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  He stood at her side again, scratching her skin. He slid his palm from her shoulder to her buttocks, and spread her ass cheeks. Her eyes bulged. Oh God! Was he staring at her bottom hole? Her glutes spasmed in a clench as if she could hide that part from his gaze.

  Something cold and wet nudged the ring of muscle. She gasped in understanding. Anal discipline. Playful punishment. However, she'd never played this way this before. Never considered it. Her sex contracted, wept, urging her to join the game. Of course, it wasn't her pussy that would be involved.

  "Sir—" she squeaked.

  "Yes, Abigail?"

  "Nothing."

  "Do you want me to stop?"

  She wet her lips. "No."

  With gentle insistence, he seated the plug. Her body tensed, uncertain how to deal with the invasion, the fullness. How the hell big was it? The pressure of the foreign object made her feel like she had to go to the bathroom. How had a girl who'd previously only had regular sex with her high school sweetheart ended up bound naked to a spanking bench with a plug stuck up her ass? Most Likely to Engage in Kink. There'd been nothing like that printed under her yearbook picture to suggest this could ever happen. Shocking. Embarrassing. The worst part? The humiliation excited her. Moisture trickled down her thighs. Harris would see it. Would know how much it aroused her.

  "You're a naughty girl, Abby," he said in that stern rumble that fanned rather than quenched her desire.

  She couldn't deny it. She craved whatever he did to her. "Yes, sir, I am."

  "We'll use the paddle tonight," he announced.

  He must have had it ready because before she could catch her breath, he struck her ass. Her flesh flattened and quivered. She yelped. He burned the other cheek. She clenched her muscles, outer and inner. Gripped the plug for dear life.

  He bounced the paddle off her ass at least a dozen times, and halted to stroke her sex. She could hear her wetness squishing as he penetrated her with two fingers. The pressure, the stretch made her ache to thrust, but she couldn't move. Could only accept what he chose to give her. She moaned, need growing.

  "With a plug inside you you're even tighter than usual. I can't wait to fuck this hot little pussy."

  His dirty talk caused her face to flame with embarrassment—and lust. No man had ever spoken to her in such a manner. Or done these things. He grabbed her nipple, his twists and tugs sending hot spikes into her core.

  Harris alternated paddling and teasing, driving her to the edge of ecstasy but withholding climax.

  Pleasure and pain trilled in a duet, causing her body to vibrate and hum. Her ass burned as if he'd lit a flame to it, her pussy ached and even her nipples hurt from the way he twisted them, yet she craved more.

  When he flung aside the paddle and unbuckled her, she nearly sobbed with need. He didn't bother to disrobe, but unzipped his pants and shoved her to the floor. With a single thrust, he impaled her. Abby gasped at the suddenness, his size more massive by the anal plug. He filled all available space. Waves of pleasure rocked her.

  "Fuck, baby you're tight." Funishment had ended and stark need consumed them both.

  "Fuck me, Harris," she begged, arching her body.

  He dug his fingers into her hips, lifted her off the ground and pounded into her. Abby cried out as she convulsed, the ecstasy near unbearable.

  "So…fucking…good," Harris gritted out. He stiffened, tightened his grip and pumped into her. He collapsed on top of her, smashing her to the floor.

  Abby panted, his weight making it hard to breath, the carpet itching and scratching her sensitized nipples. Harris covered one of her hands, curled his fingers between hers, and buried his face in her neck. Her ass and pussy throbbed with contentment.

  He pressed a kiss to her nape and disengaged. "Stay here."

  "Okay." She doubted she could walk anyway. He padded from the room, and Abby reached back and rubbed her sore butt. She clenched her cheeks and felt the intrusion of the plug.

  Oh God. She blew out her breath. With sanity came embarrassment. Had she done all of that?

  "Ass sore?"

  She jumped and jerked her hand away. She hadn't heard Harris approach. "A little," she said. "Am I very red?"

  "Pink," he said. "Very pretty."

  He removed the plug and she twisted for a glimpse. She widened her eyes with surprise. "It's tiny."

  He grinned. "Felt bigger inside, did it?"

  She blushed and nodded.

