wasn’t exactly ice-cold. Thinking of the day before, the dildo up my cunt, I clung to him, kissing back with everything I could muster.

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That is, until a waiter dropped a tray of dishes nearby. Dylan sprang back, his shock at finding himself necking with his ex in a restaurant all over his expression. His gaze slid away from mine. “Patti, I don’t know what got into me. What I did --” My good sense had also returned, though I wished it hadn’t. “And I don’t know what got into me, throwing water on you. That’s what started everything.” He grinned, humor in his words. “You can’t tell me you didn’t want that spanking. Lord knows you surely deserved it. I only wish I could have given it to you on the bare.” I tossed the towel to the floor and stalked back to the table, crossing my arms to resist rubbing the still-stinging soreness. And yet, the possibility of taking a thorough, bare-assed spanking from Dylan had me shivering inside in a very, very good way. I recalled how it felt to be across his lap, naked and vulnerable, waiting for the first whack. I hated admitting it, but being thoroughly spanked by my ex still had its attractions. Ken the waiter came over, pulled out my chair for me, and asked me pointedly if I needed something that would help me relax. “Perhaps a nice Merlot?” he asked. “Don’t offer this woman anything that will stain my clothes,” Dylan said. I glared at him, but then remembered I was still employed and should be grateful. He was right. My temper was bad enough, but had always been the worst when it involved him. I waited for the waiter to leave before I spoke. “Dylan, thank you for not firing me. What I did was really stupid, and again, I’m sorry. But you see how you set me off. I do have a temper, but I never have problems like this with anyone else. Perhaps we’re just no good for each other.” He leaned forward, his eyes shining. “I still think we could make it work. Such a temper indicates much passion, and we never had any problems in the passion department.” He forked a piece of chicken and offered it to me. I shook my head. “Aw, please, for me? Just once more?”

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“I don’t want to play games any more. Can’t we just finish lunch and go back to the office?” I tried to eat my shrimp as delicately as I could. I knew why he ordered it -- he loved to see me suck it out of the shell. I refused to indulge him. Our impossible situation depressed me, dampening my lust. “You don’t believe me, do you?” He pushed the chicken around his plate, scowling. “That you never had sex with those women? What do you call kissing and fondling, if not sex?” “I admit to that. I just don’t admit to involving my member. It always stayed in my pants.” “Why can’t you see that ‘not involving your member’ is not the only definition of sex? You hurt me, Dylan, by fooling around, even if you weren't in bed with other women.” “And why can’t you see that you helped these situations occur?” “Please, I don’t want to talk about this any more.” I ducked my head to keep him from seeing the unshed tears and shoveled down the hot shrimp, not even tasting the peppery sauce. “I guess you’re right. We’re not good for each other. But I am truly glad you are working at DD Technology.” His tone throbbed with sincerity. I raised my head. “You are?” “Hell, yes. You’re the smartest writer I know. I want you on our team.” “Dylan, I’m sorry I --” He put an index finger across his lips for a moment before speaking. “We’ll not talk of this again, all right? It never happened. Now, finish your shrimp. We’ve got a two o’clock meeting.” Reaching over, he brushed away a fat tear from the corner of my eye. “Friends, Patticakes?” I nodded, silently blessing the inventor of waterproof mascara. “Friends, Dyl.” “All right, then. Let’s finish up and get to work.”

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“One more question?” I ventured. “Yes?” “What did you mean when you said ‘not far enough’ when I commented you’d come a long way since Beavertown?” He put his fork down, his mouth drooping, which depressed me more. “I meant that I hadn’t figured out how to be a good man for you. Not yet. But I sure would like to try. I mean that with all my heart, Patticakes. But I need you to put what happened behind us and believe what I said, though I admit it’s a sorry-assed story.” “I thought we weren’t going to talk about this.” I cursed myself for saying the words, but I couldn’t believe him, and I was in no condition to be hurt again by Dylan. The first time nearly killed me. I flashed back on the nights alone, the nights when the only thing that put me to sleep was sufficient quantities of alcohol. It was either that or watch cable all night, my throat tight with unshed tears. “You’re right. I’ll shut up.” He picked up his fork. We finished the meal in silence. Not that either of us ate much of the food. The waiter came by. “I think you mentioned pie, sir?” Dylan glanced my way with hope, shaking his head when I closed my eyes in response. “I don’t think the lady is in the mood for pie, Ken. Just the check, please.” After settling the bill, Dylan pulled out my chair and wordlessly offered me his arm. Our steps back to his car were slow, reluctant, and heavy, as if we were walking to a funeral. We didn’t speak again until the meeting.

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Chapter Four

“Hey, you see Battlestar Galactica the other night on the Sci-Fi Channel?” “That space-exploration stuff is so geek-boomer. The original CSI is the best show on TV.” Late for the meeting, I rushed into the conference room and ran smack into a heated discussion between two programmers, both under thirty and both TV freaks of the highest order. Tweedledee and Tweedledum -- well, Kyle and Jeremy, don’t ask me who was who -focused on me with the second-most-burning question of the day: “Hey, who are you?” “I’m the new tech writer. Call me Tina,” I said, just to have a little fun with them. “Like, Tina the tech writer in Dilbert? Whoa, dude.” They high-fived as I stared blankly. I mean, like, dude, were these guys California transplants, or what? We don’t talk that way in the Boston area. It’s not wicked cool. “So, which is better: the incredibly uncool Battlestar Galactica, or CSI?” Tweedledee asked me. “My favorite show is CSI,” I admitted. Tweedledee crowed, “Duuuuude!” “But that’s only because I’m in love with William Petersen.”

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Uncomprehending stares. “Grissom. He’s so smart he makes me sweat.” Both “dudes” looked at each other, shrugged, and continued their argument without me. Guess they just didn’t understand how brains could be a turn-on. Dylan chose that moment to enter, shutting the door behind him. Our glances slid away from each other, the memories from lunch too freshly painful. Both Kyle and Jeremy cheered, “Dude,” when they spotted Dylan. “Kyle, Jeremy, plan to see CSI tonight?” Oh, that Dylan, he was one wicked cool boss. I hid my grin. “Tina here thinks Grissom’s, like, smokin’.” Dylan looked confused. “Tina?” I waved my hand. “Guilty. I’m Tina.” “Ah, Dilbert,” Dylan said. Absolutely everyone in Boston high tech knows every single character in the syndicated cartoon Dilbert. “Everyone ready for a complete review of the UI?” Dylan asked. UI stands for user interface. In other words, it’s the visible portion that you use, or, in Geek Speak, “interface with,” when you run the software program. He raised an index finger before continuing. “Actually, first I want you to officially meet the newest member of our team, Patti North. She’ll be creating the embedded online help, and I don’t want to hear that you guys have been stiffing her when she needs information.” I nodded and smiled and felt like an idiot. I hate being the new kid. A senior engineer I’d met briefly, Bob -- I think -- nodded in return, while Kyle and Jeremy uttered their ubiquitous “Dude!”

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I raised my hand, not knowing any better way to get Dylan’s attention. “On to the UI. Yes?” He called on me as if we were complete strangers. “Excuse me, but I think you need to fix one portion of the UI,” I said. Bob, Kyle, and Jeremy gaped at me. Apparently, telling the chief technical officerslash-chief architect of the product that his design needs correction is simply not done. Not by someone who’s been employed at DDT less than eight hours, anyway. Dylan smiled faintly. “Really. Exactly which portion needs to be fixed, as you put it?” “You don’t think using the Parts Library is kludgey?” I said. “Took me forever to find the component I wanted when I ran through the program, using the spec as guidance.” Bob looked down his nose at me. “You’re not an electrical engineer, are you?” “Nope, but the users won’t be, either. They’re techs,” I countered. In the meantime, Dylan had fired up the latest version of the product on the conference room’s computer. “Show me what you mean. I thought the Parts Library was one of our best features.”

Time to put up or shut up. I prayed I wouldn’t make any permanent enemies or an utter fool of myself, not necessarily in that order. I walked to the computer with more bravery than I felt. “Here. Watch me.” First, I created a chip package, then began searching for parts to use in the design, speaking while I worked. “See, creating a package functions fine. But there’s no obvious way to save a new part you’ve entered into the Parts Library. In fact, this check box implies that the part will be stored in the Library, when in reality all the program does is save the part as a component of a specific chip package. When the user creates a new package and goes looking for the same part in what he thinks is the modified Library, it’s not there.” Dylan elbowed me out of the way. “That was supposed to be fixed.” Checking the version of the software, he started hunting through the source code, looking at dates, times, and ownership.

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His face darkened as he cleared his throat. I bit my thumbnail and willed myself invisible. Someone had dropped the ball. I hoped it hadn’t been me, using an outdated version of the software. I’d never live it down. A laserlike light seemed to shoot from his eyes as he bore down on the two dudes. “Jeremy.” “Uh, dude?” the shaggy blond said. “You logged in this bug as fixed in the bug-tracking database. But I don’t see where you fixed it.” “Dude, I did, honest.” Looking like a refugee from Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure, Jeremy started searching the network directories on his own laptop, mumbling. “Aw, man,

bogus.” He turned back to Dylan, looking like a nervous kid waiting for his father to get home. “I forgot to log in the fixed file, dude.” “I suggest you do that, immediately.” Dylan looked even angrier that he had been with me at lunch. I gulped, glad I hadn’t made the mistake. “Like, leave the meeting, dude?” “Yes. Leave the meeting. Go log this change in immediately, then come back. Is that clear?” “Whoa, harsh, dude,” Jeremy muttered on his way out, closing the door behind him. Dylan turned his laser vision on me. I remembered my spanking in the restaurant and felt the shrimp shift in my stomach. “Patti, I’ll speak with you about this after the meeting. Alone.” “Yes, sir,” I squeaked. Bob, the engineer, smirked in my direction. Did this count as embarrassing him or the company? Was I going to get fired or, worse, spanked? My concerns never left my mind for the rest of the meeting. Numbly I took notes and responded when spoken to. But mostly I worried about my predicament.

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Forty-five minutes later, Bob, Kyle, and the chastened Jeremy stood to leave. I remained seated. For one thing, Dylan wanted to speak to me alone. For another thing, it’s harder to spank a seated woman. I doodled while Dylan finished making notes. “Patti.” I met his gaze. “Yes, sir.” “I --” He stopped to run his hands through that marvelous hair of his. “See --” He stopped again, clearly frustrated. I didn’t know about him, but the false starts were driving me nuts. “Dylan, if you’re going to reprimand me, please do so that I can get on with my work.” “It’s not really a reprimand. I appreciate your thoroughness in exploring the application and your courage in pointing out something you thought was wrong. And it had a good result. If you hadn’t spoken up, it might have been a couple of days before someone discovered that Jeremy’s changes weren’t incorporated into the latest version.” His expression was kind. I began to relax, until he said, “However…“ Oh, Lord. “It’s just that, well, Patti, for God’s sake, if you’re going to undermine my authority, would you please do it privately?” “Undermine? Dylan, I meant nothing of the sort.” Now I knew where the conversation was headed. Definitely a reprimand. “Yeah, I know that, sugar. However, I think you should have mentioned the Parts Library problem to me in private, before the meeting. I don’t especially care to be spanked in public. I know you don’t.” His eyebrows danced with both humor and threat. “You get my drift?” “Crystal clear, sir. Next time, I’ll bring problems to you before broadcasting them at a meeting. Today, though, well, there wasn’t time.” I prayed my protest would trigger a little mercy in my ex.

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“Yes. And I appreciate that you were trying to look good on your first day. But, as I said, next time, please bring design concerns to me privately, first. I didn’t enjoy jumping on Jeremy publicly, but I had to do it after your demonstration.” I hung my head, standing to leave. “Sorry again,” I mumbled. “Seriously, Patti, I do value your opinions. You’re damn good at your job. Just let me be good at mine, okay?” He laughed, eyed the closed door, and spoke more freely. “Don’t worry, gal, I’m hardly going to turn you over my knee for being good at what you do. And you were definitely doing your job. Perhaps a bit too zealously, but at least you were working and thinking.” His eyes twinkled. “You can go now. Just be sure you bring a peach switch to my office after hours today.” My jaw dropped, and my eyes widened. To experience the lick of a switch is like having a red-hot wire laid across your butt, repeatedly. I’d felt the sting of the switch with Dylan once. “Uh, a, uh, peach, huh? There are no peach trees in Massachusetts, except on farms.” His smile grew. “That’s your good fortune, Patti. Run along now.” I fled, not knowing whether he was joking with me. I knew one thing for sure, I’d never, ever again say anything in public that might embarrass him. I still wasn’t sure whether he might turn me over his knee for it. By the time six rolled around, I was as tired as a hound after a day’s hunt. I packed to go home, figuring I’d do a little work-related reading after dinner. A software worker’s job never seems to end -- there are always new releases, new deadlines, or new must-have features to incorporate. I considered the amount of time I would have to put in every day to do my job properly -- more than eight most days. I wanted to start taking night courses that would lead to a graduate degree in Human Factors in Information Design. My resume would look fabulous with a master’s degree, and the topics interested me. But working for a start-up, even a reasonably established one like

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DD Technology, meant you didn’t keep banker’s hours. Finding time to groom and ride Flash would be difficult enough, let alone taking on the challenge of grad school after hours. I know, we software workers are usually paid well and have some perks that lots of industries don’t have, such as flex time, working from home, decent insurance, and so on. But believe me, we work for it. My boss Dave was still in his office with the door closed, but Bonnie and Betty’s cubicles were vacant. I was trudging out of my own cube when Dylan phoned. “Ms. North, I think you’d better report to my office.” His distant tone made me shiver. What had I done now? “Yes, sir.” I hurried down the halls, a little worried that he’d found a peach tree nearby. His door was closed. I knocked. “Yeah?” I poked my head around the door. “You, uh, called me?” He stood, toying with a mean-looking wooden ruler. “Sit down.” I sat in the chair opposite his desk. He walked around his desk to perch on its front edge, two feet away, and loomed over me. He whacked his palm with the ruler while he spoke. “What we have to do, Ms. North, is find the underpants.”

Huh? “Do you follow me?” Dylan asked. “Not really,” I said. Has he gone totally nutso? “You mean you don’t watch South Park? I figured you for a fan. You always liked

Beavis and Butthead.” He kept smacking the ruler against his hand. That, plus talk of underpants, made me hyperventilate.

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“Nuh, no, I watch South Park sometimes, but I don’t follow you. Underpants?” “You didn’t see the classic episode featuring the underpants gnomes?” I could only stare. He must have finally flipped. “Y’see, hon, these guys called the underpants gnomes sneaked into kids’ rooms at night and stole underpants, because the gnomes had a plan: find underpants and make a profit. However, they were hung up on exactly how to get from underpants to profit. Basically, the entire episode was a wacky lecture about capitalism. At any rate, you and I know how to get from underpants to profit. What we don’t know is how to find enough underpants to sell.” I stood. “Dylan, excuse me for saying so, but what the hell is this all about?” Wagging the ruler in my face, he ordered, “Sit down. I’m not done.” I sat, bottom twitching in fear. He was definitely on something weirder than coffee. I sniffed a little, trying to detect a telltale odor on his breath. “So, as I was sayin’, we need to find more underpants. In our case, it means more features for the latest version of our bread-and-butter product. Would you like to help with the effort?” “I, uh, guess so.” I thought I smelled bourbon. Maybe he was a little drunk. Best to humor him. “It’s settled, then. I’m going to add your name to the list of employees who meet once a week to brainstorm how we can make the product better for our customers. More underpants to sell means more profits. Right?” “Uh, whatever you say, sir.” Nah, smelled more like bourbon mixed with paint thinner. Maybe gin? But when the hell had he started drinking gin? “In the brainstorming meeting, you can feel free to trash the product all you want. I won’t be there.” His grin split his face in two, and the penny dropped.

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“Dylan, is this impromptu session your way of punishing me for my faux pas in today’s project meeting? Scaring me to death, talking about underpants, and waving that ruler around?” “Were you afraid I might use this ruler on you, with or without underpants?” He smiled like a fox inside a henhouse when the farmer’s not home. I swear, in another minute, he’d begin licking his chops. “Wasn’t that the idea, to get me to think that?” Anger began to simmer inside me. “Oh, yes. And it worked.” He laughed for a moment, then said, “You looked ready to bolt any minute.” I stood, psychically spanked and privately oh-so-thoroughly humiliated. I forced bravado into my voice. “Well, I wasn’t that scared. Mostly, I thought you had gone around the bend.” “Crazy?” “Of course. All that talk about underpants and profit. Really.” I sniffed to punctuate my statement. He aimed the ruler at my derriere. I jumped out of the way, and he laughed again. “Now, you’re upset, the way I was upset earlier. That means we’re even.” I was halfway to the door when he said, “Listen, I have a proposal for you.” His expression was full of longing. I began to feel less upset with him for the trick he’d played on me, but I wasn’t about to let him know that -- yet. “Yeah?” “Call me crazy, but I think we can have the best of both worlds, kind of like we did at lunch today.” I smiled. “You mean you want me to dump water on you?” He suddenly found the markings on the ruler intensely interesting. A shy Dylan was a new-to-me Dylan. “Actually, I was thinking more like I could spank you now and then. You

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know, because it used to be so much fun. And hot, it was hot, like at lunch.” Now his gaze lasered into mine. “What do you say, ’Cakes?” I wanted to say no. I wanted to tell him to fuck off, to shake my tits in his face and laugh, telling him to dream on. But, oh, brother, having Dylan again in that way, well, beads of sweat popped out on my brow at the thought. No one was beating down my door to offer me a spanking or sex or anything else delicious. Hmm. “Um, and how would we keep this -- activity -- separate from work?” I found the strength to ask. God knows how. He groaned. “Hell, I don’t know. If you say yes, we’ll find a way. I promise. And I’ll make sure I’m never the one to do your performance reviews or have authority over your status here, promotions, firing, whatever. I’ll stay completely away from areas involving your career. Just let me spank that wonderful ass of yours on a regular basis.” With that, he dropped to his knees, singing out, “Pleeeeaaase,” his palms pressed together in supplicating prayer. I giggled. “You’re a hoot, Dyl. You always were.” “I’m serious about this. Will you?” I looked into those damned green eyes of his, thought about how hot spanking got me, and of how hot his spanking got me, and of how long it had been since I’d had a proper one, with all the bells and whistles. The lunchtime swats didn’t really count. I took a deep breath, exhaled, then said, “All right.” He cleared his desk faster than anyone I’d ever seen, literally pushing most of the stuff onto the carpet with two sweeps of his arm. “Lock the door, sugar, then c’mere, and bend over the desk. I don’t have a good chair for over-the-knee. I’ll put that on my list of things to acquire in the next twenty-four hours.”

