Page 46 of Dolly

“You’re not a khaki kind of guy.” Dolly scrunches her nose at the pair of pants I pulled from the rack. While she had found plenty of clothes for herself, plus what she grabbed from her bedroom, I was still sporting the same jeans I had on the day we escaped and managed to spill enough popcorn onto my lap at the movies to stain them. Not a high priority considering what we learned at breakfast, but it’s helping to keep Dolly’s mind off everything.

“No?” I look back at the straight-legged corporate attire. “You’re right.” I shove the hanger between two others on the overcrowded rack.

Dolly flips through the items and pulls out a pair of jeans with rips on the thighs and the knee cut out of one leg.

I laugh. “Can we find a pair that’s not missing any pieces?” I pick up the leg with the hole.

She raises her eyebrows. “It’s in fashion. I’ve seen lots of boys wearing stuff like this on campus.”

I frown. How much of her college career was spent locked away at home or in a library?

“I’m no college boy,” I remark.

She searches me for a long moment, her gaze wandering up and down my body. “I guess not.”

“What’s that mean?” The lighthearted jab lifts the worry from inside me. She’d been wound tight after the news article in the paper showed the playhouse about to be demolished. With her fingers tapping on the tabletop at the diner, I sped through the words until I was able to assure her there was nothing to worry about.

The demolition was underway, but in wrecking the house, they would most likely destroy any evidence of our involvement. It was the only lie I told her, but until I knew more about what was happening over there, it made no sense to keep her wound up in panic.

She lifts her shoulder in a dramatic shrug. “Only that you’re old.”

I lunge for her, grabbing her waist and pulling her to me, pinching her belly until she squeals.

“How old do you think I am?” I ask, releasing her. The salesclerk has made an appearance, and I don’t like audiences.

She wipes the hair from her face, her smile lighting up my soul. Even with the fluorescent lighting trying to drown her in harsh rays, she outshines everything in the room.

“Fifty?” she teases, ducking behind the rack, out of reach, but not too far away.

“Oh, I think you’ll have to pay for that,” I warn with a smirk.

“Okay, forty-nine?”

My stomach rumbles with laughter. “Not a day over thirty-two.” I dip my chin and look at her with a mock sternness.

She laughs, a full body trembling laugh, and the sound could not be more like heaven.

I grab a few pairs of jeans—with no holes or tears—and motion her to the register. “Let’s get out of here.”

Her bottom lip tucks between her teeth, still grinning at me.

I shake my head at her. “No more trouble.” I point a finger in her direction. “You still need to pay for your little joke about my age. Don’t make it worse.”

Her cheeks redden. “How much worse?” she whispers as we wind our way around the clothing racks.

I reach down and grasp her hand, squeezing tight. “Well, naughty girls typically get spankings where I come from.” I haven’t spanked a woman in years. Hell, I haven’t been serious with one in even longer. But Dolly isn’t any woman, and my suggestion may have made my cock hard, but I could scare her.

“Well, I suppose I was a little naughty.” She tightens her fingers around my hand. I pull us to a stop when we get to the register, before the cashier is in ear shot.

“Dolly, I didn’t mean it for real. I would never hurt you.”

Her smile fades. “You…you don’t want to spank me?” Her dilated pupils give me an inside look into her mind.

“Oh, I do, but I don’t want to hurt you.”

She sighs and tugs my arm hard. “You won’t.” She’s determined. “No one’s ever done that with me, Ken. It’s always been against my will and for bad reasons.”

Her point resonates.

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