There she goes again, wrestling all the control. “Tell me your impure thoughts so I can absolve you.”

  “Well,” she says, stretching out her legs now, giving me a full view of those gorgeous limbs, “it’s more like a fantasy.”

  My chest is a furnace. “Go on.”

  “They’re about you, Father,” she whispers. “I want you to…” She stops. Then she goes quiet. I don’t say a word. I just wait for her.

  Then she’s barely audible.

  I’m not even sure I heard right. That two-word command.

  “Excuse me?”

  She clears her throat. “Leave marks,” she says, no more whispering now. “Hit me with a paddle and mark me.”

  Holy. Fuck.

  I stand, breaking character, coming to face her. I get down on my knees, looking at her wide eyes. “You do, sweetheart?”

  Her lower lip quivers but with anticipation. Her irises seem to gleam with…wicked excitement. “Remember when you texted me—When I take you out in public, I get a thrill that I’m the only one who knows the private side of you.”

  I nod quickly. “Yes,” I say eagerly, dying to know what’s next.

  She swallows, then lifts her chin. “I want you to bruise me. I want to look in the mirror as I get ready for the party tomorrow and see marks. Your marks. I’ve never done that.”

  God, I want this so fucking badly. But there’s one problem. “I don’t have anything to use. I don’t know if I can leave marks like that with my hand.” I think quickly. What do I have? “But I can look in the kitchen. Maybe a spatula. A wooden spoon.”

  Her lips curve into a dirty smirk. “I brought a paddle.”

  My eyes squeeze shut for a second. I’m lightheaded with lust. But that’s barely the beginning. I’m overwhelmed with emotions too. New ones, surprising ones.

  But ones I’ll have to deal with later. First, I need to deal with her.

  I open my eyes and take back control. “Say a prayer, my child. You’re going to take your penance bent over the counter. Ass raised. For me.”

  Ellie’s brown eyes twinkle, then she darts out a hand, runs it across my chin. “You are such a hot priest.”

  22

  A PING-PONG KIND OF THING

  Ellie

  I didn’t come to Los Angeles to explore all my wild sex fantasies.

  I came to this town to work.

  But on the cusp of the biggest week in my career, I’m gripping the edge of the kitchen counter, and he’s railing me.

  With a vicious grip on my hips, he fucks me deeper, harder, alternating spanks with tugs on my hair.

  A sharp slap tears through me, the pain blooming into pleasure. I moan, a savage sound ripped from my soul.

  Then, he whispers darkly in my ear, “You ready, baby?”

  Like I’ve never been before. “So ready.”

  He eases back, reaches for the ping-pong paddle on the counter, and lifts it. But I can’t see him, so I don’t know when it’s coming.

  He pushes deep into me, then out, then whack.

  The paddle stings.

  The pain bursts.

  And I jump. “Oh, god,” I gasp.

  “Okay?”

  But then I’m moaning because I’m warm all over.

  “Yes,” I say.

  He sinks into me again, one hand snaking around my waist, down to my clit.

  As he rubs, I rock back against his cock, murmuring into the exquisite bliss of his fingers.

  Then…smack.

  A hard sting. The sharp ache spreads through my body chased by a burst of desire.

  Then a luxurious wave of sensations saying more, more.

  “Again,” I beg in a whisper.

  He teases my clit with his fingers, pinching me, then hitting me.

  Sharp. Hard. Deliciously.

  “Oh god,” I yelp.

  “Do you need me to stop?” he asks.

  “I need you to do it again. Both sides. Mark me the same,” I urge, my voice a barren pant.

  He grunts like an animal. “Fuck, Ellie.”

  Then he pounds into me, smacking my other cheek with the paddle. Pain shatters under his touch, but I rock back into his thrusts, seeking that moment when it crests and breaks into this…bliss.

  He paddles one cheek, then the other.

  Soon, I’m lost in a trance. The sensations of pleasure and pain flip every few seconds, one chasing the other, one turning into the other.

  I ask for more, and he gives me what I want until the pain overwhelms me. It’s too much and I hit my limit.