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I did as he ordered, a lump building in my throat while I threw the lock and walked to the desk. Bending over and placing my palms on the surface, I said, “And, um, exactly what are you going to spank me for?” He smiled, the kind of not-nice smile he always wore when he intended to get medieval on my heinie. “I think humiliating the hell out of me in today’s meeting would be a good reason.” I felt my pussy contract. Wet already, and ready for action. “And what are you going to spank me with?” “Oh, how about…the ruler?” “Ahh!” was my gasped reply. Flat, wooden things are my favorite, next to a nice, hard palm. He peeled up my skirt, slowly, as a tease. I heard him make a sound of approval and knew he liked seeing me in the thigh-high stockings instead of pantyhose. Then he hooked his fingers into my panties at the waist. “Ms. North,” he said, using his most exaggerated drawl, “you know, darlin’, that I always, always, discipline naughty young ladies’ tender areas on the bare.” I closed my eyes and let his words take me away while I waited for the kiss of the wood. When the ruler landed on my sitting area, the sting was worse than anything he’d meted out at the restaurant. “Jesus H!” I cried out. He whacked me again, this time searing my upper thighs. Oh, I hate having my thighs spanked. I hate it so much, and yet, I felt about three whacks away from coming. “Owww, no fair, no thigh spanking.” “I think, after what you pulled in the meeting, you have no right to talk about what’s fair, Ms. North.” His voice dipped into a growl, and my pussy squeezed again. God, this man

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was the total package -- great spanker, great fucker, and the best head-trip giver I’ve ever experienced. Three more times, hard and fast, the flat wood punished my seat. By then, I was bouncing on my toes, moaning from the smart and the arousal. He walloped me another three times, in the same place, and damned if it wasn’t starting to really, really hurt. I danced a little more, bouncing my butt up and down in a vain attempt to ease the sting. I knew better than to throw a hand back to rub the pain away. Doing that always earned extra swats from Mr. Decker. After that, I kind of grayed out with lust, as the ruler tattooed my bottom. Damned if he wasn’t awfully good at spanking the same place over and over, the way he always had been. The thought that I might still be a little sore the next morning from such treatment, well, mmm, it enhanced the experience, the whole damn hurtin’-so-good experience. “Patti,” he whispered just before he laid his fingers on me between my legs. I moaned and twitched my pelvis, hoping he’d take it to mean yes. “Ohhh, ’Cakes,” he said, and then the touch of a quick, hot tongue between the folds of my pussy took me away. I spread my legs as wide as they would go and pressed my front onto the desk while he made love to me, licking lightly at first, then licking with more pressure, and finally sucking my clit between his lips.

This son of a bitch, I thought, gives the best head I’ve ever had. By the end, I was fucking his mouth until, with hot rockets shooting through my veins and my pussy on fire, I damn near passed out from the orgasm. While my shooting stars faded, he walked to his chair, sat, and gave me a look. I knew what that look meant. It’s a good thing I like to suck cock. With my skirt still hiked to my waist and my panties around my ankles, I hobbled to the chair and knelt. “Sure I can’t talk you into a fuck?” I asked, looking up at him in an adoring-slave way.

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He shook his head. “God, don’t tempt me. We shouldn’t even be doing this.” “You knew what you were starting when you offered to spank me.” I let my tone be singsong, as if I were scolding him. He looked at me over the tops of those nerdy glasses, grumbling, “Just suck my damned cock, Ms. North. And you’d better be good at it, or you’ll get another taste of the ruler. Or maybe even my belt.” My nipples, which had been stiff ever since he had asked me if I wanted a spanking, puckered so hard they ached. He smiled. “Maybe you shouldn’t wear that clingy sweater -with that bra -- to work again. I can see your nipples plain as day.” He reached down, tickling each one once. “You bastard,” I breathed, feeling my pussy come alive. “Don’t touch them unless you plan to fuck me.” He sat back in the chair, perfectly relaxed except for the enormous hard-on outlined by his jeans. “Ooo, Little Miss Well-Spanked is threatening me. I’m soooo scared.” I wanted to shake him up a little, make him reveal how turned on he was. So, I moved my mouth to his zipper, and pulled it down using my teeth. His expression went from smug to shocked, and I could see his cock pulse through the fabric while I tugged on the zipper, taking my damned sweet time. Once it was all the way down, I put my mouth to the opening and used my tongue to find his shaft. “Jesus Christ,” he said when my tongue touched him for the first time, and I smiled. I’d finally shaken the composure of Mr. Decker. With his cock still technically inside his pants, I nibbled my way to the head, teasing the hole. “Ms. North,” he moaned, “you’ll suck my cock now, or, honest to God, I’m going outside and finding a nice tree switch to take the skin off your behind -- and off your thighs, too. And, after that, you’ll still have to suck my cock.” “Don’t tempt me,” I smarted off, but I recognized Dylan’s don’t-push-me-further voice. He would go outside, find a switch, and flay me alive with it. I know, because he did, once.

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I’ll never call his bluff again, not when he’s talking switches, which I truly do hate, and not with the sort-of-hate-even-though-it-turns-me-on kind of hate. I started to reach for him, so I could take him out of his pants, but he said, “No. Use your mouth, with your hands clasped behind your back. And you’d best remember that tree switch.” I obeyed. It took me a minute or two to fully get him into my mouth without my hands to help, but once I did, I Hoovered him. He fucking adored it. I know he did, because he put his hands on my head so he could move it himself, all the while fucking my mouth. He was treating me like his little spanking slut, and it took me back, God knew. Dying to touch my pussy so I could come again, I kept my hands firmly clasped behind me. When he was in Mr. Decker mode, and threatening the switch, it was best to obey. Not to mention it felt so goddamned good to obey. My head trip was in the stratosphere. He cried out, so loudly I started. I swallowed every drop of his cum while he bucked his hips for a very long time. After he removed his hands from my head, eyes closed, he smiled. “Good girl, Patti. Very good. Now, run along home and take care of your sore behind, before I reconsider and go find that tree switch.” “But I was good. I did everything you asked.” My protest was pro forma, part of the fun. He patted the top of my head. “Have a nice night, Ms. North. Go on home and jerk off while fucking yourself with your biggest dildo and dream about my enormous cock. I know you want to.” I did exactly as he ordered me to, butt delightfully, uncomfortably sore on my ride home.

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I attended my first meeting of the brainstorming committee -- otherwise known as the Brain Trust meeting. Supposedly, we were the best and brightest employees at DDT. Personally, I think the bosses created the meeting to keep folks like us from rocking the boat. Get the most critically minded people arguing amongst themselves, and you defuse them. It was my second week at work. I was sitting halfway down a table that held four others besides me -- Bob, the snotty engineer; one of the “dudes”; and two others whose names I didn’t know. One of the unknowns was wearing a tie with a white, short-sleeved poplin shirt that looked as if it came from Wal-Mart. He reminded me of the wacko aerospace worker that Michael Douglas played in Falling Down -- except this guy was nowhere near as good-looking as Douglas. I was the only female at the meeting, but in high tech, I’m used to that. We all introduced ourselves because I was the newbie. The “dude” was Jeremy, the one who forgot to log in his code, and the guy with the tie’s name was Michael, as in geekywacko-played-by-Michael-Douglas. Imagine that. Bob gave me his superior I’m-an-engineer-and-you’re-not glance, while Jeremy scowled at me. Can’t say I blame him -- I was the one who outed his mistake, earning him a public reprimand from the big boss. “What issues are before us this week?” Bob said. A nondescript fellow in his thirties who’d introduced himself as Charles said, “Why don’t we have Michael read the minutes first? So Patti can get some background.” Charles gave me a big smile. If it weren’t for his wedding band, I’d swear he was trying to weasel his way into my pants. Bob clearly didn’t like Charles butting in, but he nodded. “Michael?” Possibly-wacko-and-definitely-nerdy Michael droned the minutes from the previous meeting. I didn’t know all of the DDT products mentioned, though I’d read about some of them.

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Charles smiled at me again. “Patti, did that help?” He was either flirting with me or patronizing me. I honestly couldn’t tell -- the guy’s pickup technique was nonexistent. But I knew what to do. I smiled back, saying, “Yes, thank you.” Michael regarded me as if I’d sprouted another head, while Bob looked down his nose at me. This was going to be a frickin’ long meeting. The men started arguing about an esoteric point of the programming behind the user interface design for a product called DesignEx. I didn’t know the product, and I wasn’t a programmer, so I was lost. Not only that, the discussion rapidly degenerated into a traditional male pissing contest -- you know, “mine is bigger than yours,” as in, “my brain/programming ability is bigger than yours.” My naughty fantasies took over at that point. Not surprisingly, my mind dove into the waters of the past, emerging in a steamy summer night on a neighbor’s farm. Dylan was seventeen, I was sixteen, and we’d cleaned out stalls in exchange for a chance to ride. As it was evening, we groomed and fed the horses before putting them away for the night. But afterward, our hormones distracted us. We turned the hoses we had used to wash down the horses on each other. One look at Dylan, his dripping T-shirt clinging to his muscles, was all it took for me. When I was sixteen, I didn’t do too badly in the wet T-shirt category myself. We found an empty stall, and in the warm darkness on a bed of clean straw, I lost my virginity to Dylan Decker. Afterward, with Georgia moonlight bathing our faces, we talked about our hopes and dreams. Both of us aimed for any career that took us away from our grim backgrounds. Oh, but that first night, drenched in teenaged lust, his lips kissing and nibbling their way down my body, shot me to the moon. We’d necked before, and he’d gotten his hands on my breasts a few times, but that night, I let him unzip my jeans. His probing fingers

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convinced me to give it up to him, and his gifted tongue gave me my first orgasm of the night. It loosened me, making the sweet sting of deflowering bearable. Somehow, the talented bastard lasted long enough to bring me to a second orgasm, the very first time I had a man inside me. His magical fingers, positioned between us, took me there. Such doings made a sixteen-year-old fall in love with her best friend, the handsomest male she’d ever seen. If I closed my eyes, I can still feel his tongue parting my inner folds, the mind-bending sensation building as he brought me to -“What do you think, Patti? Patti? Hello, Earth to Patti.” Oh, crap, they were talking to me. “Yes?” I said, working hard to shake off the memories in which I’d immersed myself. “We’d like your opinion on proposed changes to the RTW interface. If you’re not too busy inside your own head, that is,” Bob-the-engineer said, smirking again. I wanted to smack him. “Yeah, and, like, don’t get me in trouble with The Man again,” Jeremy said. “Tell me in this meeting, dudette.” I’d already apologized to Jeremy last week, but I understood his pain. “Okay, Jere. Show me what you’ve got now, and what you plan to change.” “Haven’t you been listening at all?” Bob snapped. When in doubt, attack back. “Actually, no. I zoned out when the discussion deteriorated into a pissing contest.” Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Jeremy nod. I began to warm to the blond surfer dude. “Like, she’s so right, dudes,” he said. “You all argued features without listening to me, the UI designer. Get over your bogus selves. Like, I don’t care whose is biggest, because,” he said, pausing a beat, “like, obviously, mine is.” Gusts of laughter rolled out of me. I definitely liked Jeremy. “Like, dude,” I said, “show me the proposed changes.”

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The other three men glowered, but I didn’t care. Surfer Dude ran through his material, and as I’d begun to suspect, he was fairly intelligent behind his slacker persona. “So,” I said, “to wrap up, you want to add a new menu named Element Colors, and five new screens, with three of those screens cross-linked to the Design Menu. Have I got it right?” “Like, you bet,” Jeremy said. “And this is Dylan’s baby, right?” “Since you seem to know the man so well,” Bob sneered, “we all thought you’d be the best one to present the changes.” “He’s wicked touchy about changes to RTW,” said Charles. Visions of half-mast underpants and Dylan’s nasty-looking ruler cracking across my bare sitting area gave me shivers. “Umm, I’m not sure the proposed changes should come from me. I’m a tech writer, not an engineer. I can’t talk the finer points of coding. Why not you, Bob? You’re the senior engineer here. Or maybe you, Jeremy? You’re the chief UI designer.” “But you’re the one with explicit usability experience,” Bob said. “And the changes have to be argued from a user’s standpoint. How about you and Jeremy present it to Dylan together?” Jeremy and I exchanged glances. “Together, that’s cool,” he said. “Okay,” I agreed, despite the visions of me across Dylan’s knees. “Want to stay a minute so we can plan our strategy?” I asked Jeremy. The other three men left us alone to settle on a time, place, and way to show Dylan what the committee wanted, without riling my full-of-himself ex. Jeremy and I worked for over an hour, honing our presentation, until Barbara, an administrative assistant who wore her purple hair in a crew cut, knocked on the conference room door.

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“Hey, you two, party down the hall. Or did you forget? Free beer,” she said. “You snooze, you lose.” Jeremy and I said as one, “Beer?” I looked at my watch. “Damn, it’s after five already. Want to knock off and go have a brew? What are we celebrating, anyway?” “Engineering hit, like, a major milestone,” he said. “Beer for everyone when a department reaches a goal.” “Nice to know that management has its priorities straight. I think I like working here.” We chatted while wandering in the direction of the music and laughter. The hallway already smelled of hoppy microbrews. Jeremy truly was smart, and a transplanted surfer dude. He’d been raised in Orange County, California, and educated at Caltech in computer science. He moved cross-country to work with Dylan and Adam because of their reputations and the exciting nature of the projects of which he would have a chance to contribute. Although his original expertise wasn’t in interface design, he’d evolved into the company’s resident UI, or user interface, guru. He loved what he did, and he loved working for DDT -even though Dylan could be a little testy about his pet projects. We both grabbed a Harpoon IPA from an ice-filled garbage can as we continued our conversation. I described my educational background and work experience and was just starting to tell him about my plans to take classes for a master’s in usability design when Dylan interrupted us. “Both of you enjoying yourselves? Because tomorrow, we bust our asses again, before someone in the marketplace busts ours for us,” he said. Turning his head so Jeremy couldn’t see, he winked at me.

Busting asses. Damn, I needed another beer to chase away the images in my brain. “Yeah. Like, Patti, here, is awesome. How d’you know her, dude?” Jeremy said. Dylan smiled. “We go way back, Jeremy, if you catch my drift.”

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He scowled at me and his look clearly told me not to become too chummy with Jeremy. Surfer Dude, bless him, didn’t take the hint. But I needed to set the Deckerhead straight on who was running my love life. “Hey, Jere, I’d love to hear about the gnarly waves you’ve ridden. Give me a minute to discuss something with Dylan, okay?” I touched Dylan’s elbow so he’d follow me, and as soon as we weren’t within anyone’s earshot, I said, “Don’t start getting ideas you can tell me who to be friends with here at DDT. You may be spanking me for our mutual fun and games, but we’re divorced, remember?” “Maybe I’d like us to get undivorced,” he said, stepping closer to me. I backed up. “Don’t be stupid.” “Don’t call me stupid. Have you forgotten I’m your boss?” “My boss’s boss,” I said. “Now, Jeremy and I, we’re peers, and we work in different departments. Nothing wrong with us being friends. Or more. After all, the dude’s pretty buff.” I deliberately slid my glance Jeremy’s way, pretending to sigh. I wanted to push Dylan’s buttons the same damned way he used to push mine. I thought I saw shades of green flash across his face. “Watch your step, Patti, and remember I own a mighty nasty ruler. That’s all I’m going to say.” “Look who’s jealous now.” I couldn’t resist the taunt. His hands clenched, then unclenched, before he muttered in my ear. “Step out of line once, just once, so I can give you the ultimatum that you either get spanked or fired. I told you on your first day that I’d do so if you screwed up. And, as God is my witness, I will -and with a tree switch, too.”

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“Patti,” Adam Dzyzinsky, the company president and Dylan’s cofounder, said as he walked up to us, “I’m sorry I haven’t formally met you before now. I’ve been away most of the past two weeks. Dylan tells me we’re lucky to have you.” Adam and I shook hands. “Thank you, sir. I feel lucky to be here.” Dylan’s eyebrows shot up at my statement, but he said nothing. “Don’t call me sir, Patti. We’re all on a first-name basis here. Camaraderie gets the job done, you know. Listen, do you mind if I steal Dylan for a moment?” My chance to escape! “Of course not. Nice to meet you, Adam,” I said, fleeing as fast as I could without appearing suspicious. Conscious of Dylan’s glare on my tightly denimed behind, I beelined for Jeremy, who was chatting with Kyle. Greeting me with a “Dudette!” and a fresh bottle of beer, we fell back into conversation as Kyle melted away, leaving us alone. In retrospect, I see now that my mistake began at this point. Jeremy and I compared tastes in movies, music, and television, discovering that we liked many of the same things. After three beers, I also noticed Jeremy’s body -- cut and buff to the limit. He moved with a dancer’s grace, and his backside was tight, yet round -- a bubble butt of pure muscle. What is it about men’s butts that we women find so appealing? Jeremy and I shared a fourth beer. I hadn’t had anything to eat in hours, and my head felt as if it might float away at any time. When his hand brushed my forearm, I jerked, stunned at the heat his touch produced. I was one horny woman, and Surfer Dude was looking mighty tasty. “Hey,” he murmured, “I have an idea. You know the janitor’s closet on the second floor? Like, we could, you know, for a while. Have some private time.” “We shouldn’t leave together,” I said, shooting a glance Dylan’s way, whose gaze was still glued on me. “I’ll finish the beer and meet you there in five minutes, okay, dude?”

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“Solid, dudette,” he said. I watched Jeremy walk away. Talk about solid. My lips tickled, aching to kiss Surfer Dude, my breasts all warm and heavy. I ate a few potato chips, drank the rest of my beer, and looked around, impatient for the five minutes to be over. Dylan had left, so I sauntered out as casually as I could. Once outside the party room, I skulked to the back staircase. No one was on the second floor when I peeked out, so I strode to the janitor’s closet, closing the door behind me. It was pitch black. “Jeremy?” I said. In response, I heard a whispered, “Dudette,” and hands grasped my shoulders. I let myself be drawn against that hot, hard chest, and joined my mouth to his. Courtesy of the beer, my inhibitions were gone. Our tongues probed while his hands slid up and down my back, dipping a little lower each time. Finally, he clutched my bottom and pulled my hips against his. His cock pressed against my lower belly, and knowing I caused the hardness flooded my groin with wet heat. Inside me, where I hadn’t felt anything beyond a vibrator for much too long, rhythmic quivers had me squeezing my legs together. A tiny bell began ringing in my head, but I ignored it. I wanted sex too badly to pay attention. I didn’t say no when one of his hands slid under my tight, little knit shirt. His hands were big, I noticed with surprise, and the length pressing against my belly matched his hands in size. Something about the way our bodies fit made the bell in my head ring louder. “Hey, Jere,” I said, lust roughening my voice, “I don’t want to do it in a closet, dude.” By now, he’d plucked one of my breasts out of my bra, and his fingers were tickling my erect nipple. The other cupped my mound, pressing and rubbing in a slow, measured way. “You know,” I said, “you smell really, really good. You kind of remind me of someone.”

