“Come for me. Don’t hold anything back. I’ve got you. Say it. Say it, Daralyn.”

  “You’ve got me,” she gasped. And then she started to climax.

  It was still a struggle. This time, though, she won the fight, because he was in her corner, and he didn’t give her a choice. His hands on her, demanding, squeezing, lifting and lowering her. He didn’t let her fight it off. He savored that look in her eyes as everything turned internal and the body took over. She was spasming on his cock, because his reaction was getting more intense as well, building. Her nails raked him as a cry ripped from her throat. His hand on her hair kept her face turned in his direction and her gaze landed on his, held there as he showed her the demand in his expression. He let her hold onto it like a lifeline. She was doing what he’d commanded. She was pleasing him. In every way. He had her.

  Another hard cry ripped from her throat, a flush climbing from her neck to her jaw and into her fair cheeks. He worked her on his cock, kept her going.

  The fight was over and won. Shock gripped her expression as the full force of the orgasm took her, took any control at all. She was in his hands, with no decisions needing to be made. It swept her away in bliss, and he was right there in the clouds with her. The climax grabbed him, too, took him over. A harsh grunt ripped from him, his whole body tightening up, and the surprise that flashed through her gaze then became a type of joy, her hands upon him as they rode that wave of sensation together.

  The way it should be.

  When they came down, he made sure he had both arms around her, didn’t ease their hold even when she went limp, her head resting on his shoulder, her arms loosely looped around him. He stroked her damp skin wherever he could reach it, murmured to her. “Good girl,” he said softly. “Beautiful woman. I got you.”

  And things like that. Whatever came to mind that told her he was pleased with her, that she’d done nothing but please him. Including giving herself to her own pleasure, as he’d ordered.

  She held onto him, shuddered. Sometimes those shudders became more powerful, and he stroked her, soothed her. Reminded her again she’d done as he’d commanded. Not a single thing wrong with that.

  But he thought it needed more reinforcement. He wasn’t going to take the chance that her mind would turn on her in the aftermath. At length, he eased her back, framed the side of her face with one hand. “I want you on the bed. On your hands and knees, facing away from me.”

  She gave him a curious look beneath her lashes, but didn’t question. He helped her, guiding her to step down around his foot plate and turn away, toward the bed.

  No matter that they’d just finished, he still wanted to groan at the sight of her obeying him, putting a knee up on the mattress, then the rest of her, waiting on hands and knees, her wet cunt and trembling thighs on display for him. Her toes hooked the edge of the mattress, the tender soles of her feet facing him.

  He’d removed the ring and tucked it away. He’d handle clean up shortly, but he’d take care of this first. Putting a hand on her buttock, he splayed his fingers, let his thumb brush her sensitive pussy. It was flushed with her climax, the tissues swollen in the aftermath of taking him inside her. He was going on pure instinct here, and he hoped he wasn’t wrong. He wasn’t going to stop himself to overanalyze it.

  She gasped when he slapped her ass with his open palm, making it a pretty forceful blow. “Down on your elbows,” he said.

  She didn’t hesitate, and that tightness was back in his chest as the position lifted her ass higher. “I’m going to do that until I want to stop,” he said. “And each time, I’m going to ask you a question, and you’re going to answer it with the word ‘yes.’” He slapped her again. “If you don’t, I’ll do it until you do. Understand?”

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  “Did you please me?” Slap.

  “Yes.”

  “Did you please me better than any woman ever has?” A harder slap, so she couldn’t overthink it. She bit back a yelp.

  “Yes.”

  He rubbed the smarting flesh, stroking her still wet pussy again. “Are you the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen?”

  She’d dipped her head, so he glimpsed a tiny, pained smile, swallowed by something more intense as he landed the blow.

  “Y-Yes.”

  “Are you going to believe me when I tell you how much you pleased me?” Slap.

  “Yes.”

  “I don’t believe you. Say it again.” A harder slap again, and this time it produced a different response, unexpected to both of them.

