When Rory shifted his gaze to the person filling his mind, a light smile touched his lips. Between a full week of work, school, and then yesterday’s drive, followed by this morning’s festival, it wasn’t surprising to see Daralyn had nodded off on the swing.

  Since it was likely to be a late night, he probably should talk himself into a nap, too. But having her here all to himself, total privacy and no interruptions from family or the store, his mind went another way.

  He pushed over to her and removed the book from her limp hands before it fell to the boards. As she opened her eyes and blinked sleepily at him, the trust in her face stirred him.

  “Take off all your clothes,” he said. “I want you to take a nap that way.”

  A woven throw was spread over her legs. Despite it being a comfortable fall afternoon in Florida, she’d needed it for the breeze off the marsh. The girl had zero body fat. In a few minutes, he’d retrieve the quilt folded over the couch to replace the throw, to ensure she stayed warm. But first he waited for her to follow his command.

  She rose, standing before him as she removed her clothes. Her dark lashes fanned her cheeks in that tempting gesture of submission. When she stood before him in nothing, he molded a hand over her hip, thumb stroking the soft area of her belly near her navel. He watched her sway into his touch as he lifted that touch to her breast, caressed the side of it with his knuckles. Her nipple changed shape, a call for attention. She was his to play with for hours, do so many things to give her pleasure. The flush in her cheeks, the tense curl of her fingers, the erratic sound of her breath, only made him more interested in the idea.

  “I have a question for you, Daralyn,” he said. “And there’s only one answer to it. It’s one syllable, starts with a y and ends with an s.”

  Her lips curved and he smiled, too, though if she’d looked up, he knew his eyes would have been dead serious. “Anything else and you’ll be in trouble. Understand me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you please me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Better than any woman ever has?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good,” he said. “Lie back down and sleep. I’ll wake you when it’s time to get ready.”

  The furtive look from beneath her lashes pleased him even more. It suggested she wasn’t entirely happy that he wasn’t going to pursue more. He wanted her desire to build, wanted her anticipation to grow stronger. He was figuring that would be the best way to keep any worries she might have about tonight from taking the upper hand.

  She was lying back down on the porch swing. As she adjusted, he went into the house and brought the quilt out, tucking it over her. Her gaze was on him as he put himself to the right of the swing, at an angle so he was gazing down on her head and one bared shoulder, the fingers curled up under her chin.

  He rested his hand on the chains holding the swing and began moving it in a slow rock while he started looking through another fishing magazine. He didn’t read much, mostly listening to her breathing and watching her profile. He didn’t need anything more than that to occupy him. His woman was naked at his command, lying under a blanket he’d tucked around her, and she slept because she trusted him to watch over her.

  When his gaze slid to the chains holding the chair up, his mind went back to those rope sites he’d visited, attractive submissives bound in elaborate designs.

  What was in his mind was a little more straightforward, but no less appealing. Brick had several coils of rope in his boat shed. Rory imagined Daralyn sitting in the center of the swing, her arms tied and stretched out to either side of her, the ropes bound to the chains holding the swing off the ground. Another loop of rope could be hooked around each knee and attached to the arms of the swing, keeping her legs spread open.

  He imagined positioning himself square with the swing, but a few feet back, using something like the broom in the kitchen to push the chair, keep it moving in a steady slow rock rhythm like he was doing now. All while he kept her on display for him alone, naked and beautiful. He’d ask her to look at him with her hazel eyes, watch them grow needy and desperate with desire. He’d watch the dampness of her cunt turn into a glistening temptation to his mouth and fingers.

  In his head, that was how she’d respond to that, but how about in reality? Maybe he shouldn’t have looked at so much of that stuff. It had put ideas in his head far beyond the simple liking of how she followed his orders and wanted to kneel at his feet. But since that seemed to arouse her deeply, it couldn’t help but make him wonder how much further they could take it.