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“Like, who?” he whispered, tugging down my zipper, pushing down my jeans. I felt them slide to my knees as his hand cupped me again, rubbing harder, faster. I moaned, pressing his hand on my panty-clad mound with my own. In a moment or two, I was going to come, right here among the buckets, mops, and Pine-Sol. His thumb and forefinger were twirling and tugging my engorged nipple. It hurt, just a tiny bit, deliciously so. Ripples of pleasure turned into a tsunami. I bit my lip as his fingers coaxed me to orgasm. “You remind me of my ex,” I moaned. “Oh, wow, don’t stop, I’m gonna --” “You mean, Dylan?” That bell in my head was a clanging fire alarm now. Suddenly the closet flooded with light. Dylan stood there, arms crossed and fully dressed, while there I was, one naked breast hanging out and my jeans below my knees. The smell of my arousal rose to my own nostrils, and I knew my panties were soaked. My swollen pussy pulsed with the need for release. But after all the beer, my mind didn’t work properly. “Where’s Jeremy?” I muttered. “I followed him here and convinced him to let me take his place. Of course, I had to tell him a little lie. We’re engaged, Patti, if he ever asks.” “But, but, you sounded like Jeremy.” “I whispered. All whispers sound a lot alike.” “You son of a bitch,” I said, jerking up my jeans. “I’m going to bring you up on harassment charges for sure.” “And what are you going to say? ‘I intended to fuck Jeremy Tate in the second floor janitor’s closet after drinking too much beer, but instead I made out with my ex-husband until my panties were wet.’ That would be a difficult case to win, Patti. After all, either you thought you were making out with Jeremy or you knew it was me, and if the latter, it doesn’t sound like harassment when you keep at it until you’re seconds from coming.”

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By now I was more or less dressed but quivering with angry frustration. “You, you, fucking asshole bastard! I’m never going to forgive you. Ever. If I didn’t need this job so much, I’d quit.” “Hey, at least you had a good time,” he said. “Some good time. You didn’t even get me off.” I put my hand on the doorknob, certain I’d be sick if I didn’t get away from all those damned Pine-Sol fumes. He grinned. “Stay a while longer, and I’ll take care of the problem.” I yanked the door open, slamming it behind me. I rushed to my office, grabbed my stuff, and fled before I could run into either Jeremy or Dylan.

The barn, my battered ego crooned. So what if it was Roberta’s night with Flash? I could still hang out and talk, maybe help with Flash. Maybe see Richard. No. I had to stop thinking like that. Better I should go home to my plastic, batteryoperated pal than jump Richard’s bones. It hadn’t exactly gone well the first time I’d tried. Besides, I knew he hadn’t lived a monastic life since our wretched encounter. Who wanted to be one more in a long string of casual encounters? I had some pride, though the Jeremy/Dylan thing had shredded it pretty badly. Before I slid into my car, I considered my level of inebriation. I touched each index finger to my nose. I walked a straight line, heel to toe. I balanced on one foot. I was fine. Anger must have burned off the beer’s effects. Still, just to be on the safe side, I drove to the stable on the slower back roads. No way did I want to get into a fender bender with the rush-hour lunatics on Route 128. At the barn, I pulled my car into the space between Roberta’s pickup truck and Richard’s SUV. My itty-bitty roadster looked like Baby Bear nestled between Mama and Papa.

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I followed the smell of horse, that comforting combination of hay, animal, and human sweat, along with the grassy odor of manure, to the indoor ring. A shrill-voiced older woman was conducting an adult group lesson in one half of the ring. Again, I felt gratitude that I had found Amy for my teacher. In the other half, Roberta was schooling Flash in some dressage moves. Who knew the enormous white horse could dance on those dinner-plate hooves? I settled in to watch, awed by her horsewomanship. Calling what Roberta does and what I do by the same name -riding -- invites ludicrous comparisons. Still on Flash, she approached me. “We were just quitting for the night. You want to take a spin?” “Don’t have my boots and hat with me,” I lied. I always, always carried them in the back of the car. The real reason I didn’t want to ride was approaching: Richard, looking finer than ever. “But I’ll help you groom, if you want.” “Hey, North. Long time and all that.” I saw Roberta watch Richard’s hand reach out and stroke me from shoulder to waist. “The new job’s kept me pretty busy.” I recalled the way I’d gotten busy in the closet a short while before, and heat rose to my face. “Um, what’s new with you?” “Training with Jack for the big show. You entered?” Roberta led Flash away, sending me a silly grin behind Richard’s back. She gestured obscenely, just so I wouldn’t miss her point. I wanted to stick out my tongue at her, but couldn’t, not with Richard facing me. I lounged against the wall, feigning relaxation, while my nerve endings buzzed over the man’s physical nearness. “Yep. Novice two-foot fences. You?” “Dressage. I think Roberta’s entered some of the same classes I’m in.” His eyes homed in on my mouth, then my breasts. “Our last time together wasn’t to my liking. Want to try again?”

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I wanted to do it tonight with Richard. Hell, I wanted to do it tonight with anyone. But I knew I’d have no respect for myself if I did. How many men could I want in one day, anyway? He rested a hand on one of my hips, his touch setting my skin afire despite the thick denim of my jeans. “C’mon, North. We’ll take my SUV out to the field and climb in back.” Self-respect is overrated. My mouth was forming the word yes when one of the horses at the other end of the ring spooked. Richard corralled the horse when it ran toward him, its eyes showing white all around. The woman who fell was slow to rise, and pain contorted her face. The shrill old harpy instructor was berating her for not getting back on her feet, as if she were twelve. Richard brought the horse back over to her, but the student seemed unable to force herself to climb back on. I felt pity for her. Falling’s no fun, and she looked to be in her fifties. The woman was really going to hurt tomorrow. Richard was walking back to me when his cell phone rang. I smiled at him, but he walked past as if we hadn’t been talking at all. The conversation he indulged in on his cell sounded guarded on his end. I watched him leave the arena before I turned and trudged to Flash’s stall. No hot Jeremy the Surfer Dude, no Richard the Ramrod, no Dylan the Bastard. I was batting zero with men. Little did I know that things would only get worse.

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Chapter Five

The weeks passed uncomfortably at work after the sex-in-the-closet debacle. Jeremy wouldn’t speak to me, not even in meetings. He and I presented our findings to Dylan together, as we’d agreed on in the Brain Trust meeting, but after that, we never talked again. I was superpissed at Dylan for ruining what could have been a beautiful friendship with the dude. Jeremy and I might have ended up being just for kicks, but those kicks would have been yummy. It’s been so long since I’ve had real sex that my vibrator ran through a valuepack of batteries. I love my sex toys, but there’s no substitute for the real deal. Men do have their uses. I was ripped at Dylan, but I still enjoyed working with him. And, though I yearned to renew our closeness, I shut down his attempts to lure me to his office for a spanking and mutual licking. Although our friendship, years ago, had produced the flower of our love, the disastrous scene in the closet, plus his obvious dominance over me on the corporate ladder, convinced me to keep my distance from now on.

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I puzzled over his emphatic insistence that unconsummated fooling around was all he’d ever done. I wanted very much to believe him, but three years’ worth of fooling around, even the unconsummated kind, was sort of hard to get over in a few weeks. However, I’d never known him to lie to me, and his story had always been the same, even during our marriage when he’d admitted to the dalliances. In short, I was confused -angry, yes, but also confused. Oh, don’t get me wrong. If he’d managed to get me alone, I would have slept with him in a moment of weakness. And if I slept with him, my heart wouldn’t be able to help itself. Meanwhile, Richard vanished, and BlackJack’s stall remained vacant, too. Everyone at the barn claimed they hadn’t seen either of them for days. Even though we didn’t have much history, I willed myself not to worry. At least he’d never tricked me in a mean way like Dylan had. As the weekend of the big horse show neared, I had little energy to waste on any man. At Sunday’s show, I would attempt, in public, the two-foot jumps I’d been practicing. For the first time, I’d be in a show with contestants from many barns, not just my own. Both excited and scared witless, I prayed that I wouldn’t make a fool of myself on Flash, or worse, hurt him somehow with my clumsiness. About 6 a.m. on show day, I arrived at the barn to prep Flash. Roberta arrived shortly after I did. Together we oiled his hooves, braided his mane, and generally transformed his diamond-in-the-rough appearance into pure equine handsomeness. White horses are hard to keep clean, but they’re beauties when they’re groomed properly. Roberta disavowed any knowledge of Richard’s whereabouts, despite my repeated questions. I knew he was in the show and wouldn’t miss it unless something very strange was going on. My unsatisfied curiosity warped into overdrive, but I pushed it to the back of my mind. First the show, then the man.

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We loaded Flash into the trailer along with Penny, Flash’s favorite buddy. The two horses immediately began what sounded like a conversation. I volunteered to drive my roadster to the show, rather than sit three across in the pickup pulling the trailer. Roberta drove the truck, and Penny’s owner, Maggie, rode shotgun. The morning passed -- thankfully -- uneventfully, in that no horse spooked, nobody was injured, and things progressed as they should. I managed to snare fifth place in my novice equitation class for adults over two-foot fences. Equitation classes are judged on the abilities of the rider, not the horse. Of course, Flash performed flawlessly -- I was the screwup. Still, it thrilled me not to finish out of the money, so to speak, at my first major show. At that point, I turned Flash over to Roberta, who would ride him in two classes after mine, but before she left, we high-fived over my pink ribbon. I patted and kissed and praised our horse with lots of “Good boy!” comments. He nickered, bumping his head against my chest, before Roberta directed him to the ring. I’d volunteered to pick up two bottles of Moët as well as peppermints for Flash, so I decided to do that now rather than later. As I walked through the show grounds, congratulating those who won ribbons and commiserating with those who didn’t, I worried that my fawn-colored riding breeches made my butt look enormous. Hey, I’m female, aren’t I? My instructor, Amy, was quite happy with my showing. She urged me to enter another class that day, but content with fifth place, I declined. I’d had enough excitement for one day and didn’t want to attempt a class too advanced for my so-called skills. My riding instructor told me I’d come a long way in less than two years. Although I invited her to share champagne with Roberta and me, she begged off. I watched her hurry over to one of her younger charges, a cute, extremely tiny eight-year-old who could outride me any day of the week.

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I decided to stow my hard-won ribbon in a safe place and then get the champagne, so I headed for my car, parked near our horse trailer. Strange noises came from the trailer as I approached. Who, or what, was inside? When I peeked into the gloom, I spied a muscular backside working furiously between two shapely thighs. Richard, his breeches around his knees, was having his lusty way with someone on the hay bales. I caught a glimpse of long, dark hair and heard breathy cooing. I could hardly believe the chutzpah it took for him to boink his floozy in my horse trailer. Infuriated didn’t cover how I felt -- hurt was in the mix, too. I ran to the snack truck for a cup of ice-cold water, figuring I’d throw it on them as you would on dogs in heat. But by the time I’d returned, they’d finished. The woman, practically purring, combed hay out of her hair with manicured fingers while Richard tucked in his shirt. The woman was younger than me, thinner than me, and, from the looks of her clothing, wealthier than me -- a triple threat. “How dare you, in my trailer! Go get a room!” I yelled, throwing the water and hitting Richard below the waist. The cold water caused him to shrink a bit -- tight, thin riding breeches don’t leave much to the imagination, and apparently Richard wasn’t wearing underwear or even a jock. I couldn’t have planned it any better. I enjoyed my petty revenge. “Patti, you’re in Jessica’s trailer, you idiot.” Despite his words, Richard appeared serenely unconcerned. “Our trailer, Richie. Ours, remember? Now please get Miss Loser out of here, all right, sweetie?” Jessica shrugged in my direction before showing me her beautiful, young, thin, and wealthy backside. Richard grabbed my upper arm -- but gently -- and led me down the ramp. “Patti, look to your right.”

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I did. Oh, Lord. They were in what’s-her-name’s trailer, or at least not in mine, for there was mine not ten feet away. I recognized the battered Ford truck hooked to it. The trailer I’d been in had a brand-new, shiny Range Rover pulling it. I walked toward my own trailer, my hands clasping my head. The ruckus I’d caused had nearby people avidly watching. “Patti, please, talk to me.” Richard grasped my right shoulder to stop me when I reached my trailer. I turned to face him, and he brought his fingers up to brush my left cheek. After what I’d seen, it killed me for him to touch me. “You should know that Jessica and I are engaged. The wedding is next weekend.” “Engaged? Wedding? Do you know how worried I’ve been about you, you bastard? No one at the barn knew where you were. Where have you been? Where is BlackJack?” My words were tough, but my eyes teared up at the news. Even though we had no relationship -hell, we hadn’t even had sex -- it still hurt. I liked the miserable bastard, God knew why. “Patti, I’m sorry you’ve been worried. But I didn’t think you’d notice. I mean, it wasn’t as if we were involved or anything.” His words fell like a hammer on a crystal ornament, breaking something inside me.

Didn’t think I’d notice. Huh. At least I knew now where I fit in his pantheon of friends -somewhere between “who gives a damn” and “who’s she?” “I asked people at the barn not to say anything until today. I moved BlackJack to Jessica’s parents’ place a few days ago. I’ve been staying there, meeting her relatives and getting ready for the wedding, down in Newport. We have to get married. I knocked her up, so it’s my duty. With that tiny figure, she’ll be showing soon, and women of her social class don’t marry in maternity dresses.” Despite his words, Richard smiled like the cat with all the cream. “Newport? As in Newport, home of the superrich? Her social class? So, I take it she’s wealthy as sin?”

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“Yep.” His smile grew broader. “Damn it, how long has this been going on?” “About three months. I got her pregnant pretty quickly.” I wiped my eyes with my forearm. “You seem awfully happy. I recall a certain man saying he’d rather die of torture than have a ball and chain.” “Everything has turned out just as I wanted, and I’m so glad we ran into each other today. Even though,” he regarded his wet pants ruefully, “it started off a bit rocky.” I followed his gaze to his pants, which were rapidly tenting. His hand slid down my back as he moved closer. “Let’s go inside your trailer to talk. I want to make up for not telling you my plans before now and for acting like a jerk. I’m sorry I had to keep my secrets from you, but I had my reasons.” I’m despicably weak when it comes to hot men. I clambered inside the trailer, walking as far away from the entrance as I could. I stopped with my back to him. His cock pressed into the cleft of my buttocks while he cupped my breasts. His lips brushed my nape, making my knees tremble. Damn it. “Patti, I’m crazy about you. You’re bright and interesting and so much prettier than her. Why don’t we go somewhere and…” His voice dropped to a whisper as he brought his lips to my ear and described acts that would make a combat zone–hooker blush. I jerked away and turned to face him. “Richard, did I miss something here? Your lover is pregnant, and you’re marrying in a week. We’ve never even done it together. How does this give you license to enjoy hot monkey love with me? And what makes you think I want you any more?” I added, willing my voice not to shake. “Patti, don’t you see? I’ll be set for life with Jessica’s money and won’t have to do anything but ride in shows and in hunts. Working will be a thing of the past for me -- no more teaching horsemanship to the little brats, thank God. Speaking of little brats, my

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parental duties will largely be taken care of with nannies and such, and of course, boarding schools are de rigueur among the upper classes. I should have lots of free time for us to get together almost any time we want. I so want to try, um, things with you. Your passionate response in the hayloft made it clear that you’d be a hottie in bed. I always wanted to…” His erotic whispering began again, both arousing and angering me. “You mean you made her pregnant on purpose? So you could marry her money? And somehow you think you can have me, too?” I stopped as something clicked into place in my head. “The condom I found in the hayloft, the one full of holes -- that was yours.” “She insisted on condoms because she used no other form of birth control, so I made sure that every one I had was useless for such purposes. I knew if I made her pregnant, she’d marry me, and I’d be set for life. We’d be set for life.” “We?” “You and me. I always knew you were drooling over me and that I could have you any time I wanted. I just needed to get my financial ducks in a row first,” he smirked. “Geez, I knew I was potent, but well, I knocked her up in about two weeks’ time. Of course, we were doing it several times a day. She just couldn’t get enough of my --” “Stop. I don’t want to know.” Another thought clicked into place. “‘Always go for the money.’ That’s what you said to me.” Richard nodded ecstatically -- I’d never seen him so happy -- and he pulled me to him for the hottest, deepest kiss I’d experienced since the day Dylan kissed me in the restaurant. I could feel every delicious inch of Richard through our clothing. His hands roamed in places that an engaged man’s shouldn’t, unless they were on his own fiancée. I admit it -- I was sorely tempted, if my body’s responses were any indication. But I pushed him away and thought about slapping him for good measure. “I don’t think so. You assume I want you, after the way you’ve treated me, after hearing your

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arrogant claim that you could have me anytime you want? After the kind of marriage I had with my womanizing ex? At least he was honest with me. Unlike you.” Richard stepped in close to kiss me again, so I went for the slap. The crack reverberated in the nearly empty trailer.

When are you going to get a clue, North? I chided myself as I shook my stinging fingers. He stood there, his cheek fiery red with my fingerprints, his eyes surprised but unfazed. “Patti, don’t you see? I could probably siphon off enough money so you would never have to worry about Flash’s care. We could be together almost any time we wanted, have our horses without sacrifice, and enjoy…” The man never learned. He stepped in close, but I backed up so that he ended up sprawled on the hay. “‘Probably,’ ‘almost,’ those are the true words of an affair. And what happens when you tire of me?” “That’ll never happen, Patti. Only Jessica’s money interests me. Well, and this erotic thing I taught her to do with her --” “Richard, you think I just fell off the turnip truck? You’ll tire of me, if only because of my age. Your wife-to-be’s at least five years younger than me.”

Don’t cry. Don’t cry. “Ten. She just graduated from college in Virginia. I was her first, you know. She was scared and nearly ran away when she saw my, well, largeness, but she took to it damn quick. Nearly tore my pants off by the third time.” He smirked again.

His largeness. Give me a fucking break. “Gee, thanks for sharing. I really needed to know that.” “I met her at the polo matches in Newport in June. You should try it some time -they’re open to the public. Meet yourself a rich husband. Hey, if we were both married and in Newport, we’d have social excuses to see each other. Anyway, she and I shared wine and

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talked horses. First, she revealed that I resembled her big crush, her college dressage instructor. Then she told me she thought ‘boys’ her age were so immature and that she preferred older men. By then she was practically drooling on me. Because she was too inexperienced to make the first move, I wined and dined her and took her virginity at the Ritz in Boston. A few nights there dented my savings, but it was an investment that paid off with handsome dividends. “However,” he continued, “she doesn’t like it quite as much anymore, now that she’s pregnant, and she certainly won’t do a lot of the things I need to be truly satisfied. But you, you’re hot to trot, if the hayloft’s any indication. Besides, you’re smarter, and I’m sick of hearing about Muffy and FiFi and the rest of her postdebutante friends.” I crossed my arms. “Get out of my trailer, Richard.” “You won’t reconsider?” He pouted so prettily. He reached for me, but I sidestepped his advance and shoved him back instead. That, at least, stopped his fevered whisperings about agile tongues and fingers and secret wet places. “Out. Or I’ll tell Jessica you offered me a long-term job as your mistress. Are you confident she’ll still give you freedom and all the money you want, if she knows that? Maybe she wouldn’t even marry you.” Actually, I had no confidence that she’d believe me, but it was worth a bluff. I was afraid of my own willpower by now, even though my humiliation warred with my desire. He was so darned handsome, this modern Heathcliff of the horse world. But I won. He hung his head and shuffled out, looking every bit of his forty years. I was not moved to pity. I had no doubt Richard would soon find another woman to fulfill his fantasies. After he left, however, the hurt set in. I clambered out of the trailer, weary and deep in thought, and walked right into a big chestnut with a white blaze on his face.