  “Yes, sir.”

  He rubbed his hand over the offended area. Yes, sir. Wow. If he’d been capable of it, he had a feeling his cock would have sprung back to full, iron hard reaction to the address. It sure felt that way in his head.

  “Good,” he said, after a brief pause, not so long that she’d think she’d done something wrong. “Lie down now.”

  She lowered herself to her side facing him, though her head was down, her hair curtaining her face. “Will you stay with me?”

  He grunted. “No choice. After sex that intense, I don’t think I can walk. Oh, wait.”

  That tiny smile again. He’d go to the bathroom and handle that necessary clean up first, but before he did so, he leaned over the mattress, touched her face, pushed the curtain of hair away from her eyes. “I would love to go to sleep with you in my arms.”

  That smile disappeared from her lips, but only to move up into her eyes, mixed with a surfeit of emotion he recognized as what was in his own heart.

  “I can make you breakfast in the morning,” she said.

  “Only if you wear my shirt while you do it,” he said. “And nothing else.”

  Her lashes flicked up, and at last her gaze met his. It was only for a second, but when she looked back down, her voice held need and pleasure both. “Yes, sir,” she murmured.

  Chapter Ten

  The next morning, those two syllables stayed in his head, along with every other detail of the night, there to revisit, consider, savor.

  When he’d had his first sex as a teen, he’d been possessed by a goofy euphoria. During the next week or two, at random moments, three words would pop into his mind, laced with a wonder, satisfaction, and excitement for more.

  I’ve had sex.

  It had seemed like a major milestone at the time, and he supposed it had been, but in reflection, it was like getting his driver’s license. It was a threshold. Once crossed, it opened him up to deeper opportunities.

  Far deeper.

  She’d made him breakfast as promised, and had worn his shirt. They’d sat at her small table, her turned sideways in her chair, her bare feet braced on the wheel of his as she worked on a piece of toast and the egg she’d scrambled for herself. She’d made him a ham and cheese omelet with cut up green peppers and garlic pepper seasoning.

  The one thing his mother and sister hadn’t had to teach Daralyn was how to cook. She’d told Les that Oscar or Burton would cook something they wanted her to make, and then she was supposed to remember how to do it. Though her reading skills had been poor, her memory was exceptional. And once she was cooking with Les and his mom, she’d shown she had an innate talent for it, improving the flavoring and textures when encouraged to do so.

  Leaving her was difficult. He wanted to hang out with her all morning, but she had her appointment with Dr. Taylor, and he had his workout session with Red.

  Rory didn’t skip workouts, and it wasn’t a vanity thing. Since a variety of uncontrollable things could muck up his physical regimen, he knew the dangers of voluntary lapses.

  After that, he’d be relieving Johnny at the store, since Johnny was handling opening this morning.

  Rory eased his impatience with the separation by reminding himself she’d be at the store in the afternoon. And by claiming a good lingering kiss from her. Which meant when he left her, she had a soft look to her mouth, a shine to her eyes.

  His last, long look from the front seat of his van was a picture that could carry him through the day.

  Through the picture window he saw her sitting at the kitchen table where he’d told her to stay and finish her breakfast. She had her knees pulled up, her bare toes curled over the seat edge. Since she wasn’t wearing any panties, he could nicely torment himself by imagining what that looked like.

  There’d been a schoolbook lying on the table. After he left, she’d probably open it up, lay a case knife on it to hold it open. Pick bits off the remaining piece of toast as she read.

  But right now she was looking out the window at him. As he raised a hand in farewell, she did the same, giving him what he thought might be a bit of an uncertain smile. She’d be thinking about a lot of stuff today, he was sure. Hopefully those thoughts would be pleasant. When he saw her this afternoon, he’d make sure of it.

  Red, short for Red Skull, the only name he’d ever offered, was a biker enthusiast, fitness trainer, and former PT who still filled in for vacationing therapists at the county rehab center. He also owned a gym within thirty minutes of where Rory lived.