  “Scooter,” I whisper desperately.

  Immediately, he sets the paddle on the counter and slows his pace. “What do you need, baby? I’ll give you anything,” he rasps out.

  I need speed. Intensity. I need to be fucked good. And I trust this man, so I’m going to tell him.

  “Give me the rest of my penance. Fuck me senseless till I scream,” I say, then I thrust my hand between my thighs.

  Gabe pounds me in a ruthless rhythm as I feverishly stroke myself till I’m caught up.

  My orgasm crashes into me, over me, around me.

  It pulls me under, and I shout incoherent cries of pleasure.

  The world winks off, but as it spins away, Gabe’s grunts and growls land in my ear, echo in my heart.

  A few minutes later, when I look in the bathroom mirror, red marks bloom on my ass.

  I smile.

  Those marks are mine. My private marks from this man.

  23

  DOG KISSES

  ELLIE

  Can I go to bed now?

  Because…wow.

  After the sex, and then the shower—where he luxuriously washed my whole body, then rubbed lotion onto my bruised skin when we got out—I’m…utterly spent.

  In the bathroom, he brings me a shirt. It’s royal blue.

  A very familiar color.

  I take it from him, holding it up, turning it around. Number eighty-eight.

  When I pull on his jersey, I’m swimming in it. “It’s like a dress,” I say, gesturing to where the hem hits my thigh.

  “A damn sexy one,” he says, and he pulls on boxer briefs. Nice snug black ones.

  Then he scoops me up in his arms and carries me out of the spacious bathroom. “Where are you taking me?” I ask, laughing.

  “Wherever you want to go, sweetheart,” he says, but he’s got a plan since he crosses the big bedroom, where I eye his king-size bed longingly, then brings me to the living room. Carefully, he sets me down on the plush, U-shaped gray couch. He sits next to me and rubs a hand along my thigh. “Stay the night,” he says.

  “Mmm. That sounds nice. You wore me out,” I say on a yawn that I try to stifle.

  “Good. You need your rest. Next week is a big one for you,” he says.

  It takes me a few seconds to connect the dots. Oh, right. Next week. Just the reason I’m here. Just the start of my new life in Los Angeles. When I work on set. When we have our first table read. When we prep to shoot the first episode of my show.

  My show.

  “I still can’t believe it’s happening,” I say, a little giddy—maybe from the prospect of living my dreams, or maybe too from the afterglow of intense sex.

  Or, possibly, a cocktail of the two.

  “You deserve it,” he says, then takes my hand in his and starts rubbing the space between my thumb and forefinger. “These hands will get sore from all that writing,” he says. “Gotta take care of them.”

  Can you take care of them?

  I moan into the pleasure of the hand rub as he kneads my palm. “Are you ready for Monday?” he asks.

  My head is still in such a fog from sex, but I do my best to clear it. “Yes. I worked on the script today at Maddox’s house. Made a few final tweaks. I kind of can’t wait for the table read,” I say.

  He digs his thumb into the center of my palm, pressing hard. “Makes sense. That’s how I always feel about training camp too. It’s exhausting, but I love it too.”

  “Yes. Exactly. I know I’ll be working crazy hours—probably round the clock—but this is something I’ve wanted for a long time now. I’m lucky to even have the chance to produce a show at all.”

  He scoffs. “It’s not luck. It’s talent, skill, hard work.”

  He’s not wrong. But Hollywood relies a lot on luck too. “True, but making it in this business definitely takes some stardust and magic. When you find it, you can’t let anything get in the way. This is a huge chance for me to prove to the whole damn world that I have what it takes to jump from being onscreen to being behind the cameras.”

  He brings my palm to his soft mouth. “And you will,” he says, then his gaze drifts to my necklace. “That’s cute. Very you.”

  I finger the typewriter charm. “Thanks. I do like jewelry. I picked it up at Rachel’s jewelry boutique tonight,” I say, feeling better than I did when I last saw her. I can tell her about tonight, and I won’t feel like I lied. I did open my heart to Gabe. “Oh! And I have dinner with her Sunday night at this place right near her shop. I basically commandeered her into being my new best friend.”