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Chapter Six

“Oh! Sorry.” I turned away, my eyes wet as I thought about Richard. How little regard he had for me, offering to make me his mistress. A startled voice said, “Patticakes?” Blinking my tears away, I recognized Dylan Decker astride the chestnut gelding. “Dylan. What the heck are you doing here, and on a horse?” “I might ask you the same question, or at least, what the heck are you doing here, in riding clothes?” I tried not to sniffle. “I own a horse and participated in one of the earlier classes -novice two-foot jumps.” “How’d you do?” His smile held nothing but warmth, and my clouds broke in my personal gray sky. “Fifth. But this is my first big show. I’ve just been in barn shows until now.” “Then I’d say fifth was great. How long have you been riding?” “About twenty months. You?”

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“A little over three years. I bought this guy two years ago.” Dylan patted his enormous hunter with affection. “He’ll jump anything, won’t ya, fella? That’s his name -- Fella.” “Cute.” I stroked the horse’s velvety muzzle and babbled baby talk to him. While not as affectionate as Flash, who was the kind of horse who’s always in your pocket, Fella was definitely sweet. He nudged me, leaned his head on me, and asked for more petting. He nibbled the placket of my riding blouse, then softly lipped the peak of my left breast. My annoyingly responsive nipple poked out, so I crossed my arms to hide it. Dylan had seen more than enough of my perky breasts over the years. Dylan actually blushed. “I swear I didn’t teach him that.” “I know. Horses do what they do. Sometimes they can be as embarrassing as the dogs that hump your legs.” I grinned, uncrossing my arms. “WonderFella is his full name. He’s a performance horse, not too temperamental, but if you’re not alert he’ll take off on you. He loves to race and hunt.” I’d recovered from my surprise at seeing Dylan astride a horse and discovered I truly enjoyed our chat. It felt like so many years before, when we talked like friends instead of adversaries through lawyers. “So,” Dylan interrupted my reverie, “where’s your horse?” “He’s with his co-owner. I share him with another woman.” “Tell me about him.” “Well, his name is Flash, but he’s very different from Fella. Half draft horse, solid white, and huge. But very, very friendly, and he’ll do anything you ask.” “And what’s his name?” “I just told you, Flash.” “No, what’s the name of the guy who made you cry when you walked into Fella? I know you, ’Cakes. Nothing makes you cry except a man. You’re pretty tough in everything

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but love.” Dylan swung one leg over his horse and dropped to the ground before placing a hand on my shoulder. “C’mon, tell me all about the louse. But first, let me give Fella to Ian.” Dylan must have signaled someone, because a small, older gentleman came scurrying out of nowhere to take Fella away. As Dylan thanked him, the old man looked me up and down boldly and, I swear, winked. As I watched him walk away, I could tell he knew horses better than I would ever hope to, just from the way Fella responded to him. I couldn’t help blurting, “Wow, you have your own groom?” “I’m a rich man now, remember? Figured I might as well get some help with a few things. Ian’s more of a friend than hired help, though. He’s a retired steeplechase jockey from Ireland, down on his luck when I met him, injured, and trying to eke out a living on a tiny pension as well as working as a part-time groom. I brought him over from the Auld Sod, and pay him very well. In exchange, he gives me lessons in riding, horsemanship, and life.” Dylan’s steady gaze bore into mine. “We share pints, and he tells me where I screwed up, mostly with women. You wouldn’t know it to look at him, but he never lacks for companionship. Mostly because he truly respects and cares for any woman he is seeing -- and he sees only one at a time, a lesson I needed to learn. He’s counseled me on a number of matters of the heart, and I could tell he knew who you were just a moment ago by the way he looked at you. He’s told me repeatedly that losing you was my biggest mistake.” Dylan sighed, and my anger over the janitor’s closet started to fade. “At any rate, because of his age and injury, on my orders he hired someone else to do the heavy physical labor in the barn and on the grounds, but Ian personally attends to everything Fella needs, except for the few chores I perform to spend time with my horse. It’s because of him that I found Fella. Right now Ian’s looking for a horse for himself -- at my request and my expense, of course -- so we can ride together." He gave me a self-conscious smile. “And here I am, rattling on.”

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“Your ‘rattling on’ is a pleasure. We always talked well together, but you’ve opened up more in these few minutes than you used to. That must be Ian’s doing.” Dylan nodded. “I’ll have to thank him,” I said. “Hey, remember when we were married? We used to talk about riding and horses --” “But we were too poor to do anything about it.” Dylan finished my thought. “Now here we both are, pursuing something we love, independent of each other and those long-ago wishes.” I felt weepy again. “Yeah, long-ago wishes can be a real pain in the butt.” I bit my lip and looked away. “You still need to tell me about the cad who made you cry so hard you couldn’t see a six-foot-tall horse.” Dylan put his arm around my shoulders and walked me toward a supercab-type pickup, the kind with a very large backseat. “If I know you, it was his fault, not yours, that things ended. God knows I was a cad to you, so let me try to help now, as a way of making that up.” He opened the back door of the pickup cab, but stopped before helping me climb in. “I’m really sorry about tricking you in the janitor’s closet, ’Cakes. I was a complete asshole. I guess I don’t handle jealousy any better than you do.” His words loosened something tight in my chest. “Thanks for admitting that, and for apologizing. Now, let’s get in the truck before I start sobbing.” Once we were sitting in the truck’s backseat, he placed his arms around me. “I’m here, your oldest friend. Let it out.” I rested my head on his broad chest, crying my way through the entire story. Dylan held me and let me weep. He sort of growled when I explained that Richard asked me to be his mistress, and how he didn’t seem to understand that I might find it unacceptable, especially after the revelation of his cheating. Then, I heard a faint chuckle when I related how I’d slapped Richard’s face so hard I left the outlines of my fingers on his face.

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Finally, my tale of woe over, I wound down to mere sniffles. He handed me a box of tissues from the front seat. “As I remember, you pack quite a punch. The night you smacked my face, my durned cheek stung for hours.” I blew my nose with a honk. “Well, you deserved it. I don’t suppose you recall what you said to me?” Dylan’s face grew serious. “Yes, I do. Something about kissing a woman I met in a bar not being such a big deal.” He looked away. “I was a total ass. Patticakes, when are you going to improve your taste in men?” “Oh, I don’t know. I always thought you tasted pretty good.” I could hardly believe

that came out of my mouth. My heart rattled against my rib cage while I looked him in the eye. Smarting from Richard’s smug, graceless comments, I needed reassurance, physical reassurance, and Dylan’s proximity took my breath away. “Really?” Dylan’s gaze snapped to mine, and his voice turned husky. “I always thought you tasted good, too. I’ll bet you taste even better today.” We drew closer, our arms wrapped around each other’s shoulders, both of us determined to shut up and enjoy the moment. I smelled a combination of leather, soap, and horse, mixed with the faint musky aroma that was all male, all Dylan Decker. My fingers burrowed through the curly black hair peeking out of the top of his shirt. I nervously wet my lips, leaving them parted for Dylan’s mouth. His lips touched mine lightly, then firmly, as his tongue played, teasing the inside of my mouth, his hands touching places that made me shiver with desire. They soon slid down my back, to the waistband of my breeches. Our kiss became hotter, wetter, deeper. I pressed my body against his, wanting to feel all of him on me, in me. The sounds of the horse show faded. He stopped only long enough to remove those nerdy glasses of his, and then brushed his lips down my jaw, to my neck and my ear. His fingers slid slowly inside the back of my breeches, searching for panties. He moaned in

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pleasure when his fingers closed on my buttocks without finding anything beyond a thong to impede his progress. I leaned my full weight on him, the better to allow his fingers access to me, the better to lie down with him, for discretion’s sake. My hands unbuttoned his shirt, traced a line down to his waistband, then cupped the bulging hardness I felt through his breeches. Dizzy with wanting, I recalled that making love with him had expressed the deepest feelings I’d ever had for any man. With a groan, he brought one hand to my left breast, slipped it under my shirt and into my sports bra. His fingers tweaked and teased my responsive little peak, and I gave myself up to him. He always knew my hot spots as well as I did, probably because he installed them. “You think we should, here, in public?” I panted, my reasoning gone, my body having hijacked my better judgment. Dylan pulled a dark woolen blanket over both of us. “I’ve got no protection with me, Patti. Maybe we can…” He sucked my tongue into his mouth. His suggestion was clear, and my mind whirled. I could not say no. I loved this man. “All right.” “Your turn first,” he said. I’m not going to argue with any man who insists he does me first. I traded places with him, rolling over onto my back, giving myself up to the pleasure. He pushed aside my blouse and bra before his lips glided over my breasts. He found a spot just to the left of one nipple and sucked hard enough for it to hurt. After licking where he’d made it ache, he surrounded the nipple with his lips. He tongued and pulled and nipped gently. Meanwhile, his hands tugged down my breeches and thong. My breath caught as his fingertips played in my curly hairs, each light touch creating little jolts that intensified my need. I was damned sorry neither of us had a condom. I would have fucked him into exhaustion.

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He buried a finger inside me, caressing a spot that made me pump my hips. He slid his tongue across my belly until everything was sensation, two strong fingers stroking me inside while his tongue worked on the outside. He sucked my clit between his lips and tickled it rapidly with his tongue’s tip. Shuddering waves built in me until I wanted to scream. Instead, I chewed my lip and moaned while he wrung every last drop of my orgasm from me. I lay there, panting, not yet ready to speak. He eased his fingers out of me, brought his mouth up to kiss me. “Are you happy?” he asked. “Oh, yes. Your turn now.” He took one of my hands and placed it on his waistband. “Take down my pants now -don’t bother romancing me. I need your sweet mouth on my --” His cell phone rang once, twice, three times. My hand froze on his pants. He glanced at the number on the display. “Fuck. I’d better take this. Yeah?” he grumbled. “Can’t this wait?” I couldn’t stop myself -- I reached in his riding breeches and pumped him with my hand while he talked on the phone. When he shot me a warning glace, I stuck my tongue out. He struggled not to laugh. He flipped the phone closed. “Go ahead now,” he said, resuming his nibbling on my neck, but I pushed him away. “What was that all about?” I asked. “Ah, one of our servers went down. But Adam’s on the case. Pick up where you left off, sugar.” His talented fingers touched me between my legs. “I could give you a second goround, if you want.” I pulled down his riding breeches, stroking him with my hand. “Aw, ’Cakes,” he purred, “you have the best fingers. But your mouth is even more skilled.” I couldn’t do it until we were straight on the situation. I stopped fondling him.

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“Dylan, we had that agreement once upon a time. Are we still keeping business and pleasure separate?” “Whatever you want, honey. Just please, put me out of my misery here.” “Do you love me?” I blurted out. Inside, I cringed at having asked the question out loud. I knew I’d never stopped loving Dylan, but did he still love me? Was I stupid? He covered his face with his hands, and groaned. “I know what I’m about to say will make me sound like a total pig, but do you think you could suck me off, and we could talk after?” I sighed deeply. He muttered, “Crap,” took his hands away from his face, and sat up. “Okay, ’Cakes, here’s your answer. Yes, I love you. I’ve been dancing around that fact because I didn’t want to scare you off. But, yes, I’ve never stopped loving you. Didn’t I tell you so, your first day, at the restaurant? If I didn’t, I sure meant to.” My heart leaped into my mouth, and I swallowed it back in place. “Are you saying you’re serious about us?” “I certainly am.” “Dyl, I, I…don’t know how to trust you. I don’t know if I can trust you. I want you, but not at the expense of the rest of my life.” “Do you love me?” he asked, petting my hair, nuzzling my neck. I melted. “Yes, absolutely.” “And I love you,” he murmured. “What else do you need to hear?” “I—I’m not sure.” I looked away, wanting him, but afraid of so many things -- that he would betray me again, that I could not live through another broken heart. “’Cakes, I’m seriously crazy ’bout you. But we need to deal with some things between us first.” I snuggled closer, willing myself to believe him, wanting to so desperately. “Shoot.”

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“First, you have to tell me one thing: are you sure you’re ready to try again? I am, and I promise, no fooling around of any kind, not even if you get pissed off. But I have to know you’re willing to reciprocate, willing to control your temper -- and your irrational jealousy -and willing not to desert me in some restaurant or bar just because you’re upset.” I thought a moment. “Did you really tell me the truth about those women? And you promise not to do that sort of thing again?” “Yes, I was, and yes, I promise. Without reservations and with my whole heart. No fooling around. Ever. If I do, Ian will probably beat me with my own riding crop.” “Then, yes, Dylan, I promise to control my temper better.” “And not run off and desert me when we’re out somewhere.” “Yes, that too,” I said. “And you’re serious about making it work between us?” My mind spun with happiness. “Abso-freakin’-lutely.” Then I remembered. “You said my first day on the job, at the restaurant, that you were seeing someone. Are you?” “Well, sort of. You see, she and I both enjoy fine wine, dining, and the occasional good fuc -- well, good time.” Dylan cleared his throat. “We’re more or less acquaintances who need some, uh, intimate contact every few weeks. Still, I do need to tell her I won’t be seeing her any more.” I turned away, at least as far as one can turn away in the backseat of a pickup truck. “Patti, please, she and I simply indulge our hormones now and then. We’ve never been a couple except in the most temporary, sexual sense. I’ll see her tonight and end it. Believe me. Please?” I turned back around. “All right. But what about work?” “What about it?” “What will people say? Will I have to give up my job?”

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He nibbled on my earlobe and slowly insinuated his fingers inside me again. Oh my, but I was powerless to stop the advance of those talented digits. “Have you forgotten I’m one of the founders? I can pretty much do whatever the hell I want, as long as it’s not illegal or against company rules. And there are no rules against dating at DDT, though there are rules that prevent spouses from working together. If we were to get remarried, you’ll have to find a job somewhere else.” He pulled his wet fingers out, moving them in ever smaller circles around my clit. I bit my lip as he brought me close to orgasm. “Is this?” “Is this what?” I gasped. “Is this sexual harassment?” His fingers moved a little faster, zeroing in. “Or this?” Finally, he touched my swollen clitoris quickly, but only once, withdrawing his fingers. “How about this?” “Dylan Decker, you bastard, this is sexual torture.” He planted a long, soulful kiss on me. “I love you, Patticakes. However, first I need to take care of the thing I mentioned. I want it to be right between us.” “As do I. It’s been five long years, so I guess we can both wait a little longer.” “Do I have to wait for you to take care of me? You know, I can always go find a tree switch,” he said, giving me his not-so-nice smile. I cupped his cock and stroked, grinning wickedly. “Can’t wait to have this pounding inside me. Pull the blanket over me, all right?” I found his cock with my mouth. I tasted him with my tongue, sliding it up and down the shaft, until he put his hands on my head, but not the way he did that night in his office. Today, he showed his gentler side and simply rested them there, not using them to move my head while he fucked my mouth. Goddamn, but I wished we had a condom.

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“Patti, for Christ’s sake, suck me.” I enveloped him, determined to give him the best BJ he’d had since we were married, though I admit it would have been tough to top the one in his office. I sucked hard, licking rapidly, backing off once he got close, then sucking hard again until he made the little begging sounds I love to hear. “Patti!” he cried out, holding my head still while he bucked in and out of my mouth, making the nonsense sounds so familiar and so wonderful to me. I kept sucking and licking him through his orgasm, withdrawing my mouth only when he began to soften. “How was that, boss?” I knew my expression was smug, because I was certain I’d been fucking fantastic. “You wench, I can’t wait to take care of you properly. I’m going to wallop that backside of yours until you beg me to fuck you. Then I’ll lick you, but not let you come until my cock’s inside. We’ll do it all night, and you’ll be lucky to be able to walk by the time morning rolls around, because I intend to open that back door of yours more than once.” He took a finger and traced a hot line from my clit to my cunt and continued up to my ass.

Oh, Jesus. All I could do was nod. “My ass is yours, Dyl, you know that.” “You better believe it.” He intertwined my fingers in his, and kissed me. “I’m going to be all yours, and you’re going to be all mine. Would you consider marrying me again, even though you’d have to stop working at DDT?” I didn’t speak right away. Did I want to remarry my ex, since he’d promised to be faithful? Did I believe him? Oh, hell, yes, on both counts. “Well, I guess. I mean, yes, yes,” I stammered. He breathed into my ear. “And that includes obeying me?” “And if I don’t?” I hoped his answer would be the one I craved.

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“Let’s just say you’ll have trouble sitting by the time I’m done with you -- just remember the tree switch. I am determined to tame your temper.” “I can’t think of anyone I’d rather be tamed by.” We let our bodies speak for a while. I felt like I was back in high school, the necking and petting heavenly. In one short day we’d be together again, forever. All I could do was think I’d hit the frickin’ jackpot of love. Again. Finally. We parted with sizzling kisses after Dylan pointed out he needed to talk to his lady friend so we could make a fresh start. He helped me out of the truck and took me to Ian, insisting that I be introduced as his long-lost love that very minute. Ian’s wry commentary on the state of my postorgasm hair had me blushing, but his warm smile and handshake made me feel as if I’d gained a favorite uncle. Later that day, I drove back to the barn, deliriously happy. After champagne with Roberta, who congratulated me on my good fortune, I floated home. Richard was all but forgotten. The love of my life, the best lover of all time, Dylan Decker, was back. And he was mine. My life was perfect.

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Chapter Seven

My life was in the toilet. I sat at my desk, willing myself not to cry, then lost the battle as the words on my monitor blurred. After running for the ladies’ room, I locked myself in the farthest stall from the door and sobbed. The image I’d seen a few moments before forever burned into my retinas. As I walked to the front door of DD Technology that morning, ecstatically in love, I spied Dylan’s distinctive car pulling into the space reserved for him. I turned toward him, grinning like a fool, but my grin quickly died. There he sat, in the passenger side of his own car, being driven to work by another woman. A stunningly beautiful woman, built like a brick outhouse. A woman who clearly was not a relative, judging from the tender nature of the kiss she planted on his mouth. And he did not pull away. In fact, he hugged her and stroked her hair before he left the car. The hug and hair stroke were the kind you’d give someone you’d known intimately for a long time. Somehow, seeing that was worse than seeing a passionate, openmouthed kiss. I admit to jealousy -- my eyes should be green instead of blue. But what was I to think? Was this the woman he’d broken it off with? Had they spent one last night together in a one-

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for-the-road mentality? What was I to think of his promises? I fled inside before he saw me, only to end up in the ladies’ room, bawling myself nauseous. I decided Ian should ready the riding crop. Dylan was guilty and needed to be horsewhipped for lying to me. Hell, I’d be happy to give him the beating. As anger took over, my tears dried. I blew my nose, washed my face, and straightened myself up as best I could. Fool me twice, shame on me. With my head held high and my neck muscles tight as steel bands, I marched to my desk. Life goes on, and bills have to be paid. After a few minutes of staring mindlessly at a spec, my e-mail software chimed. Well, well. A message from the Deckerhead.

