Page 111 of Renard's Deliverance

A woman in front of them turned to give her an affronted look. Opal just grinned at her. “Well? It’s a legit question, right?”

He sighed as the woman walked off. “I’m a man, I buy tools. I don’t rent them.”

“Wow. I didn’t realize that was written down in the man handbook or is it the caveman handbook?”

“Keep pushing, Gem. You’ll find out which handbook it is.”

That sounded like it was supposed to be a threat . . . but she wouldn’t mind a bit of caveman right now.

“We’re buying the sanders,” he stated as he picked up the pail of stain she’d chosen earlier.

Her floors were going to look so good.

Opal frowned. She was feeling antsy.

And she figured she knew why.

It had been five days since he’d eaten her out in the storage closet, and since then . . . crickets.

She hadn’t gotten to come again.

She also hadn’t received those spankings he’d threatened her with.

There was a dumb, insecure part of her that told her it was because he’d changed his mind. Because he’d discovered that she wasn’t for him.

But she shut that bitch down quick. Because he hadn’t shown any lack of interest. He was always kissing and touching her. If they were out and about, then she wasn’t allowed to be more than an arm’s length away from him.

It was both annoying and amazing.

The man had turned every preconception she had about being in a relationship on its head.

But he still wasn’t touching her the way she wanted him to.

She wanted Daddy to take her over his knee and spank her ass.

Then she wanted Renard to kiss it all better.

Maybe this was his idea of torture. Was he getting off on not getting her off?

Huh.

That was a thought.

“Anything else, sir?”

Wait. Shit. How had they reached the counter already? She was really zoning out.

“Nope,” Renard told Trey. She smiled at the poor guy, who was giving Renard nervous glances.

He seemed to inspire that reaction a lot.

She dug around in her handbag for her wallet. She hated to think about the hit her bank account was going to take. However, before she could get her wallet out, Renard was flipping his card out to pay.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“Paying.” He shot her a look. “And you might want to put your purse away before I get mad.”

“Before you get . . . why would you get mad?”

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