  "I started you with a beginner's version. You'll be able to take larger ones in no time," he said, then wrapped the toy in a tissue. He tugged her into his arms and carried her into the bathroom. He turned on both sets of jets in his walk-in shower and bathed her. By the time he finished, he'd grown rock hard. After toweling her off, he carried her to his bed and made love to her vanilla style.

  "You're very versatile," she said afterwards.

  HARRIS PRESSED HIS lips to Abby's damp hair. Lust temporarily sated, he relaxed in contentment, relishing her body's satin smoothness. Lazily he caressed her, noting the textures and shapes, the roundness of a breast, the bead of a nipple, the jut of a hipbone, the curve of her blushing bottom. Soft in all the right places, and oh so tight and toned where it counted.

  How much pleasure could a guy take? To have all that wet heat envelop him, her contracting muscles milking his cock—Harris stifled a groan. Damn, she was snug, and with the plug, tighter still. Her body had welcomed the toy without resistance. Like she'd accepted him. When he'd decided to date her, he had expected her submission to occur in increments, in fits and starts, yet she'd taken to it naturally, avidly.

  Her desire and trust when he'd attached the restraints had tightened the bonds around him. She'd been tethered to the bench, but he was tied to her. He wasn't ready to voice his feelings until he'd processed them more, but soon he would share that he had fallen in love with her.

  He expected some trials, but he would overcome his history by focusing on the future. People escaped their pasts all the time, and with Abby at his side he would break free of his. In his commitment, he would find freedom. That she saw trustworthiness in him enabled him to trust.

  God, the sight of her on the bench. Waiting for him. Her need equaling his. Desire stirred anew, and he began to harden.

  He cupped her bottom and squeezed. "I could build a career out of paddling your ass." Spanking and sex and discipline had entwined to become inseparable.

  She contracted her glutes and giggled. "What about the car wash? And your tennis tournaments?"

  "The car wash would suffer," he admitted with mock sadness, "but I could give up tennis for spanking." For a different kind of love. "I don't play in tournaments anyway."

  Abby propped up on one elbow, a frown creasing her forehead. "What are you talking about? You did one just a few weeks ago. You told me so."

  "No, that was a poker tournament," he corrected.

  She bolted upright. "Poker?" She stared at him, shaking her head. "No."

  "Yes. Tennis is a hobby. Poker I play professionally."

  "Oh my God!" Her face drained of color.

  "What's wrong?"

  She raked a hand through her hair and then leaped out of bed. "I can't—I can't—I have to go!"

  Harris got up. "Abigail, answer me, what's wrong?"

  "Where are my clothes?" She strafed her gaze across the floor.

  What the hell? "Your clothing is folded on the sofa—"

  Abby pivoted to dash from the room, but he grabbed her arm. She tried to twist away. "I have to go."

  "Not until you tell me what's wrong. What I said to upset you."

  She struggled and thrashed, but he secured her other arm and gave her a little shake. "Abigail, talk to me."

  "I can't believe I did this again—I assumed—you never said. I'm so stupid. Stupid!"

  Harris released one arm to crack his palm against her ass three times.

  Her jaw dropped in shock, and her gaze flew to his face. Finally he had her attention. "That's
for putting yourself down and calling yourself stupid. Now tell me what has upset you."

  Her mouth worked. A sheen of tears filmed over her eyes. "You gamble."

  "I play in poker tournaments, that's true." He scanned her face. Abby had never demonstrated signs of being a moralist, one who opposed drinking, gambling. For sure, she did not object to sex. Or spanking. Innocent she might have been, but she had a delightful kinky streak. "I still don't understand what the problem is."

  "Gambling destroyed my marriage," she said. "That's why Dale and I divorced. He drove us into bankruptcy. He promised and promised he wasn't doing it, but he was." She twisted and yanked, and fearing she would bruise herself, he released her. "And now I got involved with another gambler." She ran from the room.

  Shit! If he'd known about her ex-husband, he could have explained things better, prevented the blindside. He followed her into the living room.

  Abby threw on clothing like the house was on fire.