Hey, ’Cakes, What do you think of dinner at the Four Seasons tonight in Boston, you sweet thang? I’ve reserved the presidential suite for our après-dinner activities, along with a jereboam of Dom Perignon and a bushel of red rose petals, just right to strew over the king-size bed before I lay you down -- and I plan to lay you down with vigor. The limo picks us up at six from DDT. You won’t need to bring anything but your own sizzling self -- I’ve seen to it all, right down to your toothbrush. Don’t plan on sleeping tonight. I aim to keep various areas of you filled with a certain portion of my anatomy from 9 tonight till 9 tomorrow morning. The way I’m feeling at the moment, I can tell that today is going to be a “hard” one to get through. Forever, Dyl P.S. The limo will take you home tomorrow morning so you can pack, because I have a big, work-related surprise for you. You’ll find out later today what it is.

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At least a dozen replies played themselves in my head. I decided the most scathing one was appropriate and wrote it. Then I erased it without saving or sending it. I’m not stupid. Companies keep records of each e-mail you send these days. Dylan, as a founder, might get away with an X-rated missive to me, but I had to be careful about what I put in writing. That meant my only option was to confront him personally. I steeled myself and tamped down my temper. Cool, even frosty, was the way to play it. I stood, stiffened my backbone, and set out for his office. Every step broke my heart. I angrily wiped the tears away. I knocked on his open door and breathed deep in order to remain calm. He glanced up from his work, over the top of his nerdy glasses, and I stopped breathing. He was so hot. Why did he have to be such a shit? “’Cakes! Please, mi casa and all that.” When he stood, my eyes went straight to the area below his waist. Today was indeed a hard day for him, and I could tell the bulge was 100 percent Dylan. Catching my glance, he cleared his throat. “Why don’t you close the door so we can, um, meet more privately? As you can see, I’ve got plenty to show you.” My body was already responding to the sight of his. Damn. Somehow, I had to get through this. First rule: don’t close the door. Keep it G-rated. “Dylan,” my voice was soft but solid steel lay underneath, “I won’t be going with you tonight.” His face fell, and he replied in similarly hushed tones. “Did something happen?” Fists tightening at my sides, I spit out, “You can’t figure it out? You think I’m stupid?” “Patti, are you all right?” He came around from behind his desk, but I stepped away. “Oh, yes, I’m just fine,” I choked out. “For a woman who’s been fooled twice.” “What the hell are you talking about?” Dylan’s voice rose.

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The jerk sure was a good actor. As if he didn’t know! He reached out to touch my face, and I flinched. “Don’t touch me. And keep your voice down.” “I don’t understand where all your hostility is coming from. What have I done?” I turned to leave. “We have to work together. Let’s keep it professional. I need the money. And please notice that I controlled my temper.” I hurried out before my tears could start again, but like Lot’s wife, I could not resist one look back. Dylan’s little-boy-lost expression hurt almost as badly as the knowledge of his betrayal. Stuff happens. And the day wasn’t over yet. Back at my desk, I had barely composed myself when my boss bounced in, papers in hand. “Patti, I’m sorry for the short notice, but we need you go to Atlanta tomorrow.” His beaming smile communicated that I was receiving a great privilege. Oh, great. Business travel is such a thrill, between the security lines, the cramped coach seats, and the long delays. I forced myself to smile. “Okay. I just need to contact the pet-sitter for my cat. What’s in Atlanta?” “DesignCon. Each year we send every new employee to a conference with one of our senior executives, as a learning experience. Your turn came up a bit sooner than I thought it would. Dylan requested your presence just this morning, and the flight information arrived moments ago. He seems pretty impressed with you and stressed that you were the only employee he’d consider taking with him. You don’t say ‘no’ to one of the founders, now do you? Not only that, you’re going first class. No cheap seats for you.” Dave’s happy grin hurt my eyes. So that’s what Dylan’s “big work-related surprise” was. If he weren’t a cheating cad, I’d be delirious with joy. If only. I took the papers from Dave, unable to keep my hand from shaking, and gulped back my tears. “This is a great opportunity, Dave. Thank you.”

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“Don’t thank me, thank Dylan.” “Oh,” I said, “I plan to thank him.” Very soon. In my own way.

***** The next day, I arrived at the airport early for check-in, then hid my face in a magazine while waiting for the first class boarding call. I didn't want to see Dylan before I absolutely had to. My attempts to get my seat changed were futile -- first class was full, and I’d be damned if I’d sit in coach just to avoid him. I’d never flown first class, and I looked forward to stretching out my long legs. The boarding call came. With a heavy tread, I took my place in line. I spotted Dylan looking around. My heart sank when his gaze finally found me. He stepped out of line to walk down the Jetway with me. “Good morning, Patti.” He stared straight ahead. “I missed you last night.” We reached our seats. I’d been up most of the night crying, yet managed to sound cool and collected. “Dylan, please, tell me about DesignCon and what my role will be once we’re there. I want to learn everything I can.” The flight attendant came and asked us for our drink orders. “Vodka on the rocks.” It was awfully early to begin drinking, but I needed to be numb to survive sitting next to the forever-lost love of my life. “Bourbon, neat.” Dylan removed his glasses and rubbed his face. He looked as if he hadn’t slept five minutes in the past twenty-four hours. “So, this is how it’s going to be? You’re not going to tell me what’s wrong, and we just go on as if Sunday at the horse show never happened?” “Yes.” My voice was steady, but my shaking hands nearly dropped the glass of vodka the flight attendant handed me. Dylan stared straight ahead. “A toast. To letting sleeping dogs lie.”

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I swallowed hard, clicked my glass to his, and took the largest gulp I could stand, coughing as the burning alcohol slid down my throat. “Are you all right?” Dylan’s concern was palpable. I wiped my eyes and produced a small smile. “Of course. I’m not used to straight vodka, and the big gulp I took made me tear up. Now,” I continued, willing myself to feel nothing, “tell me what I need to know to do a good job for DDT at DesignCon.” “Mostly stick with me, meet our customers, keep your eyes and ears open, your mouth

shut, and learn.” That one phrase, delivered harshly, stung both my heart and my professional pride. “All right. I can do that.” Dylan opened his briefcase and took out a pile of reading material, which he dropped on my lap. “This ought to keep you busy until we reach Atlanta. Think you can start keeping your mouth shut right now?” I studied the pile in my lap and nodded. “Good.” Dylan drained his glass. “I’m going to nap. I didn’t get a lot of sleep last night. As you well know.” Pissed off as I was, I felt guilty under his glare. Had I made a mistake? Was it possible the woman in his car was just an innocent friend? Studying his devastatingly handsome profile, the strong jaw, the long, black lashes of his closed eyes, I decided I wasn’t wrong. The man had a history of breaking my heart. I should get over it. And the best way to “get over it” is to stroke your ego by having a fling with someone you’ll never see again.

*****

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Perimeter Center in Atlanta, one of the area’s nicer conference sites, did not disappoint. Neither did the low-eighties weather. My hotel room was more lavish than I expected it to be, but it likely paled next to Dylan’s suite. Software products that allow workers to design chip packaging and printed circuit boards are so esoteric that the average person would understand little of them. I comprehend just a teensy bit more than little, but find it so interesting, so involving, that the secret geek living inside me is thrilled to talk of “microns,” “pads,” and “wire bonds.” However, the best thing about conferences filled with electrical engineers and other computer types is that most of the attendees are male. A significant portion of them don’t get around much because their social circles are mostly other male engineers. I figured the most difficult part of choosing an after-hours buddy would be limiting myself to one. If you’re visualizing the passé, nerdy stereotype, stop. A number of engineers are at least passably good-looking with in-shape bodies. At the opening cocktail party, about a dozen were true drool material. Of course, I had to dog Dylan’s side, playing the dutiful junior employee, but I managed to work in some flirting every time I visited the bar and hors d’oeuvres table. Many flirted back, and none of them wore rings on their left hands, which is crucial for me. With my sorry history, I would never help a man cheat on his wife. I packed only my shortest skirts, most form-fitting sweaters, lowest-cut blouses, and highest heels for this trip. No “software casual” for me, no baggy khakis and shapeless knit shirts. I did bring a pair of my tightest jeans. However, they fit so snugly I needed a thong to avoid panty lines. That night, I wore black, as befits a cocktail party -- my blazer over a velvet bustier, short leather skirt, black stockings, and stilettos. A fake diamond teardrop necklace that disappeared into my cleavage adorned my neck. My outfit worked like gangbusters. Unfortunately, some of DDT’s clients acted a little too interested -- I needed a handsome stranger, not a client. I smiled vaguely when they moved in too close, pulled my jacket shut over my cleavage, and asked them what they liked most about DDT’s software.

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Ninety minutes later, I had been mostly successful at keeping my mouth shut, per Herr Decker’s orders. As the last of the clients drifted away, I stuck my hand out and pumped his. “Thank you for the learning experience, sir. I’ll see you tomorrow morning after breakfast.” “Wait, Patti.” Dylan’s husky voice set free the butterflies in my stomach. “How about some dinner?” I let my expression go blank. “Dinner? Is my presence required in a professional capacity?” All traces of friendliness slipped away, leaving a nasty scowl behind. “Well, some might think you’re a ‘pro’ in that outfit. Lord, do you work in software, or in making software hard?” I refrained from checking his pants to see whether his software was hard. “Dylan, are you trying to offend me, or are you just sexually harassing me?” His hands flew up in the universal sign for stop. “I’m just suggesting that it would be easier to take you seriously if you dressed in clothing that provided a little more coverage. Couldn’t you see our clients’ tongues hanging out?” “I was hardly the only woman dressed in sexy party clothes tonight. I should know. I saw you ogling them.” I could have slapped myself upside the head for blurting out that confession. Why did I say I noticed him watching other women? He shook his head. “You win. Enjoy your evening.” “I intend to.” While making my way to the hotel’s main bar, my reflection in the mirrored wall revealed three hotties not far behind me, a promising sign. I put a little more swing into my walk and willed myself not to think about how much I wished I were having dinner with my ex.

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Chapter Eight

Never down three martinis on a stomach empty of food but full of regrets. The alarm’s buzzing hurt my head. Slapping it off, I peered at the clock’s display. Just enough time to shower, grab coffee and a bagel, and then meet Dylan at the eight o’clock session. I did not doubt he would put my butt in a sling, should I be late. And I needed the damned job. At that moment, looking for a rich husband in Newport sounded infinitely more inviting than an eight a.m. talk about plastic ball grid arrays. The night before sneaked into my memory -- several interested suitors, and a sly hand on my thigh; playing footsie; and a brief kiss in the elevator with the most appealing one. A sweet guy, a real hunk, highly intelligent, single, and hot to trot. But, alas, I couldn’t do it -- I wanted Dylan, and only Dylan. Chasing the young engineer had been fun, but once I caught him, I only saw Dylan’s face, damn his eyes. Damn his sexy, bespectacled, sea green eyes. In fact, I got so turned on that, once back in my room I’d needed to take care of myself. I sat on the edge of the bed, remembering how good the orgasm felt last night.

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I needed a similar dose of courage this morning, I decided. And if I was late, too fucking bad. Stripping off my T-shirt, I lay back down, my hands cupping my breasts, my fingers teasing and tweaking my nipples. I thought of the oral sex I’d enjoyed, twice, with Dylan since I started working at DDT. I pulled even older memories out of storage. I recalled his cock, and how it felt like velvet-wrapped steel inside me. How he took me slow and easy, when we began to fuck, and how he pounded me, when he knew I was on the edge, ready to explode. I pinched both my nipples. “Ahh.” Too bad I was alone. I was damned glad I’d packed a vibrator in my luggage. I picked it up from where I’d left it lying the night before, on the nightstand, and teased my clit while alternating pinching and tugging on my nipples with my other hand. Last night, I’d used the vibrator to give me a quickie, but right now, I wanted a dildo, something, anything that I could thrust in and out. I needed to fuck, badly, but I didn’t have a damned thing suitable with me. I wished my ass were sore from a spanking, too. During sexual dry periods in my life, I engaged in self-spanking. It’s exactly what it sounds like. Keeping the vibrator on my clit, I got up and looked for my hairbrush. I carry a wooden flat-backed hairbrush with me when I travel. Sometimes I even use it to brush my hair. I found the brush, bent over, and whacked one cheek with the flat side. I cried out. It stung, but in a very hot, sexy way. I scrunched my eyes tight and fantasized about Dylan and the time he’d spanked me in his office, remembering how the pain had morphed into intense heat that spread to my pussy. I swung the brush again, this time connecting with my other cheek. However, landing a good swat on my far cheek was more difficult. I decided to concentrate on my near buttock.

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I whacked, and whacked, and whacked, my brain feverishly imagining Dylan’s hand holding the brush until the vibrator took me over the edge. My thighs quaked, and my knees nearly gave way. I made enough noise that, later, I wondered whether someone might have heard me. Not that I gave much of a damn. I fell back on the bed, rubbing my punished butt cheek while the spasms and trembles subsided. God, if I’d only had a dildo with me, I might have passed out from pleasure. I opened one eye and saw the time. Fuck. Took the fastest shower on record, dressed, and flew downstairs to the breakfast area. I encountered Alex, the engineer from the night before, at the continental breakfast. I’d begun to regret my decision to pack only tight-fitting stuff. My butt in the snug jeans was a beacon, drawing too many male glances, but especially Alex’s. Coming up behind me, he patted my right cheek, the sore one, then squeezed it. I nearly spilled my coffee. “Alex. Uh, what a surprise.” I cast my gaze around the room, hoping I’d see either Dylan or one of our clients so I’d have an excuse to run away. “I’ve wanted to do that since you stranded me in the elevator last night. That wasn’t very nice, leading me on like that.” Alex’s hand squeezed again. “Stop that.” My hand caught his, and he released his grip on my backside. “I really didn’t mean to tease you, I told you that. I’m getting over someone, and I wasn’t quite ready to, um, go with anyone else yet.” I truly did feel ashamed for my less-than-sterling behavior. “Still, what you just did wasn’t very nice, either. I could make trouble for you over it. Be grateful I’m a grownup and don’t whine to ‘Daddy’ each time someone isn’t very nice.” He removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes the same way Dylan always did when he was upset. “Look, I’m sorry. Squeezing your butt was a crappy thing to do in public. I’m not usually a total jerk, but, damn, woman, you are the hottest thing I’ve ever seen at one of these dog and pony shows. I want you, and not just for nights at the conference. We both

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live in the Boston area.” He sighed, putting his glasses on. “Can we please be friends?” Alex held out his hand. I clasped his hand in mine for a moment. “Abso-freakin’-lutely.” Alex met my gaze before dropping it to my high-necked but snug red sweater. “Are you sure we can’t be more than friends? Give me a chance to wine and dine you once we’re back in Boston, so I can impress you with my brains, if nothing else about me impresses you.” His grin grew. “Everything about you impresses the hell out of me.” I looked him up and down. A young David Duchovny as an electrical engineer, wearing angular glasses. Perhaps the hottest single guy at the conference, except for Dylan. I peeked at Alex’s biceps and chest in the snug polo shirt, and my body flushed with heat. I groaned inside, knowing I would turn him down. I ached for sex, but the ache was for Dylan, and Dylan alone. Boy, was I screwed, and not in a good way. I picked up his hand and infused my words with all the longing and regret that I felt. “I’m sorry. You truly are the hottest man I’ve seen at this conference, except for the guy who clamped my heart in a vise. I wish I could say yes, but I don’t want to lead you on again.” He dug in his back pocket. “Here’s my card. If you get over this guy, call me. Anytime. I mean it.” He glanced away. I was sure he was acting nervous because his jeans were firmly tented, but I was too polite to check him out. Oh, who am I kidding? I checked. If that bulge was all him, I’d consider keeping his card, in case I did get over Dylan anytime in the next century. “I’ll do that. But, Alex,” I asked, “how old do you think I am?” “I thought you were twenty-four, just a year younger than me. But when you told me your age in the elevator, well, it made me want you even more. Why do you think I kissed you?”

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Frankly, my recollection of why anything had happened was extremely hazy, but I kept my mouth shut. Dylan’s instruction to do so was proving useful. He sighed, saying, “See you. All of you. Someday, I hope.” While he walked away, I basked in the knowledge that, A, this hunky honey thought I looked six years younger than I am, and, B, apparently I still had it. Who needs a black sports car? I stood a little taller and sipped my coffee. “There you are.” Dylan’s accusatory tone stung my ears. “It’s five minutes to eight, young lady. Time to go to work.” Sexual longing and anger warred within me. My expression must have revealed my agitation, because his face softened in return. Taking a step toward me, he whispered, “Patticakes.” I watched him clench his fists, knowing he wanted to touch me, knowing what the sight of me in tight jeans does to him. The man had a genuine denim fetish. Heat and wetness between my thighs made me reconsider my decision to avoid Dylan. My nipples hardened, and he noticed. I started to speak, coughed, then began again, my voice shaking. “Dyl, let’s go to the presentation. Please.” “All right.” Frustration vibrated in his terse agreement. As he turned, he spit out his parting shot. “You’ll be on your own for most of the day. I’m having dinner tonight with one of our major clients. You seem to amuse yourself with others here quite well, so I imagine that won’t be a terrible hardship.” His emphasizing the word “hard” left no doubt in my mind -- he’d seen Alex kneading my butt, and Dylan was assuming the engineer and I had slept together. Part of me wanted to scream at him, tell him it wasn’t true, then cover his face with kisses. But part of me was glad he felt the pain of my imagined affair. Payback’s a bitch, ain’t it, Dyl? He spoke again. “Tomorrow afternoon I want you in my suite by four. I have something to show you,” he added.

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“Yes, sir.” I saluted his retreating back before following him into the session. I wondered what he had to show me, but decided it was probably work-related and not worth worrying about. The rest of the day I attended as many sessions as I could understand, or rather, stand. Four men invited me for drinks and activities specified with a room number and a wink. Their attentions made me want to crawl away and hide. I must have put on quite a show in the bar the previous evening. Although I portrayed a lusty wench, I wasn’t sleazy, and I longed to change that impression. Tired of all the leers coming my way, I hopped a cab to the nearest Gap store in the hopes of locating something baggier, say, a pair of khakis and an oversized shirt. I returned to my room, immediately donned my new, nonsexual clothing, and headed toward the lobby doors. I knew a good place nearby for barbecue. Except Alex intercepted me before I could leave. “Barbecue? I know this great place over on Peachtree Street.” The twenty-five-year-old spoke with the air of authority, as if he were well traveled. “Which Peachtree Street? There are only about twenty of them.” Hearing a Northerner pretend he knew Atlanta to impress me made me smile. I’d probably been to “Hot’lanta” more times than Alex had had sex, courtesy of my family’s visits to relatives, though we’d never seen the wealthier areas of town. Alex dropped his head. “You’ve got me there. I admit it -- I’ve never been here before.” He gazed at me with something akin to desperation. “Please have dinner with me, Patti.” “Just dinner. I’m not drinking, not after the show I put on last night.” Firm words and firmer resolve. “Fair enough. I’ll have an easier time of it, now that you’re wearing looser clothes.” He nodded at my deliberately one-size-too-big shirt and slacks. “Though I can still tell you’re female, thank you.”

