“Will there be exceptions to this rule?” I prodded.  “Or is this an every time deal for you?”

He ran a hand over his face, looking tired.  “I’ll work on it, okay?  I’ll try my best to be accommodating, but it might take some time.  My wiring is off.  Has been for a long time.”

“I understand,” I said.  I didn’t, not really, but we both knew what I really meant, which was, I’m trying to understand.

We were sitting a few feet apart, our chairs aimed at each other.  I moved mine, scooting in closer to him, until I was in easy arm’s reach.

He sat stiffly, posture rigid, arms folded across his chest.  He looked uncomfortable and mean, not the most inviting combination, but I pressed on.

I placed my hands on him for the first time, one on his pectoral, the other on his neck.

He twitched once, like a nervous animal, but let me do it.

Progress.

He was trying, undergoing something that clearly went against his nature, and he was doing it for me.

My heart softened for him all the more.

I’d always had a tender spot in my heart for wild things.

When I was young, I couldn’t count the times I’d taken in stray dogs and cats that weren’t close to being tame.

I had a patient nature, even as a child.  I recalled how I’d handle those feral creatures, caring for them, feeding them, waiting endlessly until they came to crave the touch of my hand.

My lover was not so very different.  An untamed challenge, to say the least.

But I could be very tenacious.  If anyone was up to the task of housebreaking a man like Heath, I figured it was me.

His flesh felt amazing under my hands, his neck corded and strong, his chest hard and soft in all the right ways.

I rubbed my hands over him in small circles, staying focused on his chest and neck, massaging, soothing.  I knew to take it slow.

“Is this okay?” I asked, tone soothing, almost a croon.

He let out the breath he’d been holding, then sucked it in, out, in, out, finally saying, “It’s okay.”

I kept going, stroking his body with a light touch.  I tried to chat him up while I did it, but as usual, he was not too chatty.

“It was nice waking up with you still here, for once,” I said.

His only response was a less than encouraging grunt.

“Do you have to leave soon?  Or can you stay for a bit?”

“I need to make a few phone calls tonight, but aside from that, I should have some time.”

I leaned into him, hanging my arm over his nape so I could put my cheek to his chest.  My free hand slipped down to his stomach, rubbing.

“So we have the day together?”

“If you’re free, yes.”

“I can take the day off.  I’ll need to make a few phone calls this morning, but nothing important.”

“Perfect,” he said succinctly.

We stayed like that for a long time, with me straddling his lap while I ran my hands over him tenderly, getting him used to my touch.

At some point (something sneaky on Heath’s part) my top and bra disappeared.

He was still fully dressed, and I was decent from the waist down, but it was one of the most erotic experiences of my life.

I stroked his hair as he fondled me with both hands, his face buried between my soft, sensitive breasts, nuzzling endlessly.

I cupped his head to my bosom.  I was rubbing my sensitized nipple back and forth, back and forth, dragging it along his rough cheek until he moaned, snapped his head to the side, and took it in his mouth.

I’d tried to prolong for as long as I could before it turned purely sexual, but our chemistry was an explosive with a very short fuse.

I was kind of impressed we’d lasted as long as we had.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

It was a strange day, but not strange in a bad way.  For the most part, it was just the opposite.

And surprisingly, we didn’t spend it all in bed.

I worked a bit, and then we went for a long walk.

Heath held ’Tato’s leash, and my dog walked just behind him, clearly showing deference to Heath’s dominant personality.  I swear all Heath had to do was look at him and he dropped to his back in submission.

In his other hand he held one of mine.

Unfortunately, before we’d gone far, we happened to pass by one of my neighbors, Deborah Dillon, and I could tell by the way her squinting eyes latched onto our clasped hands that we’d just made ourselves the hot topic of the day.

Dammit.  I knew it was too much to hope that she wouldn’t notice how young he was.

It was bound to happen with us walking around my neighborhood like this.  I just hadn’t given it a thought until I saw my least favorite neighbor hanging out in her front yard, which was surely an odd thing for her to be doing, since most days her kids were outside, roaming the neighborhood.  I couldn’t remember the last time she’d actually been caught out with them.

Here’s why I (and the entire neighborhood) didn’t have much tolerance left for the Dillon family, otherwise known as The Dickhead Dillons. (I swear I wasn’t the one that came up with that.)

No one blamed their children, who were nine, seven, and five, and boys, but that didn’t mean we had any patience left for them, either.

The nine year old had recently slapped the neighborhood sweetheart, a precocious little eight-year-girl named, Gilley, who wouldn’t hurt a flea.  I’d actually been witness to this (it was a hard slap and shocking to see), as I was walking ’Tato when it happened.  His parents hadn’t reprimanded him.  They’d blown the whole thing off with the disclaimer: ‘That’s a nine-year-old boy for you.’