Free The Three Rs by Ashe Barker Page A

the sugar bowl, he must have felt the heat between us. My imagination may be over-active—God knows I’ve run this particular fantasy through in my head a time or two, but I’m not dreaming this. Am I?
    In the circumstances I feel justified in studying Cain Parrish carefully. After all, we’re soon to become much more intimately acquainted. His dark blond hair is swept back from his face, and his teeth are white and very straight. His smile is absolutely stunning, and he’s turning the full force of it on me now. His white T-shirt hugs his torso seductively, and his jeans look to me to be bulging ever so slightly behind the zip. Maybe. I hope so.
    I wonder if he’ll take his clothes off when he spanks me. That would be nice—maybe I could ask him to… Surely he’ll be naked for the fuck-fest. Yes, definitely something to look forward to, among all the other somethings.
    As we each cradle our mugs of coffee, his black as usual, mine very sweet and rich from the cream he offered me, he lifts one eyebrow. I’m coming to recognize this as a signal he’s about to speak. I wait, expectantly. There’s only one place this conversation is headed.
    “I promised you my bed, Miss Fischer, but I’m thinking we might start in here. The table would do nicely.”
    I take a deep breath, then reply in the same matter-of-fact manner, “You mean for spanking me? You want me to lean over this table for you?” I somehow don’t think my version is quite so convincing, but I’ll lose no points for effort.
    He nods, his grin gleaming. Wolfish. “If you would be so kind, Miss Fischer. For me, yes, but for you too. You do still want this?”
    I nod, but my fragile nonchalance is wrecked by the deep blush I can feel scorching my cheeks. I know he can see it too, maybe he’s realizing, a little belatedly, what a naïve fool he’s saddled himself with as a house guest-come-fuck-fest partner
    Apparently not, as he leans across the table again, this time to cup my heated cheek in his palm.
    “Feeling a little shy, Miss Fischer? The first time is exciting, but never easy. Let me help you?”
    Help me? I glance up at him, surprised. Under all his brash, tough demeanor, I never expected that. ‘Drop your pants, bend over, let’s get on with this’, now that wouldn’t have surprised me. But the tender, sweet way he’s caressing my cheek, holding my chin up when I would have dropped my eyes? His own expression is more caring than lustful just now, though his eyes have certainly darkened in the last few minutes. I open my mouth, intending to speak, but I have absolutely no idea what I want to say. What I want to ask him to do is to help me.
    He knows though. He releases my face, leans back on his chair. “Come here, Miss Fischer.” He beckons me with the tips of his fingers. I get to my feet immediately and walk around the table to stand beside him. He takes my hand and pulls me forward, turning me to sit in his lap.
    “Kiss me, Miss Fischer.”
    To the best of my recollection, I’ve never initiated a kiss before. And definitely never with such a beautiful man. Are men beautiful? This one certainly is. And enticing. I place my hands on his face, my palms covering his cheeks. The ever-present designer stubble slightly abrades my skin, and it feels sensual, intimate. I flex my fingers, and he smiles at me again, that eyebrow lifting slightly as he waits. I drop my face forward, slowly, and place my mouth ever so carefully across his.
    His hands are at my waist, and he makes no attempt to pull me in or deepen the kiss. For now, this is my show, and he lets me set the pace. I’m grateful, it gives me the space to think, to adjust, to melt into the mood. I open my lips slightly, feathering them across his mouth. He holds still, letting me explore, letting me take my time. I have no idea what constitutes ‘good’ kissing, but instinctively I open my mouth a little wider and use the tip of my tongue to stroke the seam of his lips. He