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“No, thank the Gap. To tell the truth, I was getting a little tired of all the attention. Plus, do you know how difficult it is to sit and concentrate when your jeans are so tight you can barely breathe?” “Enough about those damn jeans of yours. My arm is tired after seeing you in them.” Again his glasses came off, the better to rub his eyes. “Geez, that was crude. I’m sorry. I’ve been a real ass around you. I can’t seem to think in your presence.” “Hey, it’s not every day a man tells me that the sight of me, uh, inflamed him.” Alex leaned toward me. “You still hung up on what’s-his-name? I’m pretty sure I’m not too, uh, tired for later.” “Sorry, afraid so. Worse than ever.” With a sigh and a longing glance, he grabbed my elbow. “Then let’s go eat some barbecue.”

***** The final day of the conference dawned, and I hadn’t a thing to wear that wouldn’t garner unwanted attention, so I pulled my Gap outfit back on. Then I splurged on room service instead of braving the free continental breakfast. Although I’d had fun at dinner with Alex, finding him both smart and witty when he wasn’t focused on sex, I didn’t want to encounter him this morning. The guy had it bad for me. He kept finding excuses to touch me during dinner and attempted to stroke my thigh in the cab on the way back to the hotel. I’d stopped his advances, though, even though I ached to be touched. Apparently, my desire remained strictly for Dylan. I couldn’t figure out why I still wanted the bastard. Every logical neuron in my brain lectured me about his unfaithfulness and about my dumb lust. Not only that, I had a hot man -- Alex -- whose company I enjoyed. Why mess with my ex? Okay, sex with Dylan would leave scorch marks on the sheets, but I needed more than great sex. Didn’t I?

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All day I slipped in and out of sessions; talked with clients when I could, who didn’t always recognize me in my baggier clothes, I realized to my embarrassment; and successfully avoided Alex. No one approached me with leers and suggestions. In my Gap outfit, I remained comfortably anonymous. Dylan passed me once with a curt, “My suite at four.” My stupid heart sank when he didn’t look me up and down. By three, when the conference ended, I’d resolved to make Dylan notice me, the sexy me, the “me” he’d said he loved. I couldn’t stand staying apart from him any longer and, no matter how stupid the left side of my brain screamed it was -- or how strident -- my heart and loins trumped logic. In order to know whether he and I stood any chance at all, I needed to find out who the woman in his car was. I knew that I might be making a huge mistake. However, if I wasn’t, Dylan and I could engage in some incredible, amazing, sizzling sex. If he was in the wrong, well… I’d think about it tomorrow, the way Georgia belle Scarlett had.

God, the sex. It would be amazing. By five to four, I’d redone my hair and makeup as well as my clothing, donning most of the outfit I’d worn my first day at DD Technology. But in deference to the warm weather, I wore a blue silk tank top that brought out the color of my eyes rather than the periwinkle sweater I wore on the first day. I also traded my sensible business pumps for my down-anddirty black stilettos. After tossing the black blazer over the low-cut tank so my intentions wouldn’t seem obvious, I hurried out, praying that I wouldn’t meet up with Alex. As my door shut behind me, I caught it before it locked. I ran back inside and dabbed my favorite perfume in my cleavage. I hoped Dylan would draw close enough to bury his face there, the perfume a tantalizing enticement. It didn’t take long for me to arrive at Dylan’s room. Nervous as hell, I knocked. He opened the door wearing nothing but short, tight, knit running shorts that displayed every line and curve of the family jewels. My knees turned watery, and my nipples puckered. Lord have mercy, but I could see the outline of the Promised Land.

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He made a little shocked yip, which nicely covered up my moan. “Patti! It’s four already?” I gulped, found my voice. “Yes, sir.” Took a deep breath. “Sorry, that sounded sarcastic; I didn’t mean it to.” “No, actually,” Dylan grinned, “I like it when you call me ‘sir’ in that smart-aleck voice. Stirs me up almost as much as that outfit does. Um, give me a minute to change. Come back in five?” He started to shut the door when I spotted Alex farther down the hall. In a panic, I shoved my way into Dylan’s suite, pushing the door shut. Somehow, I ended up with my back to the door, face-to-face with him, our bodies glued together. He moved away first. “Patti, what the hell was that about?” “I saw someone I’ve been avoiding and want to continue avoiding.” “That smart-assed young engineer I saw squeezing your breakfast buns, I mean, your buns at breakfast?” Dylan’s disapproving moue turned down his mouth. “Yes. Only you should know --” “Yes?” “We never, um, did anything. Well, we kissed a little, and he tried to feel me up, but we didn’t have sex.” I rushed to get the words out, desperate to ease the tension between us. “My, my, my. This sounds familiar, only it’s coming out of your mouth, not mine.” Dylan’s wince hid good humor behind it. I collapsed in the nearest chair, laughing as the irony hit me. Our mutual relief was palpable. “God, you’re right! I do hope you believe me, though.” I gasped out the words between hoots of laughter. “Considering it’s your only known infraction, and you forgave my dozen or so, considering we’re not a couple any more, and considering what you’re wearing” -- his gaze swept over me while I watched his running shorts reveal his erection -- “I’d be nuts not to. But I feel underdressed here. Give me a minute or two? If you would, take a look at the latest

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improvements I’ve made to the product you’ll be documenting. That’s why I wanted you here at four, so I could show you the new features and get your opinion on the usability issues.” Dylan pointed to his laptop computer, making an apologetic gesture for leaving. He closed the door to his bedroom, leaving me alone in the living room portion of the suite. Despite our banter, this was to be a work session. Resigned, I bent over to peek at the application open on Dylan’s laptop. I rested a knee on the chair and took off my blazer. I guessed which features were new, and after a minute or two of using the software, the elegance and logic of the architecture engrossed me. Since that fractious meeting my first day on the job, when I inadvertently got Jeremy in trouble, Dylan had worked on changing a number of features. They only made the program run smoother. Better. Dylan had always been a gifted engineer, but his talent and skills had grown enormously over the past five years. A low whistle of appreciation escaped my lips, met by a louder, true wolf whistle. “Wow, I wish I had a camera -- wait, I do. Patti, don’t move.” I froze in place, just then realizing how my bent-over position looked. My back was arched, and my low-cut top revealed all of my cleavage, right down to the edge of my wispy bra -- a real treat for Dylan’s lustful mind. “Turn to me the way you did before. Toss your hair, wet your lips, part them. Arch your back more. Now, hold it.” You would have thought Dylan had morphed into a fashion photographer. After he snapped several shots with his BlackBerry, he showed them to me. “Patti, these are luscious. You’re luscious. I’m going to use one of them as my screen saver, but on my personal machine. Better not have sexy shots of the hired help on my work computer. Fortunately, this laptop is mine.” Elbowing me gently out of the way, he downloaded the photos with a few mouse clicks and keystrokes, then displayed each of them in turn on the laptop’s oversized screen. He was right. I did look luscious. I could have been brought to life from someone’s

Penthouse letter, with my tousled blonde hair; wet, red parted lips; and cleavage a man could

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suffocate in. My short skirt had ridden up almost to the base of my bottom, showing a touch of the tops of my black stockings as well as toned thighs and calves augmented by three-inch stilettos. Smiling, and a little incredulous that I looked damned good, I turned to him. But he wasn’t smiling. The little-boy-lost face had returned. I heard him sigh and mutter something like, at least I’ve got photos. Only then did I notice what he was wearing. A suit? A software nerd in a suit? It was charcoal gray flannel, single-breasted with a European cut. The fit shrieked custom. His brilliant white shirt was topped with a green silk tie that perfectly matched his eyes. On his feet were an Italian designer version of traditional black wingtips. And if I knew Dylan, he was wearing silk boxers. Even when we were dirt-poor, he would save up to purchase them. He had a secret, sybaritic side when it came to fabric next to his skin. I couldn’t recall the last time I’d seen him in a real suit, not just a blazer and khakis, which was a rare enough occurrence. The outfit was powerful stuff. His dashing figure took my breath away. “Hey, I should be whistling at you. You clean up purty good, suh.” I winked at him. When in doubt, make a joke, especially in the old hometown, hick accent. His grin returned. He walked as if he were on a runway in Paris, pirouetting, preening, jutting his hips out, placing his arms akimbo. I collapsed howling in a nearby chair. Dylan’s about the last person on earth I could imagine working as a model, despite his appearance. We’d always had so much fun together, and I realized I yearned for it to be so again. Our attraction, compatibility, and mutual respect were bone deep and decades’ long. “Well, I figured I couldn’t throw on my jeans and T-shirt after seeing you all dressed up. You angling for a dinner invitation at some hundred-dollar-a-plate, à-la -carte, Buckhead establishment, ’Cakes?”

Quick, change the subject. Get the focus back on him, not on your motives.

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“Not really. You’re gorgeous, honey, but I didn’t think you did suits. This one looks hand-tailored.” “Good eye. It was, in Milan, as were the shirt, tie, and shoes.” “Your shoes are custom?” “Sure. I needed one killer outfit when we were just starting out, trolling for venture capital. Adam hates asking for VC money, so, even though I was chief nerd, I took on the task. I withdrew most of my savings and spent it on this outfit and the associated traveling expenses. If you want money, dress like money, they say, and it worked -- we landed funding at a critical juncture. Of course, our kick-ass software didn’t hurt us any. Since then, I’ve barely worn the suit. I keep an off-the-rack version for weddings, funerals, that sort of thing, and save this baby for the most special of occasions. I brought it with me in the vain hope that, well --” His voice trailed off. The silence hung heavily on me. Even though it seemed like the right time, I couldn’t bring myself to ask him about the woman in his car. I was too scared of the answer. Dylan squared his shoulders and cleared his throat. “Well. Tell me what you think of my latest changes, from a usability standpoint.” “The software’s incredible, Dyl, quite intuitive to use. But would you consider changing this logic path?” I turned to the laptop, maximized the application, and began showing him my suggestions. For over an hour we tossed around possibilities, arguing goodnaturedly here and there, sketching flows and icons on a pad of paper, until my stomach produced a loud, long grumble. “Sounds like someone is hungry. You up for Mediterranée? I’ve heard it’s quite good -a sophisticated fusion of Italian, Greek, and Middle Eastern, classy but not stuffy. I’ll bet I can get reservations for seven if I call now. We can go over early for drinks. If you’re starving, I’ll buy you an appetizer in the bar.” I bit my lip. Was a public dinner the reason I’d dolled myself up? No way.

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“Dylan,” I began slowly, “is there any chance we could eat right here, in your suite? It wouldn’t be a peak dining experience, but we could drink a bottle of wine, finish discussing the interface, and generally chill out, like two old friends. Like colleagues.”

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Chapter Nine

His smile beamed straight into my eyes, filtering down to warm my heart. “A chance? I’d love to. I hesitated to suggest it because --” He waved his hands. “Never mind why. Tell you what. We’ll get two bottles of wine, in case we want one for later. Let’s look over the menu. Or perhaps I should order for you?” A questioning hope lit up his face. I leaned back in the chair and stretched like a cat, fully aware that my movements hiked up both my skirt and my tank top, revealing a bit of my stocking tops and midriff. I took my sweet time pulling my clothing back into place, watching him watch me. “Your ordering for me would be wonderful.” “You still wear thigh-highs, huh? I thought I was the one who preferred them to pantyhose, not you,” he said as he searched the desk for the room service menu. I crossed my legs with deliberation. He quit searching for the menu to stare. “I guess they kind of grew on me. I never wear pantyhose any more unless my skirt is microshort.” “As much as I dislike pantyhose, I’d love to see you in a skirt you consider ‘microshort.’ This one’s pretty durned skimpy. Whew.” He pulled at his collar with an index finger, fanned his face with his other hand. “Is it hot in here, or is it me?”

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He found the menu on the other side of the room, then walked back, casually holding it in front of him. I knew what he was hiding from me, and I wanted to see more of it. Still attempting to mask his erection, he surveyed the menu. With an over-the-top-ofhis-glasses look that never failed to shoot sparks to my inner core, he said, “Shrimp okay? And how about some coconut custard pie?” Normally, he didn’t ask my permission if he was choosing the food, and I liked it that way, but I understood the unspoken questions behind his query. I nodded enthusiastically, bobbing my head like a puppet. He chuckled. “Well, all right then, little lady.” I wriggled in my chair, a victim of a pleasant but unscratched itch deep inside that could be sated with only one thing. Ahem. Dylan wasn’t the only one finding it difficult to deal with the heat we generated in each other. A smiling waiter showed up with the bottle of wine in less than five minutes. The crisp but buttery chardonnay arrived complete with water crackers and mild, smoky Gouda. I downed some food before I drank, because, otherwise, half a bottle of wine would knock me flat on my ass. We were starting on our last glasses of wine from the first bottle when the meal arrived -- tenderloin for him, and plenty of shrimp nestled on a bed of rice pilaf for me. I wasted no time picking up a shrimp and sucking it out of the shell as hard as I could, hollowing my cheeks with the effort. Dylan didn’t even pretend not to watch. Instead, he openly stared, pulling at his collar again. “My, oh my, you still know how to drive me crazy, sucking on shrimp.” He sliced a morsel of beef and forked it over for me. “Tenderloin for the tender-loined lady?” I closed my eyes and opened my mouth, using my lips to remove the beef from his fork. My eyes popped open. I didn’t have to fake one moment of my pleasure. The tenderloin was indeed tender, and full of flavor. I reciprocated by offering a shrimp, holding it to his

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lips, thrilling to the sight of his cheeks collapsing under the intense sucking. He licked my fingers when he was done, his tongue doing an outrageously, thoroughly erotic cleaning job. “How was the tenderloin?” While waiting for my answer, his tongue treated my index finger as if it were my…let’s just say he made my deep, interior craving worse. “Better than the shrimp,” I admitted. “That’s because it came off my plate.” He smiled, cutting another bite of beef. “Have some more.” Dinner progressed, our feeding each other growing more wild and uninhibited with every bite. By the time he uncovered the slice of pie, our harsh breathing filled the space around us. Hmmm. My favorite kind of pie. One slice, with only one fork. Certainly he wouldn’t be so mean as to eat and enjoy it all by himself, in front of me -- would he? Then again, Dylan had always loved to tease me, because doing so ratcheted up my desire. He cut a piece with the fork, tasting it. His expression morphed into the rapture usually reserved for religious epiphanies. “It’s fantastic. I’ll bet this is the best pie in Atlanta.” I said nothing, but my gaze begged. Smiling, I kicked him in the shin. “Oops. Guess my leg slipped.” He gave me a you’ll-pay-for-that look over the top of his glasses, but I did get some pie. “Oh, all right,” he sighed. “I guess you deserve a bite or two, since it’s your favorite.” He cut another forkful. “Here, move closer, sugar, and enjoy.” He held out the fork as one would when feeding a small child. I slowly engulfed the morsel with my mouth, then pressed my lips together, thoroughly cleaning the fork as I withdrew with my prize. When the delectable, intense coconut flavor hit my taste buds, I

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shut my eyes in ecstasy. After I swallowed the bite, my eyelids snapped open and so did my mouth, like a baby bird anxiously waiting another feeding. And not just for pie, either. He forked another piece, feinted moving it in my direction as my mouth opened wider, then rerouted it to his own. Grinning, he said, “I forgot that you can open your mouth pretty wide. That skill definitely came in handy in the past.” “Oh, shut up and give me some more pie.” “Hmm. For that little outburst, I think you deserve to go without.” “Some more pie, please, sir.” My sneaky smile helped put a sarcastic spin on the words. “Only if you make some more of those little ‘ummm’ noises. And you do realize that, when you lick your lips slowly after each bite, it drives me crazy?” I ran the tip of my tongue slowly, obscenely, over every millimeter of my lips, never breaking eye contact. My own breathing labored as lust sang in my veins. “Yes. I know. And your feeding me this entire meal has been driving me nuts as well.” We had almost finished the pie when the phone rang. With an “excuse me,” Dylan disappeared into his bedroom, shutting the door. Shutting the door? My suspicions again raised their ugly heads. Suppose that woman was on the phone? I grabbed an empty water glass and placed it against the bedroom door. I didn’t hear much, but I thought I heard the words “honey” and “sweet cakes.” Maybe it was “sweet cheeks”? In any case, he sure wasn’t talking to Ian or Adam. If I were a cartoon character, steam would have been shooting out of my ears. The door opened so abruptly that I fell into his arms. At first, he looked as if he were going to kiss me. I stopped him with a look, then broke the water glass by hurling it against the opposite wall. For good measure, I spit in his face. Calmly, too calmly, Dylan wiped my spittle from his nose. The intense red flooding his face warned me his temper was at the breaking point.

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Tough cookies for him. I was beyond mine. He walked me back to my chair. “Would you please tell me what that was all about?” His voice grew icy as he realized what I had been doing with the now broken glass. “Were you listening to my private conversation?” “Yes, I was. Damn you, I am so sick of your cheating ways. Do you get off on playing me for the fool? Are you that cruel? Who was on the phone? The same woman who kissed you in your car on Monday morning?” His mouth dropped open when he realized what I’d seen on Monday, then closed, as my behavior since then began making sense to him. A single word escaped his taut lips. “Yes.” I choked down the first hiccup of a sob. “You bastard!” Blind with rage and grief, I searched for a way to hurt him. His state-of-the-art laptop sat immediately to my left. I couldn’t bring myself to trash thousands of dollars’ worth of hardware, but I could find it in me to kill his latest project. “Patti, what the fuck are you doing?” he said, but I paid no attention. I found the relevant directory. A few brief keystrokes, and there -- the program and all associated files were gone. I had deleted them. He clenched his fists, his face purple with rage. “Did you just erase DD Technology’s latest product from my computer?” “Yes!” I heard triumph and defiance in my voice. But I wasn’t too worried. It would all still be in the Recycle Bin, right? I had made my grand gesture and hurt him. That was all that mattered. “You…you…bratty, unprofessional bitch! I’ve a good mind to -- aaagh!” He buried his fingers in his hair, tugging like a madman.

