“Yes. I want to protect people. Especially, honestly, women.”
“I love that. I get it. And you do a great job.” She rubs my arm. “It’s also why you want control. Because once upon a time, your world spun out of control.”
Way to see inside my soul. “Yes. Yes, it did.”
She presses her forehead gently to mine, staying like that for several necessary seconds. Like that, with her touch, something tight inside me starts to unknot. “You can’t stop a fan from taking a picture of me,” she says. “You couldn’t stop your dad. I couldn’t stop a truck from crashing into my parents. All we can do is move forward.” She lets go, looks me square in the eyes, then says, “You have to know that.”
I draw a deep breath.
I didn’t come to this town, this farm, or this job for exoneration from the last kernels of guilt that had dug roots inside me. But maybe I found it anyway. “You’re probably right,” I admit quietly.
She flutters her lashes. “Say it again.”
I roll my eyes. “You’re right.”
“Louder for those in the back,” she says.
I laugh. “You’re definitely right.”
She smiles, then cups my cheeks and brings me close. “But thank you for telling me. I know that wasn’t easy.”
“It wasn’t.”
She drops a kiss to my lips, then backs up. “I feel like I understand you better. Why you like rules. Why you try to be a gentleman. Why you care so much about doing the right thing.”
“I do. A lot.”
“Why you like it when I follow rules,” she adds, her tone flirty.
Lust stirs inside me. “I fucking love rules,” I say.
She nibbles on the corner of her lips. “Remember when you gave me three rules?”
I flash back to my first night here last week. “I do.”
She tilts her head, takes her time. “Maybe rule number four should involve putting me on my knees.”
My gaze drifts to her thick blond hair, held back in that stretchy headband, which looks perfect for us. “And maybe five should involve other uses for headbands.”
32
ALL KINDS OF TOYS
BANKS
“You’re so DIY,” she says.
“From flowers to headbands, sweetheart,” I tell her as I twist the stretchy fabric around her wrists.
“Everything’s a sex toy with you,” she says, glancing back at me since I’m behind her, adjusting the soft material around her hands, clasped behind her back.
“And everything should be,” I murmur as I tug on the material to make sure the hold is firm enough but not too tight. “How does that feel?”
“It’d be better with your dick in my mouth. Can I havethatsex toy, please?”
“It better be your favorite toy,” I say.
“Guess we’ll find out.”