  Well, that was one of the reasons they’d talked about going to the party tonight, right? He just didn’t want to set off any bad memories. Her father and uncle might have forced her to walk around naked, but she hadn’t reacted badly to Rory’s command to remove her clothes, now or in the past. Each time, he’d gone slow, gauged her reaction, and seen nothing but a willingness to follow his direction, reinforced by physical desire.

  Trust the gut but take it slow. So far it had proven itself a workable strategy. Because she trusted him. A gift he had no intention of losing.

  He had his phone in his shirt pocket. Though he didn’t have to stay religiously on call with the store, during operating hours he liked to keep a weather eye on it. It was always possible a customer might come in for an order with special instructions, and Johnny, Amanda or his mom wouldn’t know the details. However, he kept the system pretty up to date.

  He smiled, remembering when Les and Thomas had talked them into automating. He’d grumbled about it and his mom had fussed about losing her notebook full of scribbled notes and paper files. Now he knew just how much time the computer saved them. Even Mom routinely talked about how nice it was to not have the back room full of file cabinets, and how much quicker it made tax preparation. She might not be tech savvy, but she had a great head for business.

  As if thinking about it had summoned a call, the phone began to vibrate. He bit back a sigh, hoping it was a telemarketer he could ignore.

  It wasn’t, but the name on the display was a welcome one.

  He went into the house as he answered, pitching his voice low until he was in the kitchen. From here, he could still see Daralyn through the window. “Hey, man, this place is a real dump,” he said by way of a greeting. “Can’t believe it hasn’t been bull-dozed.”

  Brick chuckled. His deep, gravelly voice could make Vin Diesel sound like he was snorting helium. In high school, his nickname had been Deep Throat, though that had also been because of how hard he hammered the opposing team. He’d been a formidable middle linebacker to Johnny’s strong side position.

  “You must have taken a wrong turn and ended up back in our locker room,” Brick retorted. Which really had been a dump. It hadn’t been renovated since the fifties. They could have drip irrigated a field with the holes in the roof.

  “Seriously, man, this is nice,” Rory told him. “Daralyn loves it. I meant to text you. Sorry I made you have to check in on us.”

  “Naw, that’s not why I’m calling. You know our high school reunion is coming up. First one for our class.”

  “Yeah. I got the invite.”

  He was going, he wasn’t chickenshit, but he had mixed feelings about it. His local high school friends knew he’d ended up in a chair, but those who’d headed off to college or other places, that was another story.

  “The first part of the night they’re going to have an awards ceremony for those graduates who’ve done things worth mentioning.”

  “Like Sammy Jo giving up weed and settling down to become a married accountant? That should have hit the front page.” Feeling the stirrings of hunger, Rory decided to make a sandwich. Maybe he could get Daralyn to eat one when she woke. As he laid out the bread and cold cuts they’d bought at the nearby grocery, he heard Brick chuckle again.

  “No lie. Wonder if she ever had that marijuana leaf tattoo removed from her ass? Anyway, you’re on the award list.”

  “Say what?” Rory stopped spreading mayo on the wheat bread. “Right. Good one.”

  “Serious, man.” Brick sobered, sounding like the adult they somehow miraculously both were now. “You’ve done more than your share to help the local economy, keeping a respect for the small-town feel while helping people feed their families. It’s been noticed.”

  Rory frowned. “This sounds like some guy-in-a-wheelchair dick stroke. I didn’t do that on my own, Brick. This is my parents’ store. My mom and dad, Thomas, Daralyn, they have every bit as much to do with the store’s success as I do.”

  “No question, but you’ve become the guy in charge. The nominating committee already talked to your mom and Thomas, and they both agree. You not only took over that role, you did it when you could have sat on your ass—literally. The store’s become an economic anchor for our hometown, and the increased outreach to the community you’ve driven has made that happen.”