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“Oh, chill out. It’s still in the Recycle Bin. Besides, you deserved that scare.” I threw him a contemptuous look. “I’m leaving.” He caught me by the shoulders and spun me around. “Oh, no, you’re not. Not until you pay for your actions. You see,” he said, enunciating each word, “I’m logged into the network back at DDT. I was working off the server, not my hard drive. Deleting the project files means the project is gone from the server. It’s gone for good.” I paled as the implications of my actions sank in. I had utterly destroyed DD Technology property, months of work, much of it done by one of the owners. What I’d done meant firing. There went the house, and Flash as well. Dylan propped me up as my knees buckled. I moaned. “Wait a minute. The IT department does backups. Don’t tell me it doesn’t,” I said. He said nothing, picking me up in a fireman’s carry and hustling me to his bedroom. He shut the door and stood me before him, his arms crossed. His words sounded harsh -- and final. “Remember what I told you in Bernard’s, after you threw water on me? Your next wild display of temper that affected me or the company would get you fired or spanked. Your choice, Patricia. Either I ship you home on the very next flight, and we mail your personal items from your cubicle to you with your final check, or I take you over my knee to teach you a lesson, right here, right now. “If you choose the former, you’re probably not going to work in the Boston software community again. Though I would not deliberately spread any rumors, you know how these things always come to light.” He was right. I’d end up blacklisted. I swallowed hard. “If you choose the latter, you’ll endure some temporary discomfort from your spanking, but you’ll keep your job. We’ll go on working together as if nothing had ever happened, and

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I will tell no one what you did. I promise. At least, I won’t tell anyone as long as you never, ever pull something like this again.” “But, but, what about backups? Surely you haven’t lost that much,” I wanted to cry, but pressed my lips together to stop their trembling. “Oh, I’m sure I can restore the latest backed up version. But I probably lost several hours of work, to say nothing of the new files I created today that hadn’t been backed up

yet.” I bit my lip. I was so screwed. “I could recreate all my work in about eight hours. I don’t like the situation, but it’s not irrevocable. Give me your decision, firing or spanking. You have ten seconds.” He stood before me, a mighty mountain of wrath. I pictured losing Flash. I pictured never working again. I pictured living in a cardboard refrigerator box. “Too bad the Newport polo season is over,” I muttered. “What?” Dylan growled while red and purple still mottled his face and neck. My decision was a no-brainer, but the words were difficult to choke out. “Spuh-spank me.” He settled into an armless chair. “We both know the drill. Either lift or take off your skirt, lose the panties, and assume the position over my thighs. Your stockings won’t interfere, so you can leave them on. But be quick about it. If you dawdle, I’ll add to your punishment.” My fingers flew to the button and zipper on the back of my skirt. After shimmying it and my bikinis down, I tossed them in the direction of the other chair in the room before hurrying to my doom. I couldn’t recall crying during hardly any of the spankings I received, so I figured this one wouldn’t be so bad. In fact, the humiliation was likely to sting more than the slaps.

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“Feeling a little vulnerable?” he said with a raised eyebrow. I looked down and noticed I had covered my crotch with my hands, just as depicted in the painting September Morn. I was being ridiculous, considering Dylan had seen me naked at least two thousand times. I removed my hands, recalling that a good defense was a good offense. Or something like that. “No, sir,” I barked. “All right, missy, let’s do this.” I settled across his lap, waiting. One minute. Two. Faint currents from the air conditioning blew across my naked buttocks, and inexplicable stirrings of lust made me quiver. Well, let’s not go there, not right now, I fumed to myself. The longer I waited, the sorrier I became, which was his strategy, of course. I stayed silent, knowing he would pass sentence when he wished. The tactic still worked on me, the waiting making me squirm with dread. Besides, lying facedown across someone’s lap isn’t exactly the most comfortable position for more than a few minutes. “Here’s what I’m going to do,” he said. I squeezed my eyes tight. “You will receive five cracks from my wooden hairbrush --” A sirenlike wail burst from me. “Your hairbrush? Noooo, nooooo! You hand would be bad enough. I never would have agreed to a spanking with that big, mean ol’ brush. That damned thing’ll leave me unable to sit.” “Well, you were wrong, sugar. Want to get fired instead? It’s not too late to back out. Coward.”

Coward.

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Now, I was pissed. No one ever called me a coward and got away with it. “Spank me. Do your worst. I’m not afraid,” I said, only to hear my voice quaver on the word, afraid. Great. “Fine, then. Shut up. As I was saying, you’ll get five cracks of the hairbrush for each hour of work that I estimate I lost, which I figure is about eight, for a total of forty smacks. However, I reserve the right to spank you more in the future, should that estimate be woefully inadequate.” “The future? Wait a minute. What happened to, ‘it’s over and done with, right here, right now’? “I don’t think you’re in any position to argue, do you?” He spoke coolly and with great control. I knew that because I heard the tension in his tone. So I said nothing. He continued. “I think you deserve at least ten for the impromptu bath you gave me in Bernard’s. Plus another five for your dalliance with that engineer brat, and five more for jumping to conclusions Monday morning about the woman. You talk when you’re in a relationship, Patti -- did you forget that fact? So we’ll add on another ten for not discussing your concerns with me. That brings the total to seventy.” “Wait a minute, you bas --” I began to raise myself off his lap, furious that he was adding on punishment for offenses that had nothing to do with the current situation. His left hand pressed firmly into the small of my back, pushing me back down. “No, you wait a minute. Five whacks for each grueling hour of work, unnecessary work, work I have to do because of your actions, Patti, is pretty freakin’ generous. So what if I added on a few more? It’s not as if you don’t deserve at least twice the seventy you’re getting. So I suggest you take what I am doling out with your mouth shut and be doubly glad I’m not adding to it for your fussing.”

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I shivered, nervous about what lay in store for me. This was the masterful Dylan I’d always been wary of awakening. I knew I was about to receive a heapin’ helpin’ of Southernfried fanny. “After each spank, you will say, ‘I apologize to you and to DD Technology for my unprofessional behavior.’ Now, repeat it after me.” I did so. I’ll never forget that sentence as long as I live. You might say it was burned into me that day. I’ll also never forget my shock when his brush landed for the first time. A thunderclap of sound rang in my ears just before the lightning sting of the swat reached my brain. I know that’s against the laws of physics, but I’m telling you, I heard the sound before I felt the burn. I barely had time to gasp out my apologetic sentence before the next whack landed. The burn built, growing a little worse, a little deeper each time the brush kissed me with pain. The thick hardwood felt as if it were branding me and, occasionally, Dylan’s swing produced a grunt of effort from him. Nope, he wasn’t holding back, that was for sure. Had he said, “temporary discomfort”? Temporary is relative, and discomfort was way too wussy a word for what I was enduring. How could I have assumed that the humiliation would sting my spirit more than it would my bottom? Boy, that’s hubris for you. My legs began to scissor wildly. How was I ever going to stand seventy swats? “Oooo! Ahhh! Dyl! Stop! I! Am! So! Sorry! Nooo!” Somehow, I managed to fit various combinations of these words in and around my formal apology, which I was scrupulous to blurt out after each searing whack. By twenty, I was a little hysterical, swearing I’d never touch his computer again, that I’d never touch any computer again, as God was my witness. The entire surface of my backside and upper thighs were blazing as he diligently cracked the heavy oval over every square inch of my bottom’s flesh.

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We made our way to thirty swats, then thirty-five. A terse “We’ll rest a moment,” was all he said. I reached back to rub away the sting, an automatic gesture from the depths of childhood, but he caught my hand, growling, “No.” I waited, attempting to soothe myself by clenching and unclenching my cheeks and shaking my legs, but it didn’t ease the fire. I tried humping up and down, but all that did was highlight my sexual tension. Oh, boy was I feeling a boatload of sexual tension. I spread my legs a little and rolled my hips, doing my damndest to distract him, snaking my arm around so I could touch the front of his pants. His erection was huge. He cracked each cheek once, hard, saying, “Shut your legs. You can’t fuck your way out of this mess.” “Ow! Damn!” I sniffled for the first time since the spanking began. Me, crying? Physical pain never, ever made me cry. As a kid, I had been known for my toughness. I couldn’t believe that a mere sting from a spanking had brought tears to my eyes. “Are you really crying? You?” Wonder filled Dylan’s words. “No.” I lied, punctuating the single word with a noisy sniffle. “It’s not nice to lie, Patticakes, especially while I’ve got you in such a compromising position.” Despite his words, he handed me two tissues. I half laughed, half sobbed. “Dylan, what is it with you and tissues? I’ve never known a man who could produce them on demand the way you can these days.” “I told you, Ian is a wise man. He taught me to keep them near at all times because women cry. They appreciate the little things, he told me.” “Ian’s a smart man, indeed.” I wiped my eyes and blew my nose. The fiery burn was abating, and, despite it, a not-unpleasant warmth was radiating from my butt to my pussy. “Let’s finish this, shall we?” he asked, though it wasn’t really a question. I wish I could say that I took the second half as well as the first, but I didn’t. Somewhere around forty-five swats, my suffering shorted out my brain, and I began to forget

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my apology sentence. Dylan pointed out that a whack that wasn’t followed by my apology didn’t count. I figured I got at least five extra because of that rule. By the time we reached seventy, I was kicking my legs, wriggling despite his warnings, and yelling, sniffling, and sobbing. I was furious that he’d made me cry. Oh, my, how my butt throbbed. I never wanted Dylan to spank me again, ever. I gasped and coughed and blew my nose as more tissues were offered, grasping them in my sweaty palms. “Sshhh, ’Cakes, the worst is over. Just lie still for a few minutes. I promise you’ll feel better soon.” Such gentle words, now that the spanking had ended. His fingertips brushed against my sorest area, my sit-down area, and a drawn-out groan of relief escaped my lips. The stroking eased the sting, though an intense, residual burn remained that I hadn’t felt at the end of the first thirty-five. My sitting area felt as if I’d spent too much time in the noonday sun on a clothing-optional beach. “It feels like a sunburn, a bad, bad sunburn,” I moaned. “I need aloe gel, ice, some damned thing to cool off my ass.” “The burn’s to be expected. You’ll feel better in twenty-four hours or so. Oh, and no soothing creams, lotions, or ice are allowed. I want you to remember this whipping when you sit on Flash after we return to Massachusetts.” “What? You mean it’s going to burn like this for days? How the hell will I ever sit on the plane?” I was feeling plenty sorry for myself. “My guess is, not comfortably, ’Cakes.” His finger began sliding between my thighs. I opened my legs wider, sensing his palm tickling the tips of my curly hair. The lightest tracings of his index finger overshadowed the blaze in my bottom as he teased my wetness. His fingertip began inching toward my clit, which was swelling with lust as the finger drew nearer, millimeter by millimeter.

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My brain shorted with conflicting emotions. I jumped to my feet, wobbly after spending so much time prone. Bursting into violent tears, I felt as if my sobs were torn from me like cries from a wounded animal. “Dylan, you hurt me so badly.” He stood, wrapping me in his arms. “What is it? Surely it’s not the spanking?” he said into my hair. “You’re red and looking quite tender, but I don’t think I bruised you.” “Lord, no,” I gasped between sobs. “My butt’s throbbing with hellfire, but I’m not what you’d call hurt.” “Then, what? What’s gotten into you?” My fury rose. With a crumpled face and a shaking voice, I yelled, “Who was that woman? I want you so badly, but you just won’t be true to me.”

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Chapter Ten

After walking me to the bed, he pulled me down on his lap, holding me while I cried. His palms soothed any sore flesh he could access. After my sobs quieted, he produced more tissues. Only then did I notice the tears in his eyes as well. “I didn’t mean to hurt you, Patti. I’ve done nothing to betray you, and I should have told you what Monday’s kiss was all about. But it never dawned on me until now that you’d seen Amanda and me. Amanda Butterfield is one of my best friends, outside of you, Adam, and Ian.” “How come I don’t know her?” I pouted, still hurt and angry. “Because I met her right after Tiffany dumped me, and if you’ll recall, we hadn’t seen each other since the divorce until last month.” “What happened with Tiffany?” “She dumped me as soon as she figured out I had no big money. We lasted about six weeks.” The pain in his voice caused my arms to hold him a little tighter. “I was working a contract, more penniless than usual because of the bills Tiff ran up, and I was pretty unpleasant to be around. My work was exemplary, so they put up with my

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foul moods, my antisocial behavior, my rudeness, and most importantly, my showing up every day reeking of bourbon. Losing Tiffany per se didn’t make me hit rock bottom -- it was my stupid, stupid decision to leave you for that brainless, money-grubbing bimbo that did it. I realized I’d lost, not only the love of my life, but my best friend -- I’m talking about you, sugar, in case there’s any doubt. “One day a stunning woman appeared in my cubicle. I grumbled at her, said some pretty obnoxious things. I’m only guessing that I did, because the bourbon had me in its spell. She perched on the edge of my desk, took my hand, placed it on her crotch, and undulated -- her invitation was clear. She said only two words -- ‘Five-thirty.’ That was Amanda. “By six we were at her place, with me grabbing for her, but she didn’t let me get away with it. She lectured me that, from then on, I’d have no more bourbon. Then, she threw me in the shower. After some of my alcoholic stink washed off, she joined me.” I never expected what he was telling me, not about Amanda, not about his drinking. I sat still, his story riveting. “I won’t lie to you. We had a hot sex life. But it only lasted a few weeks. That’s how long it took me to get off the bourbon and start sleeping again. She used to jump me every single time I woke up, sort of rock me back to sleep, you might say. Eventually, exhaustion set in, and I began sleeping well without the booze. After that, the sex sort of ran out of steam, because all I could think about was you. You, sugar. “We had enough in common to become fast friends. I actually bunked there for six months, afraid to live on my own; afraid I’d go back on the sauce. We slept in the same bed, cuddled, occasionally consummated. Every now and then, I simply could not resist my animal urges. She’s the most sexual being I’ve ever had the pleasure to know.”

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Okay, I didn’t need to hear Amanda was hot in bed, so I protested. “This is not exactly reassuring me, Dylan.” Against my will, my tears began flowing when I imagined him having wild sex with her. He shook his head while wiping tears from my cheeks. “Listen, sugar, she saved me. Now it’s my turn to help her. Amanda is brainy, beautiful, and capable, but has ant-sized self-esteem. She’s spent the past three years with an ape of a man. More than once, she’s shown up on my doorstep, cold and afraid, with no place to go because the asshole threw her out over some imagined injustice. She showed up on my porch late Sunday night, crying, with nothing but the clothes on her back and her purse. She’d hitched a ride to the only place she knew would never turn her away. She slept in my guest bedroom. Alone. As in, not with me, Patti. She did make a halfhearted attempt when she first arrived to repay my kindness with physical favors, but I put a stop to that. I told her I wouldn’t be home all week, so after she drove me to work on Monday, I said she could live at my place until Friday. That gave her four days to find an apartment and a car so she could rebuild her life. She was finally going to leave the creep, and I was thrilled. I told her of our reconnecting, and she was thrilled, in return, for me. For us. “She called this evening to tell me she was in her new apartment, and that she’d left my car and house keys with Ian. She thanked me profusely and congratulated me again for finding you. I didn’t have the heart to reveal we were on the outs. “So, you see, she’s just an old friend I have to stand up for. You’d like her, I think. She reminds me of you, but you will always, always be first in my heart.” “But what of the woman you were seeing?” I asked worried what the answer might be. Dylan laughed. “Catherine? She couldn’t have cared less. I tried to see her, break the news in person, but she was having none of it. ‘Spit it out,’ she told me on the phone. So I tried to cushion the blow, but she cut me off, telling me she was late for a date with a man she called Mister Humungous. Three guesses what that name means. She said, ‘Nice knowing you,’ then repeated that she was about to cream in her jeans for Mister Humungous and

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absolutely had to hang up. I sent her flowers the next day, but I doubt that it mattered. We never even slept together, in the literal sense. We would have dinner, drink some wine, and essentially use each other until we were spent. Then she would get up and go home -- or kick me out of her place, always claiming she had ‘an early meeting’ the next day. Sex with her left me feeling so lonely that I tried not to call her. But every few weeks, well, I was horny, and she was available. Do you understand?” “God, yes, I understand urges.” My tears had dried, and my heart grew lighter by the moment. Perching on Dylan’s leg and curling up in his arms made me feel safe, secure, and cherished. “So, are we clear?” He traced the outline of my jaw, stroked my cheek, pressed his lips to my forehead. “I love you. I’ve always loved you, Patticakes. I always will.” Tears, this time of joy, flooded my eyes. “I love you, too, Dylan.” “In that case, I have something for you.” He lifted me in his arms, placing me on the dresser carefully, in deference to my recent spanking, then rummaged in his briefcase. I squirmed and winced to feel my tender bottom pressed against the hard surface. Sitting was definitely going to be a chore for a while. He lowered himself to one knee and produced a small box. It sprang open to reveal the largest real diamond I’ve ever seen outside of a museum, set in platinum, flanked by the most exquisite opals. I sucked in my breath and exhaled in a rush. “Wow. Where did this come from?” “A store.” “You smart-ass. I mean, when did you buy it?” “Sunday, immediately after parting from you. Opals, because this is October, and the jeweler recommended them. The diamond and platinum setting, just because.” Staggered didn’t begin to cover how I felt.

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“Patticakes of the fetching face, bodacious body, brightest brain, kindest heart -- will you make this poor sap the happiest nerd on earth? Will you marry me -- again?” Hands on hips, I said, “Depends. Can Flash come to live with Fella?” “Is that a yes?” “If I say yes, will you finally --” I pointed to my groin. “Until you beg me to stop. Until I beg you to stop.” “Well, that’ll never happen, Dyl.” I grinned and stuck out my left hand. He slipped the ring on. The gentleness of his touch squeezed my heart, and I wept anew with joy and love. He enfolded me in his arms and tipped my head back. His mouth possessed mine as if the five years without each other never happened. His belt buckle tinkled. The gray flannel trousers and black silk boxers softly hissed as they dropped to the carpet. His cock sprang to attention, brushing my thighs, stirring quivers of desire in both of us. “I want to make up with you, the way we used to.” He brushed my slippery, receptive clit with his thumb, tracing lazy circles around it, spiking my lust to dizzying heights. I could feel my wetness pooling onto the dresser. He stopped long enough to slip off my tank top and bra and then tore off his tie and shirt. “Stand.” It was an order, not a request, and his rough voice shot through me with the thrill of his control. I obeyed. Ever so slowly, he peeled down my stockings, kneeling at my feet like the most chivalrous knight before his lady. He took off what little he still wore and then trailed his fingers from my ankles to my knees, all the way to my pussy. I couldn’t breathe for a moment when he slipped a digit inside me. After lingering briefly, his hands moved across my trembling stomach, up to tease my nipples to diamond-hard tips.

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He scooped me up and carried me to the bed. I watched his eyes drink me in, shivered to think of the delights his chiseled body held for me. My gaze fell on his cock, his need obvious and urgent. I raised an eyebrow. “Can I help it if you keep me in this state perpetually?” He gave me a sheepish smile. “Sorry I don’t have any rose petals.” “Oh, shut up and kiss me, fool,” I said. “You looking for another spanking, sassy lady?” He flipped me over, smacking me dead center where buttock and thigh join. Twice. My voice squeaked out a high-pitched, negative noise, and I whipped my head back and forth. He chuckled to see my head shaking so emphatically. “In that case, stop ordering me around. I’m making love to you, not you to me, my dear, and don’t you forget it.” I attempted to soothe the fresh sting with one hand, whispering my agreement with him. Inside, I was a pool of wanting. Dylan crawled next to me, flipped me over, and embraced me from head to toe. His mouth found mine, his tongue insistent. Our kiss became deeper and more pliant, his hands seeking out the pleasure points on my torso. My head tilted back. The room spun. His musky, soapy scent was all I could smell as he trailed fiery nibbles of kisses from my earlobe to my collarbone. Possessive, desirous, masterful hands slid slowly down my rib cage, stroking my hips and belly as his mouth found a breast. He lingered there as if he had all the time in the world, nibbling, nipping, sucking, flicking, laving. Such a leisurely exploration of my body cost him in self-control, I knew, because of the way he trembled. “You can take me now, if you want to,” I murmured. He glanced at me with more love in his eyes than I ever thought possible. “No. I want to make love to you, really, really make love, to every inch of you. I’m a big boy. I know how to wait.”

