Page 63 of Dizzy

“Yup. You’re gonna try on every outfit you bought with that nine hundred dollars. We’ll see if you can keep ‘em.”

“What if I say no?”

He chuckles. “I don’t know. Call it a night, I guess. We could watch a movie. Your ass has had enough.”

It has? The pain is a dull throbbing. I can hardly stand the feel of the denim of Dizzy’s pants on my tender skin, but love the feel of his arms around me, so I only squirm, I don’t fight to get up.

I also love the way he holds me as if I’m the most precious thing in the world, and how he’s as infatuated with staring at me now as he was when he had a lot more to see.

“You want to watch a movie, baby?” He rubs his rough hands up and down my arms.

No. I want to see what happens next. I shake my head, brushing his beard back and forth.

“All right, then. Alley-oop.” He rises, lifting me with him, and then he sets me on my feet. “Go model my new clothes for me.”

He jerks his chin toward the bags and settles himself against the headboard, legs spread, a wild-haired outlaw well-pleased with himself. I can see the bottoms of his huge bare feet.

He’s a picture. Torn, faded jeans. Thighs like tree trunks. Broad shoulders, massive biceps. Green plaid flannel that’s been washed a thousand times. Thick, wavy black hair and beard. Dancing brown eyes. I bet some women look at him and want to clean him up. Comb and cut his hair. Buy him a crisp new shirt.

I love the way he looks. Like a mountain man or a lumberjack. He looks like he works hard, and he knows what he’s doing.

He winks at me. I roll my eyes.

I rummage in the bag, pulling out a bulky burnt orange sweater with leaves around the hem. I thought it was festive, considering the season. My third-grade teacher wore sweaters like this all the time. I tug my T-shirt over my head, and slip the sweater on, checking Dizzy from the corner of my eye. He’s watching.

The TV is on behind me, but his gaze tracks my every move.

I consider bottoms. Jeans are out. I don’t want anything to touch my sore ass. I slip on a cute pleated skirt I bought in dark brown.

“Okay. Show me.”

Dizzy cracks open a beer he must have brought with him and takes a sip.

I feel silly. “You can see it.”

“Twirl.” He gestures with his bottle. “Do like those models do.”

“I feel stupid.”

“You look pretty as hell. Show me. If I like it, you can keep it.”

I think he’ll let me keep all this anyway. He’s teasing. His lips are curved up. He’s enjoying himself.

He’s so much more at ease. Way more relaxed than I’ve ever seen him. Me, too. Did the spanking do that for him? Like it did for me?

I don’t know anything about this. I saw that movie with Dee. The one with the red room and the whips. That girl didn’t look like she was having much fun. Except for the helicopter ride. She seemed to dig that.

I cock a hip, rest my hands on my waist, and sashay in a circle. The skin on my ass feels tight, twinging each time I take a step. I bet it’s red.

“Do you like it?” I ask. My face heats. I glance at him from under my eyelashes. I’m not used to being the center of attention. Not at all.

“Do you?”

“Yeah.” It’s cozy. It reminds me of back to school time. I always loved the day after Labor Day. Breakfast and lunch five days a week. Air conditioning. And my teachers always liked me. I think it was my lop-sided smile. People often take a shine to me because of it. I think that’s why Chaos agreed to give me a ride.

“Put it in the keep pile, then. Next.”

I’m warming to this game.

---