  Rory shifted. He wasn’t comfortable with this. “You know, there’s this guy I see at PT every once in a while, Manfred Jones. He lives over in Rockingham. He ended up in a chair a decade ago because he was in a gang and got shot in the back. No family, no health insurance beyond Medicaid, and he’s still managed to become a small business owner in his neighborhood, and a big volunteer at a local rec center, trying to keep kids from following in his footsteps.”

  “The city of Rockingham should give him an award.”

  “Yeah. He deserves it. Not some guy who had every bit of family support to help him get where he was now.”

  Brick sighed. “I get what you’re saying, man. But there’s no reason you can’t accept the award on behalf of your family.”

  Rory put the sandwich together, tapped the case knife on the counter. “Fran Potts is heading up the reunion committee. Why isn’t she calling me about this?”

  “Because she knew you wouldn’t accept it unless a friend leaned on you.”

  Rory shook his head, ran a hand over his face. “I’m not trying to be a dick. Really.”

  “I know that.” Brick’s voice registered understanding. “Seriously, think about it. I do think this would mean a whole lot to your family. Particularly your mom. But you really do deserve this award, as much as any member of your family. You ended up being a lot tougher than I would have expected, often as I had to keep your skinny ass from getting sacked.”

  “My speed kept me from getting sacked. You were slower than a lumbering bear out there.”

  Not true, of course. Brick had been a hell of a player. “I don’t know, man.” Rory cleared his throat. “I’m going to have to think about it. I have time, right?”

  “Some. They’ll get the final program printed and up on the website in a couple weeks. Oh and hey, I shouldn’t tell you this, because it will surefire make you turn it down, but Hayworth said if they give it to you, he might make the trip.”

  “No shit.” Rory smiled, but it came with a spurt of regret. “How’s he doing?”

  “Eh. You know him.” Brick paused. “He gets on the wagon a while, then falls off. He’s hanging on to that car salesman job by the skin of his teeth. Last time I saw him, he’d gotten into coke, too. I want to bash his fucking brains in. Being up in Raleigh isn’t helping him. The only friends he hangs with are ones with habits as bad or worse than his. If he means it, about coming to see you accept this award, it’ll be the first time he’s been home to the family farm since he got kicked off the team at State. Might do him some good. Maybe we can chain him in the barn for a couple years and detox him.”

  Rory snorted. “Yeah.”

  They didn’t say anything for a moment, the silence expressing their combined frustration. “Well, we’ll see,” Brick said at last. “Talk to your mom and brother, get their sense on it, before you reject it outright. I for one would be proud as hell to see you accept it.”

  Rory gave a half-laugh. “You’re just kissing up to me because you like my sister.”

  “Has the fiancé boyfriend stayed good and gone?”

  “He has. Ever since she told him she wanted to graduate before she got married and he asked for his ring back.”

  “Douchebag. I’ll shed tears over it.”

  “I’m sure. Stay away from my sister, you perv.”

  “Make me, Wheels.”

  “I’ll cut off your dick, and you won’t have any thoughts about girls ever again.”

  Brick chuckled. “Have to cut off the big lump above my shoulders and carve out my heart for that, my man. The way I feel about Les is about way more than my dick.”

  Rory understood that, for sure. “Then one of these days you should tell her.”

  “Let her get that medical degree first, put the doctor plaque on her door, then I’ll make my move. Be the kept man of a rich doctor.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Wait too long and she’ll be in Africa somewhere, working out of a tent, thousands of miles away from you. She’ll have fallen for some bearded mission doctor who wears Birkenstocks.”

  “Best place to make my play. Well beyond the reach of her protective brothers.”

  “It’s not us you’re scared of. It’s my mother.”

  “Can you blame me?”

  “Not a bit.”

  A few more seconds of back and forth, and then they ended the call. Rory sat for a couple contemplative moments, looking at the counter without seeing the sandwich resting there.

  Would they have offered the award to him if he wasn’t disabled? That apprehension would dog him, make him reluctant to accept it at face value. Yet another part of himself he wanted to despise remembered being on the team, getting congratulated for the wins. The cheers of the students, the energy of the pep rallies, being at the center of that…

  “What do you think?” he asked.

