Page 90 of Peaches & Pistols

I’ll be a little late for lunch.

Trying a yoga class at the rec center.

I need to get more flexible if you plan on

folding me up like you did this weekend.

xo

This woman’s going to be the death of me. She’s lucky as hell I’ve got out-of-town business this afternoon and don’t have time to stick around and redden her ass for this.

Call me a possessive caveman, I don’t give a fuck, but so help me—if there are any men in that yoga class…

Just the thought of her lithe body contorted into those positions sends blood rushing to my cock. Now isn’t the time to get hard. I have no intention of edging myself for the next several hours. To gather myself, I put lunch together so Mia can eat as soon as she gets home.

I quickly assemble the egg salad sandwiches. They’re not nearly as presentable as when she makes them, but they’ll taste the same. Mia’s secret to perfect egg salad is to devil half of them. Deviled eggs are irresistible on their own, so putting them in a sandwich is diabolical.

Swift Property Management’s vendor for their properties sends samples home with the Andersens to taste-test and they had a new peach iced tea Mia’s obsessed with. I paid the Andersens directly to order me a few cases, by the gallon to keep down in the store’s cellar.

I’m pouring it over ice when Mia comes home.

“Hey, babe.” She gives me a soft smile that shows me how comfortable she is here.

It’s as if I’m living out the ultimate fantasy as she doesn’t bother putting anything down but walks straight to me and sinks into my arms.

“Missed you,” she mumbles against my chest.

Such a simple action shouldn’t have me choking up, but it’s new territory for me to feel loved and cherished.

I kiss the top of her head and squeeze her tightly. “Missed you too, honey.”

She squeezes back and then lets me go so she can put her things down.

The dining table chair legs creak as I pull it out for her and wait for her to sit down before pushing her in.

“You didn’t have to put lunch out, I was going to do it when I got home. I’m sorry I was late. Next time I’ll take a yoga class that doesn’t interfere with lunch. You’ve got to be so hungry. I’m so sorr—” I stop her unnecessary apologies by sealing a kiss over her mouth.

My temper sizzles close to the surface. Not at her. Never at her.

At the shitstain who made her feel so small that she still has anxiety over serving a meal. I don’t know the gruesome details about what the “consequences” were, but I can make some educated guesses.

“Mia, love. I should be serving you lunch. You aren’t the nanny anymore. You’re my woman and I want to take care of you.” Her doe eyes flit back and forth nervously.

“Let me do this for you. Go to all the classes you want. Spend time at the ranch with Del, whatever your heart desires. I’ll be here when you come home, and I guarantee I’ll be happy to see you every single time.” Her chin dips in agreement, and I finish building our plates.

“Thank you,” she says, still visibly uncomfortable.

Sitting down next to her in my new spot at the table—now that the girls have melded into one child—I grab her chair between her legs and pull her towards me.

Her eyes widen in fear, and I want to rage, or vomit, but instead, I gently tip her chin up with my finger, so she’ll look at me.

“It’s gonna take time to heal from everything you went through, and I’ll prove to you over and over again that I’m not him.” She gulps.

“Now, I can do that through conversations like this, or I can do it by bending you over this table and ripping down those skin-tight yoga pants and reddening your ass.”

A sharp gasp is all the answer I need.

“Is that what you want? To be reminded you’re my good girl? That I’ll never hurt you unless it’s to heighten your pleasure? That I’ll only ever make you feel safe, cherished, and respected?”