  "What I do and what someone who gets a high from gambling does is different," he said, aware his explanation would fall on deaf ears in her current emotional state. But at least he could plant seeds for a future discussion. "I can't deny luck is involved in poker, but skill and strategy play as big a role. It's what you do with the cards you're dealt, how well you bluff, how accurately you read your opponent. Professional poker is a mind game, Abby."

  She shoved her feet into her shoes and grabbed her purse. He understood her shock and dismay, but her refusal to listen violated the rules he'd set for her. If they'd traveled farther in their relationship, if they'd had a commitment, he would have hauled her over his knee and spanked her until he had her attention. However, he recognized her disobedience stemmed from a special circumstance involving her past and the core of their relationship.

  Her distressed gaze bounced off his nose. "I can't—uh—I have to—I'm sorry." She bolted from the house.

  He let her go. Nothing he could say at this juncture would dissuade her. He disliked seeing her so upset, hated that he'd caused it, even unintentionally. Harris sighed. After she had time to process her new knowledge, he would approach her and clear things up, convince her he was worth the bet.

  Chapter 10

  Thank you for your business," Abby said in a monotone. "Come again."

  The customer seemed not to notice her lack of enthusiasm so pleased was she with the antique Lithuanian butter churn she'd purchased. She clutched the wooden barrel to her chest and headed for the exit, eager to take it home.

  Aunt Quincy darted ahead of the customer. "Let me get the door for you." She shot a censuring glance at Abby. Auntie Q's prided itself not only on its quality antiques, but also on its service. Abby functioned at a subpar level. Had been for days, ever since Harris had shattered her trust.

  How could she not have assumed he played in tennis tournaments? He'd been wearing tennis whites when they'd met. He'd left his racquet lying around. She had wracked her brain but couldn't recall a single mention of poker, cards, or gambling. Such red flags, those words would have gotten her attention immediately. You know what they say about 'assume.' It makes an ass out of you and me.

  Aunt Quincy leaned on the cashiering desk, her lips pursed with concern. "Abby, honey, do you want to tell me what's wrong?"

  And erupt into tears? No, thank you. She'd already spent two nights with her head buried under the covers. As her tears had dampened the pillow, the truth had sunk in. She had developed feelings for Harris.

  Feelings? Call a spade a spade. Like an idiot, she had fallen in love with him.

  Which meant she would have gotten hurt anyway because Harris didn't go for committed long-term relationships. He only wanted play dates. Getting out now was the best thing for her.

  If one defined best as having a hole blown through one's chest.

  "I've been a little distracted. I'll pull it together," Abby answered her aunt.

  "You've been 'distracted' for a couple of days. Let's talk about it."

  "No, I'm fine."

  "Abby, I'm not asking."

  The wording and tone reminded Abby so much of Harris her control shattered.

  Aunt Quincy dashed around the counter and drew Abby into her arms. She hugged her aunt and wept. Harris had never lied, but a corrosive feeling of betrayal ate at her stomach—and yet she ached for him.

  Her aunt patted her back, but when her sobs tapered, she thrust her at arm's length. "Come now. Dry your eyes, and let's talk." Like a magician pulling out a scarf, Aunt Quincy produced a tissue and pressed it into Abby's hand.

  "Thank you," she said in a stuffy voice. She blew her nose. Swallowed. "Harris plays poker."

  "And?" Her aunt prodded.

  Two things struck Abby: the lack of surprise and the lack of outrage. She stared. "You know?"

  "It's not a secret."

  "But I didn't know!" Anger sparked. "After what happened with Dale, you didn't think to mention it?"

  "I'm sorry, dear. It never occurred to me he hadn't told you. You'd mentioned him going away for a tournament." Her aunt lifted her shoulders.

  "I thought they were tennis tournaments!"

  "A misunderstanding."

  A big whopper of misunderstanding! How could her aunt downplay it? "You know what Dale did to me!"

  Gambling had become the Other Woman in their marriage, but she wasn't content with stolen moments. She had demanded Dale's heart and soul. And he had handed them over to her. Abby promised herself she would never accept second place in a man's affections again. And what had she done? Gotten involved with a professional poker player with commitment issues.

  She'd discovered her submissive, kinky side, but was she an emotional masochist as well?