  He turned the chair in her direction. Daralyn was standing in the doorway, barefoot, shoulders exposed by the loose hold of the quilt she had gathered around her. The corners trailed the ground around her ankles. The triangle of skin across her sternum was a deeper golden color, thanks to the V-neck shirts she most often wore. Her hair was down, tousled around her delicate features.

  “I think it’s wonderful,” she said.

  “Do you think they’re giving it to me because I’m in a wheelchair?”

  “Yes,” she said simply, surprising him. “Because you didn’t let it stop you from being who you wanted to be.”

  “It changed who I wanted to be.”

  “Is that person better than who you used to want to be?”

  He cut the sandwich in half and brought it to the table, nodding to one of the chairs so she’d join him. “It’s difficult for me to be cranky about it if you’re going to be sensible, ask the right questions.”

  A small smile. She slipped into the chair and studied the sandwich. He pulled a peach out of the Huerta’s bag on the table, and cut it up with his pocketknife. As she watched, he put a few slices on her plate. Picking up one, she cradled it in her palm and inhaled it. She liked smelling her food before she ate it, as if she was drawing nourishment just from that. But her gaze went to him, noted his attention lingering on her bare shoulders. She was still holding the throw clutched around her, one hand in front of her breasts.

  Slowly, she straightened her back, loosened her grip so the blanket slid away, pooled around her hips. Her chin was up. She knew he wanted to look, and she’d responded to his desires without him saying a word.

  “Christ, you floor me,” he said, low. “And you have such perfect breasts.”

  She pinkened like the softer colors of the peach. Picking up a slice, he brushed it over her nipple. It stiffened as he squeezed the fruit, made the juice drip over it. Then he used it like a brush, painting her skin with the peach’s flesh.

  Her head was tilted down so she could watch what he was doing. Then he murmured again.

  “Chin up and eyes forward.”

  When she complied, he put a palm on the table, leaned in and put his mouth on the curve of her breast, tasted the juice on her skin. A trembling hand touched the back of his neck, fingers sliding up into his hair. She moved against him as he captured her nipple and started to suckle. Her soft moan gave him a jolt of pleasure, as did the tightening of her fingers, the caress of them against his nape.

  When at last he drew back, he looked down the slope of her abdomen to her thighs. He gripped the blanket, pulled it away. As he did, her thighs shifted, parting.

  He brought his attention back to her face, finding her mouth soft and eyes uncertain but needy. He dropped his hand down, let his knuckles brush her clit, once, twice, play over the petals of her cunt. She swallowed noisily, and he liked the way it showed him the moistness of her mouth.

  Slowly, he took his hand away, sat back. “Eat,” he said.

  That same subtle look of dissatisfaction, and this time he answered it, reaching out and tapping her chin, drawing her gaze to his direct one. “Yeah, I’m denying you. Keeping you excited, a little on edge. I want your mind centered on what I want from you, instead of caught up in things you don’t need to worry about. Okay?”

  “Yes, sir. I mean, Rory.”

  He gave her an unsmiling look. “Sir works when you feel it.”

  He loved when her pupils got large, expressing her wonder at what was going on in her body, in her responses to what he was doing to her. “I…what should I wear tonight, sir?”

  “Did you bring something specific for the party?”

  “I did, but I wasn’t sure. There was something Les and Julie bought with me a long time ago. I’ve never worn it. Would you like to see it?”

  Rory shook his head. “Not until you’re wearing it.” He gave her a heated smile. “Surprise me. And stay just like that while we eat. It increases my appetite.”

  She’d been in the bathroom for about a half hour after her shower. He’d knocked and checked on her at least once, and she’d hesitantly indicated she was fine, it was just taking a little while. In her voice, he didn’t hear any of the usual alarm flags, particularly that strained note that told him she was getting into crisis mode. But he did wonder what the hold-up was.