Page 19 of Reining Her In

C H A P T E R E I G H T

Reed

Every move I make matters. My brain spins trying to keep up.

I’m calculating every shift of my weight, every brush my fingertips make against her clothing. Panic spikes inside me as I draw a breath full of her. Leaning down just an inch from her hair, pulling her scent inside of me, my body ripples with need. Not want. Not desire.

Need. The clenching, painful kind.

The best kind.

As we step into the dining room of my house, the candlelight covers her cheeks, and I love the quick smile she fights to hide.

“Wow. This is so beautiful. And you weren’t kidding when you said a buffet.” The smiles breaks over her lips, then takes her face and her eyes like a wave meeting the shore.

The catering kitchen at the club house followed my exact orders. The smells of warm food, vanilla candles, and the white roses that fill two giant vases at each end of the serving table circle and drift around the room.

I didn’t know what she likes to eat, so I made sure there was a selection of vegetables, salads, fingerling potatoes, filet, and I also threw in some chicken strips and hand-cut French fries.

“Let’s eat. You must be starving.” It’s nearly 7:00 p.m. and she mentioned she hadn’t eaten anything but hospital food in the last twenty-four hours. That thought makes me unsettled, her being left wanting isn’t right.

My hand falls to the small of her back, barely touching the cream colored fabric of her sweater steering her toward the food. The soft connection rockets through me like an electric jolt.

The dining room is set for two. I instructed the staff to remove the usual long table that seats twenty and replace it with a round mahogany pedestal table that has been here with the house since it was built in 1912.

There are at least eighty-four candles lit, because that was all I could find, but I told the staff if they could find more to bring them and light them when they set up the food, and from the glow around the room, they had done just that.

The display of food is lined up in an elegant display, high and low bowls and platters neatly placed. The picture would rival any Martha Stewart dinner party.

I watch as Constance tentatively takes a plate from the beginning of the buffet, licking her lips, and I think of how she tasted when I’d kissed her earlier.

I showered quickly after I’d settled her in the guesthouse. Ice cold. Still, my cock would not retreat. I considered stroking off just to get some relief, but something inside me has changed. When I cum next, I want it to be inside her. I need it to be inside her. So as long as it takes for that to happen, I’ll and suffer blue balls until she’s ready.

When she is ready, she’d better be ready though. I may blow her right off my dick when it happens. The pressure I’m feeling from below is nearing a dangerous level.

She considers the steaming food and reaches for the platter of fried chicken strips first, then her hand freezes in mid-air and instead she side-steps toward the steamed broccoli, heaping two spoonfuls onto her plate.

I narrow my eyes when she bypasses the homemade mac and cheese and the garlic, red-skin mashed potatoes to pinch a tong full of spinach salad and drop it next to the other green mound on her plate.

“You know what?” I lick my lips and tighten them against my teeth. I’m pissed but not at her. “I’m not being a gentleman. I’m sorry. You should sit, and let me make your plate. You’re my guest and I should serve you.”

I pinch her plate in my fingers, taking it from her, gentle but insistent. Her eyes go wide, one eyebrow arches and the crinkle of her nose makes me want to kiss her freckles.

“But, I had it all ready. Besides, I could stand to lose a few pounds.”

“Uh huh. What you have on that plate is ready for the rabbits. Come here, sit.”

I guide her to the table with my hand gently in that perfect curve of her back, pull out her chair until she tentatively lowers herself to sit her hands gliding under her legs, smoothing her skirt in place.

Once she’s seated, she folds her hands in her lap, I move back to the buffet, settle my cane against the table and use both hands to work two plates down the line of home-cooked decadence.

I am able to walk without my cane, it just takes more concentration So making my way back over to the table where she is sitting, cautiously eyeing me, I’m intent on every step lest my knee give out and she’ll be wearing the food instead of eating it.

“There. Now, you can eat what you want, but you’re not going to sit here and eat the two green things when there is all this other heavenly comfort food I had prepared for you.”

“No way can I eat all that.” She smiles but I see the relief in her eyes.

“We will see.”

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