  "Dale," her aunt said, her mouth drooping at the corners, "and Harris are like night and day. Dale didn't deserve you."

  "But they both gamble!"

  "And you enjoy a glass of wine, but you're not an alcoholic, are you?"

  "That's different." Abby spun away from the counter.

  "I'm more into bridge than poker, but I'm pretty sure for professionals it's more a game of skill and cunning than luck. Harris participates in tournaments. He plays cards, not one-armed bandits at Vegas."

  "Dale played cards."

  "And the horse races, football pools. Dale was addicted to gambling." Her aunt paused. "Abby, honey, I've held my tongue until now, but Dale Delaney isn't half the man Harris Montgomery is."

  That her aunt so heartily approved of Harris made her decision harder because the incompatibility ran deeper than gambling. Even if she could tolerate Harris' profession—or if he gave it up—it still wouldn't alter they aspired to different goals. Harris was content to settle for a series of playmates with whom he could engage in spanky games. She preferred to play within a committed relationship, and Harris had rejected all possibility. Abby had only tabled marriage temporarily while she recovered from her divorce.

  She supposed she should feel grateful she learned of his gambling so she could extract herself from the relationship before she got any more deeply involved.

  But how much deeper could she have gotten than loving him?

  "Harris doesn't want a long-term relationship." He doesn't want me. Abby's shoulders slumped.

  "Pshaw!" Her aunt snorted. "Honey, all men say that until they meet the right girl, and then they fall harder and faster than the woman herself. Then you slip a leash around their necks and walk them home."

  She giggled despite her misery. "I doubt a leash would work with Harris. He'd need an invisible fence," she sputtered, unable to finish without laughing. Her aunt joined in.

  That her aunt, a matchmaker extraordinaire, considered Harris an upstanding choice for her was hard to ignore. But she'd be a fool if she disregarded Harris's own warning. Sure, a chance existed he might change his mind in the future, but she was no gambler. She couldn't risk her happiness on a long shot.

  Abby had already decided she needed to get away for a while, put some dist
ance between herself and Corbin's Bend. "I'm going to Denver this weekend," she told her aunt. "I'll visit some friends, do a little shopping, take in some nightlife."

  "Good idea." Aunt Quincy nodded. "When will you be back?"

  "I'll be home before dark on Sunday."

  "So, Abs," Piper Meade said slyly, glancing at Susanna Witt before zeroing in on Abby. "We've been waiting patiently all weekend. You haven't said a word, and now you're about to leave. Spill it."

  "Spill what?" Abby stirred her iced tea. The waitress had cleared away their dirty dinner dishes, but she and her two friends continued to talk. They had a lot of catching up to do since they hadn't gotten together since before she'd moved.

  "Don't play Ms. Innocent! We want the dirt on Corbin's Bend." Piper leaned over the table, her face earnest. "What's it like living in a community where everybody is into spanking?"

  Abby glanced left and right and hunched over the table. "Well, last week I was shopping in this little corner market," she whispered. "and in the middle of the produce section, a husband bent his wife over the apple counter, yanked down her pants and spanked her bare bottom."

  Piper's eyes rounded. "Oh my God, really? In the grocery store?"

  "Of course not!" Abby scowled at her friend's naïveté, prejudice, whatever it was. Why did vanillas assume "kink" meant "public"? She loved her friends, had appreciated their support through the divorce, but their misconceptions astounded her.

  "Corbin's Bend residents are discreet. People don't walk down the street spanking each other."

  Piper's face fell. "Oh."

  Susanna hooted and nudged their friend. "That's exactly what she did think," she guffawed. "I'm more interested in the men of Corbin's Bend. Are there any eligible bachelors, or are they all couples? Have you met anyone date worthy?"

  Abby had almost mentioned Harris dozens of times, but had pulled back. She'd planned a weekend away to forget.

  "Wouldn't they all be spankers?" Piper was undeterred.

  Would Piper and Susanna connect the dots if she told them she had been dating someone? She eyed her friends, assessing their potential reactions. Piper would tear into the news like a tabloid reporter handed a juicy piece of celebrity gossip. Susanna might be concerned. But both would support her. She had great friends.