Break Me Down by Roni Loren Page B

Sam hadn’t demanded too much of him. She’d been playful, feisty. He’d never felt out of control. If this was the kind of play she wanted, he could handle it. He had no problem taking some pain and then giving her pleasure. Hell, he’d happily do that as often as she wanted.
    And he loved how, when in domme mode, she objectified him. That feeling of being there as a tool for her enjoyment and entertainment pushed his dirty buttons. Beyond the sexual things they’d done, there was something ridiculously hot about the way she’d made him serve her lunch and then watched him for the first hour of doing the floors. She’d been refinishing an old chair in the adjoining room, but her eyes had stayed on him, and she’d given him direction every few minutes.
You’re leaving too much stain on the wood. You’re going too slow. You’re not giving me the best view of that body of yours.
    At one point, she’d tiptoed around the half-done floors and hijacked his belt again, which had made his jeans sag lowon his hips. With no underwear beneath, he’d given her an unencumbered view of the top of his ass. Maybe it should’ve felt silly, her ogling him. But it’d made him hard. And when she’d noticed, she strolled over, slid her hand into the back of his jeans, made him spread his legs, and fondled him while he continued to work. It’d taken everything he had not to grab her, roll her onto her back, and fuck her on the freshly stained floors.
    But he’d let himself ride that edge instead, embracing that ache he knew wouldn’t be satisfied for a while. It was its own kind of sweet pain, especially knowing Sam was the one administering it. Then, when he thought he’d go mad with the need for release, she’d stood, given his ass a pat, and announced she was driving into town for some supplies and to run some errands.
    He’d offered to go with her, but she’d ordered him to finish up the floors and warned him that if he touched himself at all, she’d know and there’d be a consequence. He almost wanted the consequence, but he’d followed the rules and gotten the job done. Now he needed to hop in the shower and get cleaned up before she got back.
    But just as he was heading upstairs, the familiar ringtone of his phone sounded from the living room. He frowned and jogged back downstairs. Since he’d been here, his cell signal had been almost nonexistent. He’d only been able to grab one bar on extended service when he’d stepped out back and texted Tessa. Maybe she’d managed to get through to check in.
    But when he grabbed the phone from the coffee table, Sam’s name appeared. He put the phone to his ear. “Sam?”
    The signal was choppy, and he heard only a snippet of her voice. “Gib. Car . . . way.”
    “What? Baby, I’m having trouble hearing you. Hold on. Let me go outside.” He hurried out the back door, the dogs charging him when they saw they had company. He put his hand out, trying to quiet them. “Sam, try again.”
    “Blown . . . ire . . . ex stop . . . highway.”
    He groaned and resisted the urge to bang his phone against the wooden railing. He paced to the edge of the porch where he’d gotten a signal earlier in the day and leaned over it. “Try again. Did you say ‘blown tire’?”
    “Yes,” she said, exasperation in her voice.
    “Where?” His heart picked up speed. Was she on the side of the road somewhere?
    The words came out garbled again, then he heard: “Will try . . . text.”
    The phone call cut off and he cursed. Goddammit. The text seemed to take forever to come in. He could see the little dots saying Sam was typing, but it felt interminable.
    When the phone finally buzzed with the message, his stomach dropped.
    Sam: Blown tire. No spare. Am OK but in parking lot of Viv’s Adult Video & Megastore off the main highway. Called a service but gonna take a while. Don’t want to ask for help b/c . . . yeah. Only chick here.
    “Fuck.” Gibson hurried back inside