  He laughs. “I’m sure it was so hard for her to say yes to spending time with you,” he says, then studies the charm a bit more. “Hold on, just a sec.”

  He rises, retreats to the bedroom, and returns with his fist closed, wrapped around something. When he sits back next to me on the couch, he opens it.

  I squeal. “It’s gorgeous! How can you not wear this every day? I would never take it off.”

  He laughs, then kisses my hair as I fondle his Super Bowl ring. Diamonds and sapphires gleam on the massive piece of jewelry. “It’s like something a mafia boss would wear.”

  “Yeah, only it probably won’t fit on your pinkie,” he says.

  “I’ll stuff it with cotton or string or whatever and make it fit,” I say, running my fingers along the etching with the number of the game, the name of his team. It’s both gaudy and breathtaking. “I remember seeing you play in this game on TV,” I say, flashing back to a few years ago. “That catch you made.”

  “Which one, sweetheart?” he asks, deservedly cocky. “I made a lot of catches in that game.”

  I gawk at the ring. “All of them.”

  Then, he takes it from my hand, like playtime is over. Except, it’s not. Gently, he wiggles it onto my thumb.

  It fits perfectly. My grin is bigger than the sky. “I love it.”

  “Looks good on you,” he says, then his gaze travels down to my rear. “Are you sore?”

  “Only in the best of ways.”

  He lifts up the hem of my shirt, whistling in admiration at the marks he left. “Glad we abandoned the picnic,” he says, with a sly smile. “But are you still hungry?”

  “I think that hummus might be calling my name. Maybe the pie. We didn’t even break it open.”

  Like it’s such a damn shame we took off early for our version of church.

  “And the pie looked damn good,” he says.

  “I got it at this cute little bakery near me earlier today. When I was out walking—” I bolt up upright. I can’t believe I forgot my love. “Shoot. I need to go.”

  “What’s wrong?” he asks, a line digging into his forehead.

  “Gigi has been alone for a few hours now,” I say, then hustle around his living room, hunting for my clothes, my canvas bag, my purse. “How could I have nearly forgotten her? I mean, she can hold it for a long time—she’s trained and everything. I just meant I can’t stay the night.”

  He moves swiftly into action, jumping up from the couch to join me. “I’ll get her,” he says, setting a hand on my arm as I’m grabbing my phone from the table.

  I jerk my gaze toward him, my hand freezing on the device. “What?”

  He tucks a finger under my chin. “You’re exhausted, baby. Stay here. Eat something. I’ll get your dog and bring her back to spend the night too,” he says. “If that’s okay with you?”

  If that’s okay with me? Holy smokes. That’s more than okay. That’s next level. “You want to drive to my house, fetch my dog, and bring her here?”

  His brow knits deeper. “Um, yeah,” he says, like it’s obvious that’s the sequence.

  And it is.

  But wow.

  Just wow.

  “Okay,” I say, feeling a little bubbly, then I give him the code to my garage and the keys to my car. “Use my car though, because she has a dog seat in the back with a seat belt and everything.”

  Shaking his head in amusement, he says, “Of course she does.”

  Then he leaves, and I lie down on his couch, where I stare at the ring a little longer, feeling fizzy.

  Feeling wanted.

  I reach for my phone, open it, and type out a message to Rachel. The date was amazing. Can’t wait to tell you about it.

  I hit send, then I crack open a new book.

  But before the heroine even bumps into the hot guy under a ladder, my eyes are floating closed, and I’m swimming off.

  Someone is kissing me.

  Someone is rubbing against me.

  Someone is licking my mouth.

  I stretch and open my eyes. Gigi is engaged in a full kiss attack. With a yawn, I push up on the couch, where I’m slathered in more canine love, whimpers, and where have you beens.