  Since many of his clients were service veterans in wheelchairs, the gym included some of the same equipment that was at the rehab center. Which meant Rory could do a lot of his conditioning in Red’s more regular-feeling gym.

  All of that, including the guy’s personality, made Red the perfect adaptive fitness trainer for Rory.

  “You’re giving it extra effort today, my man,” Red said, spotting him on the parallel bars. Rory had braces strapped on his legs to keep them straight and locked as he grunted through getting from one end of the bars to the other.

  “Not that you’re ever a slacker,” the trainer continued. “Except at the beginning, when you were whining about some dumbass problem with your legs.”

  Rory shot the personal trainer a strained though amused look. “Let’s see you do pull ups with a chair strapped to your ass.”

  Red spread his hands out with a grin, then smoothly reached for Rory’s hips as he wobbled. “Nope, got it,” he bit out.

  “Know you do,” Red said, while keeping close, his steel-grey eyes sharp. “Gotta look like you’re paying me to do something.”

  Standing cardio was important for lower body circulation, internal organ function, as well as giving his hip and upper torso muscles a workout, but it was never fun. When he’d first started to do it, it was hell. And not just during the PT sessions. The lure of painkillers to ease the aftermath was a whole other battle. Most everyone in a chair dealt with certain levels of pain, but some days could be worse than others.

  However, today’s pain was a welcome reminder that he’d used some muscles last night he hadn’t used in a while. Since Red didn’t miss much, he caught the difference in Rory’s attitude over it.

  “Uh-oh. I know that look. Part caveman, hear me roar, part dork-in-love. Did you finally lay it out there for that sweet little girl you work with?”

  Rory just shot him a grin, though the effort cost him his grip on the bar. Red was there, though, getting him back on track and focused. He saved further conversation until Rory made it to the end and got unstrapped, back in the chair.

  “Take a breath.” Red handed him a bottle of water, knowing Rory would need it before moving to the next station. The standing cardio machine was an automated contraption that would straighten his body, hold it upright with the aid of secure straps as Rory worked his arms and chest.

  He wouldn’t need a spotter for that, so Red excused himself a minute to check on several of his other clients. The rest of the gym looked like any other, though Red spaced out his equipment wider and everything here was disabled friendly. Rory hid a smile at the cat-eyed blonde who fastened her gaze hungrily on Red as he leaned over where she was stretched out on the weight bench. Guy got plenty of attention from his able-bodied clientele, but that was a given, the way he sported the shaved head biker look, all the tattoos and muscles. While Red wasn’t married, he’d told Rory he was occasionally tempted to put on a cheap wedding ring, just to keep the come-ons to a minimum.

  “Except I’m not sure I want to know which ones wouldn’t consider that a dealbreaker,” he’d said with a grimace. “I’d rather think the best of my customers, you know?”

  Now he came back to Rory, giving him a narrow look at Rory’s grin. “Shut up,” he said. “And how about you spill?”

  “What do you mean? You already know who I’m jacked up about.”

  Red snorted. “Not that. We’ve been working together a while, man. I know when you’ve got something on your mind. Any way I can help?”

  Rory had been considering whether to broach it with Red, so he guessed there was no reason to put it off. “I need to get myself in shape for something new.”

  “Gotcha. What’s the goal?”

  When he hesitated, Red gave him a shrewd look. “First day, what’d I say were the two things that concern a guy the most about being in a chair?

  “Taking a piss or dump on his own, and having sex that doesn’t become a circus side show.” Rory remembered it easily, because Red had said it to him a lot.

  Red nodded. “I’ve heard both ends of that spectrum, and everything in between. So hit me with it. It’s just between you and me and my three million social media followers.”

  “Yeah right.” Rory chuckled, but met Red’s gaze squarely. “I want to have sex on top. Beginning to end.”

  Red pursed his lips. “Doable. Especially if you do a man’s job right, which means warming her up first, hot and ready as a Pop Tart.”

