Page 32 of Beacon

“Do you think he knows I just had my way with you?” I ask, mostly kidding.

“I have no idea, but he loves everyone, generally.” She picks him up and turns him around to her face. “Come on, boy, be nice. If you’re nice I’ll take you for a walk.” He jumps out of her arms and runs over to the leash hanging on a hook, dancing around and whining. “He’ll warm up to you, I swear. You’ll fall in love with him. Pugs are the most amazing animals.”

I have yet to see the appeal, but I’m here for Sandra, not her spoiled dog. As I stand and he waits for her to put his harness and leash on, all he does is stare me down. He doesn’t like me, and at this point, I’m not too fond of him, either.

We aimlessly wanderthe streets of Chicago as Otis leads the way, happy to be out in the fresh air. Every time that damn dog looks back at me, I swear he scowls and then huffs again.

“Is he like this with all men? Dane? Miles?” I ask.

“No, not at all. He loves them. I swear, all you have to do is rub his belly and you’ll be his next best friend.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” I drawl and wonder how this day will end. I don’t want it to. “How about dinner?”

She stops, tugging us out of the way of the Saturday crowd, dragging an angry Otis with her. She stands in front of me and pulls my coat toward her, and thus my body.

“I was afraid to ask you, thinking I’d sound too clingy, but…”

“You let me sound like the clingy one, then?”

“Yeah, sort of, but it’s not clingy if we both want it,” she replies with a grin. “And maybe you can stay the night?” When she says these words, Otis lets out another grumble.

I look down at the damn dog. “I’m a little afraid he’ll kill me in my sleep.” She lets out a cackle, not confirming or denying this, and maneuvers us back on the sidewalk. My hand stays laced with hers, and it makes me wonder why I fought this attraction as long as I did.

“I havean extra toothbrush under the sink if you’d like to use it,” she calls from her bedroom to the bathroom. I find it easily and begin to brush my teeth. Otis stands in the doorway, as though he’s going to stop me from staying the night.

“You and I will come to an understanding, dog. And believe me, I’ll win.” Needless to say, Otis and I haven’t gotten off on the best foot. Or paw. Whatever.

“Did I just hear you threaten my dog?” she asks as she walks toward us.

“No, not at all. Just telling him how things are going to be.”

She shakes her head, leaning down and picking up Otis. “Be nice, I sort of want to keep him.”

She snuggles into the crook of my neck with the dog in her hands, and the two of us both stare at our reflection. Her ivoryskin is a deep contrast to my olive complexion, thanks to my Italian lineage.

“I think we look good together,” I announce, “even with the spawn of Satan in your arms.”

Otis lets out a long, drawn-out moan again, and I give him the stink eye.

“What am I going to do with you two?”

I have an answer, and I tip her chin as I look down her profile and at her luscious tits filling out her thin tank top.

“I say we let Otis sulk for a little bit while I take care of you.” She lets him go, and I fold my arms around her slim body. “I want to fuck you. And I want to fuck you good and hard, and when we’re done, I’ll treasure your body like it deserves.”

She tugs me across the living room and into her room, shutting the door behind her. The little whimpers of the dog can be heard through the plank of wood separating us. “Otis, doggie bed,” she orders, and there’s silence. “I like your plan, Dom. I like it a lot.”

I push her down on the bed and crawl over her body. “Can I handcuff you to the bed?” She’s beginning to understand the kinky side of me.

Her eyes widen but not because of fear. “I think I’d like that,” she answers.

I’d packed a small bag of toys, just in case, and dig for my handcuffs. With her metal-framed bed, it’s easy. Her arms are outstretched, and she’s fucking sexy.

“Except with me, have you ever given up control during sex, to let your partner take care of you?”

I hate the question I’ve asked, because thinking of Sandra with other people is difficult. No, it’s downright impossible.

“Never.”

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