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Smiling, he slowly moved his attentions to the other breast, his hot tongue caressing my sensitive, swollen nipple. Long minutes passed as my arousal grew to levels I had never felt with anyone else but Dylan. If this was tormenting me, albeit blissfully, what could it be doing to him? I heard myself moan as if from far away, as his tongue slowly teased downward. The slow pace was ecstatic anguish, but I wasn’t going to complain. His hands gripped the fullest part of my bottom, holding me motionless, rousing embers from the dormant sting of the spanking. I groaned both with discomfort and sweet anticipation. His mouth tickled my lower belly and inner thighs. My breath caught. His lips brushed the tips of my hair, spreading little daggers of craving through me. His hot breath hovered over me. The wait for his kiss to descend was the sweetest agony I’d ever had the pleasure to experience. The first trace of the tip of his tongue brought about a slow pulse that threatened to build to hot release, but I fought it. If he could control his urges, so could I. He insinuated himself, finding my hidden nub that hungered for his touch, tickling it, and sucking it gently. He kissed more deeply, his thumbs brushing the wet edges of my hungriest area, driving my lust to levels from which I knew there was no return until I came. It was torture, and I loved it. He pulled his lips away, leaving me writhing under him. After donning a condom, he positioned himself at my opening, my deepest itch crying out for his special kind of scratching. He took me slowly, never moving more than an inch inside me without whispering, “I love you, ’Cakes.” His cock was steel wrapped in the cushiest velvet, and I gasped with each tiny, deliberate movement on his part. I became his completely, each inch a conscious decision on his part. With one last profession of love, he finally, fully, took me. Then he withdrew, as slowly as he had entered. He continued the languid pace until neither of us could bear the tension any longer. We soon found the perfect tempo, our bodies

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quickening in exquisite harmony, the pleasure pure and keen. I welcomed the hard, fast thrusts and shook with the need to explode. Crying, “Dylan,” I came, with lights behind my eyelids and fire coursing through my body, tingling all the way to the tips of my fingers and toes. I thought I would pass out, unable to breathe for long moments. A moaned version of my name fell from his lips, and he rode me as deeply as he could until, exhausted, we both collapsed. No sweeter sound exists than that of your true love crying your name at the moment of supreme ecstasy. Our afterglow lingered, both of us sleepy with satisfaction, our limbs entwined as if we never wanted to be separated again. The darkness peeked from one edge of the curtains, indicating night had fallen. I had no idea what time it was, and I didn’t care, not as long as I could drink in Dylan’s male scent, his hard body, his love. He picked up my hand and placed it on his already stiffening cock. “We have some unfinished business, you know,” he said, sliding a finger inside me to wet it. Only then did I realize what he meant. He spread moisture on my anus. Sensations I’d only dreamed about had me rolling over, my thighs spread wide. He climbed off the bed, saying, “Let me get something.” The “something” felt slippery and cool and good. Its scent was vaguely sweet. He caressed me a little more before he slid his finger up my back entrance. He withdrew. My groan was involuntary. “How impatient you are,” he said, and I heard the smile in his voice. His finger invaded me again, spreading fresh lubricant inside me. I bit the pillow when he worked a second finger up me, not because it hurt -- though it did, a little -- but because his slow movements felt so new and so, so delicious. His other hand’s fingers rubbed my clit, and I think I levitated. Most of my consciousness focused on two specific areas, and the pleasure didn’t permit any other

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thought. Later, he told me that I pumped my hips while begging, “More, more.” I believe him. He removed his fingers but only to add more lube. Once he’d slid three of them inside, he fucked me with them. I felt the girdle of muscle loosening. “I think you’re ready,” he whispered. “’Cakes, I’ll take it slow, and you be sure to tell me if it hurts too much. I’ll stop right away, okay?” “Mmm, just do it,” I think I said as he slipped a couple of pillows under my hips to prop up my ass. When he entered me, a dull ache that was almost pleasure radiated from my anus. I could tell -- boy, how I could tell -- that he was sliding inside me at a glacial pace, for which I was thankful. As he continued invading, the sensation of pain-that-felt-like-pleasure blossomed into real pain. Not bad pain, but, still, the balance tipped in the direction of less pleasure. “Stop,” I cried. Dylan moaned, but ceased moving. After a moment or two, the complaining girdle of muscle relaxed, and real pleasure, as opposed to real pain, washed through me. “You okay, sugar?” he asked. I reached behind me and patted his shoulder for reassurance. “Go ahead, now.” Once more, he moved slowly until he’d worked his entire length through my stretched little hole. It surprised me that the pain continued to recede. Pumping now, his rhythm gaining speed, I panted rather than breathed. I felt strangely full, and yet empty, with nothing in my pussy -- a unique sensation, and it urged on my arousal. He inserted a finger in my pussy, then spread the wetness on my clit. For a moment, I stopped, too blissed out to move because of the anal ache that was almost pleasure and the keen desire in my clit that was almost pain.

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Oh, God. Between the novel, intense sensation centered deep inside my ass, the head trip of finally being possessed this way by the man I adored, and the exquisite torment of his relentless finger stroking my clit, he blew all my fuses. I screwed with abandon, no longer able to tell which places felt blissful or achy, just that I had to have more, and more, and more. When I finally lost control, I was flying, unable to care about anything except my body and my orgasm. Dylan spoke, a strangled, “Jesus Christ, ’Cakes!” but it was a while before he stopped moving. I had my head on the pillow, my face turned to the left. His teeth nipped the side of my neck sharply. It hurt, as did my ass, inside and out, but I didn’t care. “You should see the smile on your face,” he murmured in my left ear before he bit the lobe. Again, he bit hard enough to hurt, but, again, I didn’t care. Everything was good, and the two of us were, to me, one. And I knew, with certainty, that Dylan and I were on the same page when it came to the feeling of unity. When he pulled his softening cock out, we both uttered a disappointed sound. “I love you, I love you, I love you,” he said, wrapping me in a bear hug. “When can we do that again?” popped out of my mouth before I said, “Oh, and I love you, too, with my whole heart.” He laughed. “Because it was your first time, I think we should wait twenty-four hours to make sure you’re all right.” “Trust me, I’m fine. And I want to do it again.” He brought his lips to my nape, kissing it softly instead of nipping. “Wait until the endorphins wear off. You might want to rest the area before we initiate round two.” He left the bed, fetching warm washcloths and towels for me before hurrying to the living room. When he returned, bearing the remaining bottle of wine, I realized I was thirsty.

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He poured two glasses. “I’m not sure I should have any wine. I’m already drunk as hell on loving you.” We propped ourselves up on the bed, and I winced a little. The spanking’s leftovers still hurt, and Dylan had been right about the endorphins wearing off -- my back door was sore. However, I didn’t regret a single second of what we’d done. We drank wine and grinned like fools for a short while, until he spoke. “Let’s get married right away. In Vegas. Will you go with me? I’ll call Adam and fix it for both of us back at work. Imagine, you could wear that incredible little bustier and leather skirt while an Elvis impersonator takes us through our vows.” “No, Dylan.” His expression fell. “What’s wrong?” “Everyone knows the bride can’t wear black.” I shook my head. “Men.” His grin returned. “Well, how about we buy you something scandalous in red, preferably short, clingy, and maybe even see-through?” His fingers dipped into my pussy, and I spilled a little wine. “Hon, we aren’t going to talk much longer if you keep that up. So to speak.” “We’ll talk as long as I please, unless you’d like me to find that hairbrush.” He settled into a rocking rhythm with his hand that had me gasping, “Whatever you say, dear.” I guess he won that round. First chance I got, though, I was going to lose that brush. “Dyl, I’d marry you in pasties and a G-string, as long as they weren’t black. But if I do, you’ll have to wear those tight little running shorts you had on earlier, and nothing else. Unless you’d rather wear a Speedo. You’re the only man I know who actually looks hot in one.”

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His fingers had me wriggling like a worm on a hook. I gripped his cock, returning the sexual favor. It quickly grew in my hand while he said, “It’s settled, then. We’ll fly to Vegas on the first available flight tomorrow, find suitably outrageous, revealing clothing --” He pulled my hand off his cock. “Patti, I’m trying to talk here.” Of course, he left his fingers where they were. “Whatever you say, dear.” “Hmm, looks like my fingers can get you to agree to most anything. A useful skill, and useful to know.” “Bite me,” I panted. “I will when I finish talking. We’ll book time at a chapel with a fake Elvis for a justice of the peace. Then, we’ll disappear into the best hotel suite in Vegas, where we’ll keep going at it until we have to crawl to leave. After that, we’ll fly home and sleep for at least a day, tangled up together in my bed. How does that sound to you?” Lord, how I loved this man. I climbed on top of him and, before I treated him to my best efforts, I raised my wine glass and cried out, “Viva Las Vegas, baby!”

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Epilogue

We were leaning against a fence on an unusually cold and blustery Saturday, mugs of coffee and our love keeping us warm while we waited for the horse trailer. Flash was finally coming to live with us. I snuggled closer to my husband and savored the words in my mind. My husband. Dylan Decker. It felt as if I was finally home after a lifetime of searching. I closed my eyes with a sigh. He kissed my hair and tapped his platinum wedding band against mine. “Thank you so much for finding another horse for Roberta so she could let me have Flash,” I said. “Thank Ian when he gets here. He found both Roberta’s gelding and his own new mount. I suspect he’ll be the only one able to ride that skittish Arabian mare.” “Hey, I forgot to tell you. I ran into Alex at the sub shop Thursday. Turns out he’s working down the street, at LX3.” “Oh, great, now I have to worry about the whippersnapper bun-grabber nearby.” Dylan rolled his eyes in mock concern. “Oh, please, hon, I haven’t told you the best part. Amanda walked into the shop at the same time. It didn’t take much convincing on her part to get him to leave with her.”

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“If I know Amanda, and from what you’ve told me of Alex, I’d say they’re equally matched.” Dylan grinned. “They may do it until they die. I wonder if she’ll get twenty times a week out of him and break our old record?” “Stop. You’re making me jealous.” But I smiled. “Why? We broke that record our first week. With a day to spare. And the next week as well. This week too, come to think of it.” “Don’t get me started. We don’t have time to do it again. Ian will be here any moment.” He slipped his hand inside my jacket, teasing my nipples to erection. “Aw, it never takes us more than ten minutes, once you let me work on you. We could go inside now and manage it.” “We’ve each come twice since dawn. Control yourself.” But I let my hand steal to the waistband of his jeans, grasping the package that steadily grew. “’Cakes, you’re incorrigible. I love that about you.” We left our hands where they were, enjoying the sweet torment they produced. “Do you know that we have the same wedding date as Richard and Jessica?” “Who cares?” He’d dissed Richard more than once for his sleazy ways and bad treatment of me. “I wish them well, I really do. But I heard that Richard’s already got a honey on the side. Roberta said she walked in on them in the tack room, her mouth between his legs, not twenty feet from where his new wife chatted with some debutantes.” “Forget him, ’Cakes.” “I feel sorry for him, that’s all. Actually, I feel sorrier for his wife.” “Just don’t get any ideas. Remember, your ass is mine.” My smile was rueful. “How well I know, husband dear.”

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His large palm cracked twice, sharply, against each cheek. I yelped, rubbing my butt. “Hey, I thought I already paid for my misdeeds an hour ago. I apologized and took the hairbrush for what seemed like an hour.” I had been unsuccessful in losing that damn brush. In fact, I paid a price for being caught trying to throw it away. Ouch. “Don’t you think pouring hot coffee in your husband’s lap because you didn’t like something he said is wrong? Don’t you think you deserved to go over my thighs, buck naked, for a long taste of the bristled, oval hardwood? Lord, it seems I turn your cute backside red as a fire truck once a day, and you never learn your lesson.” “Seems that you make me pay and pay and pay until I can hardly sit. Besides, the coffee wasn’t that hot. I’d turned off the machine a while before.” I smiled, despite my protests. “’Cakes, you’ve been so bad for so long, you deserve a spanking three times a day for the next thirty years. I have hopes that I’ll eventually wallop your bad temper out of you. And stop rubbing your butt. I want it to sting at least a little while.” “No,” I said, then quickly added, Sir.” Well, we may not have had time for sex, but Dylan always had time to correct me. Grabbing my ear, he dragged me to the empty barn, bent me over the desk in the office, and gave me what-for on the bare with his incredibly tough palm. I had to count each swat, and by the time we reached thirty, each number was more a yip than a word. My bottom was on fire once more, and so was my pussy. “You ready to obey me now, sugar? Remember, you promised the fake Elvis in Vegas you would.” “Yes, sir.” I knew better than to answer him without the “sir.” He’d whacked that into me during our orgiastic Vegas honeymoon, as in “Please, sir, may I have another?” Who knew you could buy a rather fierce wooden paddle there? My poor, tender bottom did, that’s who.

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After squeezing each of my cheeks, he insinuated his fingers inside me. He made a happy sound to find me wet, then probed my little puckered hole. My body was growing more used to the anal sex, and, as much as I loved it, more than once a day was hard on the old back passage. Mmm. Still. I was willing to take him up there a second time this morning, if he wanted to. I purred out, “Go ahead, if you’d like to.” He had two fingers up my ass, and the other hand working on my clit and cunt. Breathing now ragged, I fucked his fingers, scaling the heights. When I was just short of the peak, he stopped. I gasped out, “Damn it, don’t stop now!” He chuckled. “Not letting you come, that’s your discipline, Patti, for rubbing your butt when you weren’t supposed to. The spanking you like too much. The only way I can correct your behavior is to bring you to the edge and then leave you unsatisfied.” “You son of a bitch,” I said, quickly adding, “I’m sorry, sir,” when I heard the metallic clink that indicated he was removing his belt. Let’s just say that the belt is not one of my favorites. “Behave, or you’ll get twenty with the belt, even if I have to do it in front of Ian -who’s going to be here soon, so pull up your pants and come back outside with me.” I did as I was told. He was right about leaving me unsatisfied being more punishment than a spanking. Dylan knows me too well. Back at the driveway fence I straddled it, hoping to bring myself off that way. Raising his eyebrows, he said nothing, but he patted his belt. I swung my leg back over. My pussy was unhappy, but I figured I wouldn’t have to wait too many hours before he let me come. He put his arm around my shoulders. “How are you enjoying being a consultant again? I’m sorry we had to change your status at DDT, but I told you that the rule is no spouses, damn it all.”

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“I’m fine with it.” My hand went for his denim-clad bulge. He groaned, my manipulations bringing him, I knew, to the brink. I always make him pay for spanking and teasing me, by teasing him back. With false nonchalance, he undid my jeans and slipped a hand inside while talking. “Remember, you can work somewhere else, or even quit if you want. It’s not like we need the money.” My hips took on a life of their own as I choked out, “What would I do all day -- Ahhh!” All conversation stopped until my orgasm subsided. He stroked my clit until I protested it felt too sensitive, then stroked it ten seconds more to assert his control. And I loved it. I zipped up my pants while he continued the conversation. “You have a point. Maybe I should retire along with you. We could ride the horses and each other, all day and all night. And I could whip my feisty filly when she misbehaved.” He pinched one of my sorest spots for emphasis. “Or maybe we could have a baby,” I said. I knew he wanted kids, but his loud hoot of pure joy still surprised me. “Or maybe two or three. Whatever you want, ’Cakes. I’m in this with you for life.” My breath caught as love’s fire flooded me. “I know I just came, but do you think we have time for a quickie?” “Not now. Look who’s here.” An oversized, V-8 pickup pulling a trailer rumbled down the driveway. Self-consciously, I dropped my hand from the front of Dylan’s jeans, but not before Ian saw it. “Newlyweds, God love ya!” he sang out as he pulled up. I’d bet my face was as red as my stinging seat, and not only because Ian saw my hand rubbing my husband’s sexiest appendage. The knowing twinkle in Ian’s eyes when Dylan informed him, in front of me, that he intended to enforce the “obey” portion of our wedding vows with vigor, and with whatever implement happened to be at hand, had thoroughly

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mortified me. He further told Ian that any shows of temper on my part were to be snitched on, and Dylan had, quite explicitly, laid out what would be in store for me once he learned of it. In other words, if Ian heard whackin’ and howlin’, he shouldn’t come a-prowlin’. We set about taking the horses out of the trailer. Flash was no problem at all. My bombproof darling backed out quietly, ambling with me to his new home. I heard shouts as I was fastening Flash’s stall door, though, so I ran to see what the commotion was. Ian was attempting to calm his excitable mare that was now out of the trailer but looking as if she might bolt at a moment’s notice, dancing and prancing despite his hand on her halter. “Want any help?” Dylan asked. “Nah.” In an amazing show of athleticism despite his old injuries, Ian sprang onto the mare’s back. She promptly took off, with him riding bareback. After a bolt around the barn area, Ian pulled her up by using the rope on her halter. She continued dancing as if her bolt were merely a prelude to a cross-country run. “I love the hot-blooded breeds like this little Arabian, but blimey, this gal is hot to trot.” Dylan smacked my bottom exactly as one would slap the flank of a frisky mare. He grinned. “Aren’t they all, Ian?”

Barrie Abalard Barrie Abalard has been writing and selling erotic romance for over twelve years under the pseudonyms Barrie Abalard, Belle, and Miss Lee. As of 2008, she’d sold over eighty short stories, nine short novels/novellas, and one full-length novel, The Baker's Man. Loose-Id, Amber Quill Press, and Discipline and Desire carry her work. When Barrie lived in Boston, she was a jack-of-all-trades, mastering two: radio personality and technical writer/online help designer. She also did short stints as a taxi driver, clerical chartist for the Federal Reserve Bank, and temporary office worker for half a dozen companies. However, fiction writing is her first and longest-lived love. Barrie reads widely, adoring light romances with quirky characters, and dark, edgy suspense stories, especially high-tech and biotech thrillers. Besides reading, she enjoys being around horses and cats, singing, taking walks with her husband, creating new recipes, traveling on solitary road trips, and hanging with friends. She’s hopelessly addicted to the wonderfully-over-the-top television shows Boston Legal, House, Men in Trees, Ugly Betty,

Desperate Housewives, and 24, among others. Married with a grown child, the three of them live in a Middle Atlantic state, along with two persnickety, high-maintenance cats. Barrie believes that a woman should have a past that's juicy enough to enjoy retelling in her old age. Not that she’s going to tell it here, mind you, and not that she’s old…