  Rory winced. “C’mon man. This woman is important.”

  “I get that. No guy in a chair is going to contemplate busting his ass for that level of conditioning unless he thinks she’s worth it.” Red put a hand on his shoulder, his expression serious. “I wasn’t disrespecting her, man. Not a bit. A woman caught up in her passion is a thing of sacred beauty, and that’s no lie.”

  “Yeah. Okay.” Rory lifted a shoulder. “That was actually pretty poetic.”

  “Well, a good Pop Tart is a religious experience.”

  Red danced back from Rory’s right jab, fast enough it still made glancing contact with his abdomen. Probably a good thing, since hitting Red’s abs would be like bashing concrete.

  “Whoa, boy’s got mad fight skills. Let’s get to it. Variety adds to the spice. Right, my man?”

  Telling Red what he needed was a good thing. Rory reminded himself of that as he hiked himself from his chair into the driver’s seat of the van with muscles that throbbed. He’d need to keep moving and stretching through the day, or in short order those muscles would feel like they’d been injected with acid. Even so, when his cell rang, he almost unmanfully wept with joy at the option of pressing the button on the steering wheel to activate the handsfree. Even lifting a phone to his ear sounded like too much effort.

  “Just checking in,” Thomas said. “Everything okay this morning? Daralyn waved at us when Mom picked her up to take her to Dr. Taylor’s, but we didn’t get a chance to talk to her. Wanted to make sure you’re both okay.”

  “Better than,” Rory said, and meant it. “How about you guys? I know that was a little over the top.”

  Thomas’s voice reflected surprise that he’d asked. “Yeah, we’re good. Mainly we were worried about her, and you. Marcus in particular.”

  “Tell him that it turned out good. She’s even going with me to Florida, for that trip to look at fixtures. I’m working on scheduling coverage at the store.”

  “Good.” Thomas sounded pleased. “I can take a day if you need me to. Marcus has that thing in New York, but if it doesn’t overlap, we can be here to help.”

  “If I can’t get full coverage and it won’t mess you up, I may take you up on that.”

  “No problem.” Thomas paused. When he spoke next, he’d lowered his voice some. “Hey, can you do me a favor?”

  Rory could count on one hand the number of times those words had come out of his brother’s mouth, in the kind of tone that said the request was pretty important. “Depends. Does it involve being a backroads tour guide for the Dallas Cowboy cheerleaders?”

  Brother-speak for sure, hit me with it.

  Thomas chuckled. “I think Daralyn would have something to say about that.”

  As Rory thought of her reaction to Amanda Brewster, a smile crossed his face. If he didn’t watch himself, she might check with his mother for tips on how to use that skillet. His head was far too easy a target in his chair.

  “You might be right. What did you need, bro?”

  “Can you stop by here for a few minutes? Let Marcus know face-to-face things are okay with Daralyn and you.”

  “No problem.” Rory was surprised it had rattled Marcus that much. “Is he all right?”

  “Yeah.” Thomas paused. In the ensuing silence, Rory wondered if Thomas was doing for Marcus what he himself had done, when Marcus had asked specific questions about Daralyn. Weighing what information was okay to share, against what would respect the privacy of someone you were worried about.

  “Marcus has lost key people in his life, Rory,” Thomas said at last, his voice still quiet. “When he was younger. To bad things. He’s pretty protective of people he considers family, and Daralyn matters a lot to him. So do you, though I’d probably have to stick matchsticks under his nails to get him to admit it.”

  “Hide his hair mousse. That’d be a worse torture.”

  Thomas chuckled. “Believe it or not, he doesn’t use any. His hair just looks that way. Straight out of bed.”

  “That’s just sick.”

  “Tell me about it. But don’t ever mention it to him, because he’ll spend thirty minutes telling you how the right shampoos and conditioners make mousse unnecessary.”

  “Talk about torture. Okay, I’m close. I was headed back to the house for my shower. I’ll stop by.”

  “Appreciate it.”