  “I missed you too, girl,” I murmur. Then my gaze swings to the tiled floor. What’s that pink fluffy thing? A pillow? “Do you have shaggy pink couch cushions?” I ask, looking up at my man as he walks closer.

  Gabe flops down on the couch next to me. “No. I got Gigi a dog bed for the night,” he says.

  Silly boy. She sleeps on the human bed. But the gesture sends my heart into overdrive.

  This man made me a picnic. Picked up my dog. Bought her a bed. Bruised my body in all the best ways.

  I need a way to stop time and live in this moment forever.

  But I also need to fight off the inevitable heartache. We’re on a honeymoon. It ends tomorrow night, then we return to reality. We will go our separate ways. He’ll head to training camp and to the love of his life—football. I’ll be working long days and long nights to build the next phase of my life. And I was fine with that when we first started. But now, I’m definitely not.

  SATURDAY

  A Day

  24

  I’VE GOT THIS

  Ellie

  We’re five miles away from my mom’s home when my phone trills. Mom’s calling.

  Of course.

  “Want me to hit answer?” Gabe asks from the passenger seat as we cruise down a winding road in the town where we both grew up.

  “Of course,” I say, and he swipes up. I call out cheerily, “You’re on speaker, Mama Snow. Gabe’s here.”

  “Hello, Gabe, you cutie-pie,” she says.

  I snort-laugh.

  He hisses at me, then says aloud in a chipper voice, “Hello, Mrs. Snow.” I’ve never heard him use that voice with me. That must be the good-boy voice. The one that convinced the book club ladies he was a sweet, wholesome lad.

  Ha ha.

  “It’s going to be such a treat to see you both. And,” my mom says, then takes a pause, “do you mind popping into Trader Joe’s and picking up an extra pink lemonade? It’s a mile from where you are.”

  “Mom!”

  “Sweetheart, you never turned off the sharing,” she says, like this is all my fault.

  Yup. I only have myself to blame. “Of course, Mom,” I say, happy to help.

  We make a quick pit stop and when we hop back into my car, a reminder flashes across my phone.

  Email Sidney.

  I can’t put this off much longer. “That’s the producer for Fabio’s List,” I explain to Gabe as I pull back onto the road to Mom’s.

  “Yeah? What did you decide?”

  “I haven’t decided yet,” I say, but the second those words come out, they feel wrong.

  Why am I hiding from Fabio’s List?

  The show is airing whether I say anything or not. I dated Dexter whether I appear on camera or not. I’ll probably be named regardless. I can’t hide from the doc, which has tongues wagging already. Might as well say my piece.

  I lift my chin as I drive. “Actually, I am going to do it. So what if I dated a scam artist? I’m moving on into this new life here, bruises on my butt and all.”

  “Do they hurt?” he asks, looking at me.

  I shake my head and turn on the blinker. “Nope. But I like knowing they’re there.”

  “Mmm. Me too.” He sounds happy—but romantic too. I catch him studying me as if he’s hunting for something in my expression.

  “What is it?” I ask curiously.

  He shakes his head, but he’s smiling now. “Just thinking.” He says it like it’s a good thing, with the same warm tone he takes when he’s talking about us.

  Bubbles of hope swim in my bloodstream. Has he been thinking could there be more too? Oh, god. Oh, wow. That’s almost too much to consider.

  “About what?” I ask, trying to mask the hope in my voice.

  Gabe shrugs like he’s holding in a secret. He’s still grinning. “Just how fun this week was.”

  I fight off a goofy smile. “It was amazing.”

  “And you’re pretty fired up right now,” he says.

  “I am,” I say, desperate to add because of you, because of that call, because of all these good things.

  Except driving isn’t the time to tackle a Big Topic. Maybe later? After the party? We do have to return to Los Angeles tonight. Rachel’s dog sitting Gigi this evening, and I need to swing by and pick up my girl. But I could ask Gabe to spend one more night with me, then maybe ask for more…

  But his smile burns off as he asks, “Because of the call?”

  Huh. What? “What do you mean?” I ask.

  “You’re fired up because of that call,” he clarifies.