Honor Bound Joey Hill (best new books to read txt) 📖

It was hard to admit, even without seeing his face. The words nearly strangled her. But then his arms were around her, sliding her onto his lap so he could rock her.

“I know, sweetheart. I wish I could take away your fear, but the only way I know to do it is to help you face it. I’d face it for you if I could.”

The truth of it was in the fierceness in his voice, a depth of feeling she wasn’t sure she could handle, let alone believe. He tightened his grip on her. “It takes years for a Master to earn the trust I’m asking for from you. But I know how tough you are, deep inside. I know you want to trust me. I’m not going to do anything to let you down, all right?” He pressed a kiss to her temple; then she felt his lips curve. “What if I promise to keep your mind and luscious body so occupied with terribly sinful thoughts, fear won’t have a chance of sliding into your mind?”

She wasn’t sure anything could eliminate all worry from her mind, but she was more than willing for him to try. When she managed another nod, he slid his hands down her back, squeezed a buttock. “Finish your breakfast. Time to take you on a boat ride.”

Peter knew she was afraid. He ached to tell her that she didn’t have to do anything, that he’d protect her from everything. Every instance of pain or fear she had tore him apart inside. She’d had months, but it was still new to him. He wanted to grieve with her for what she’d lost, let her know the utter terror he’d felt at the idea of her being gone from his life before she’d really fully entered it.

Instead, he went back into the bedroom, took a few steadying breaths, and then brought her jeans to her, along with a long-sleeved knit cotton top borrowed from Cass’s younger sister, who was a similar size to Dana. Next he applied bug spray, a necessary preparation for poling through the bayou abutting his property. The lemon insecticide had a smell strong enough to make her nose wrinkle, but helping her smooth it into her forearms, the slim neck and her ankles above the socks of her small sneakers, made him want to touch her more. Though he’d found an avenue through her wary shields through Dominance and submission, he wasn’t playing kung fu Master to her Grasshopper. He wanted to fuck her senseless, detonate an emotional and physical explosion that would deplete both of them. He wasn’t a saint, for Christ’s sake.

Getting outside on the boat dock and into the boat helped settle him, though things far deeper than his cock were stirred by their drifting progress as they poled away from the pilings. She hadn’t felt comfortable sitting on the opposite bench, so he eased her to her knees in the bottom of the wooden craft, between his feet. As he moved through the marshland he loved, she pillowed her head on his knee, her hands loosely wrapped around his calf. Dana noted the myriad bird and insect life, asked him to identify the calls and warbles that were loud enough for her to hear. He told her about the others, tried to imitate them and almost coaxed a laugh out of her. She registered humidity and

temperature, depending on whether they were poling through quiet shadows or bright, lazy sun patches.

Though she’d sneered at the compensatory benefit of her heightened senses, she

unconsciously reached for those abilities. As they passed under the branches hanging over the water, she felt the lace of Spanish moss teasing their shoulders. When she trailed her fingers in the water, he watched the flow through the slim digits, the pull of cotton across her breasts as she twisted. He’d refused to let her wear a bra, wanting the pleasure of her nipples. The temptation of those peaks made him want to press her back on the bench, lift the shirt and suckle her, let her sigh and squirm as the boat drifted.

But her head was back on his knee, her fingers idly playing with the seam of his jeans’

leg. She was getting sleepy, and that was okay. He wanted every day to be like this. He wanted to go to work, knowing she was going to be part of his life at the end of the day, on the weekends. Maybe she’d call him at lunch, from whatever job she’d be doing. He knew she was too damn smart to settle for sitting in a chair listening to the piercing shrieks of swamp birds, though there were few things more pleasurable to do on a lazy afternoon than that.

He wanted her to have her own life. Even so, a part of him liked the image he’d painted earlier, a 24/7 sex slave. It appealed to his protective side. Of course, a smart Master knew that a fully Dominant nature had to be reined in, the same way a submissive couldn’t allow her own cravings to overwhelm her self-determination. Right now, he had to hold on to that balance for both of them. When she got her feet back under her, she could help him keep his urges in check, with that smart mouth he knew she had.

The thought warmed him, made him smile. Tenderness swamped him as he saw she’d

fallen asleep. He held her cradled between his knees, moving slow and steady through the waters she’d feared earlier. One step at a time, one fear at a time.

Despite her murmured protest that she could walk, when he tied them off at the dock, he carried her up the boardwalk, into the house and to their bedroom, laying her on the covers. “I’ll go run you a bath while you wake up a bit, sweetheart.”

“My own personal servant,” she said groggily, but there was an impudent quirk to her lips. “Isn’t