Desperate to save her grandmother from an unscrupulous loan shark,
Cynda Avery agrees to Daniel De Marco's wildly inappropriate offer--
control of her body for two weeks in exchange for time to talk him into
elling his untended peach orchards.
Handsome Daniel isn't the redneck farmer Cynda expected.
From the feminine clothes he wants her to wear to the confident
way he handles every problem to the kinky way he likes to tie her up
to have sex, he makes her want to please him.
When she finds the key to his mother's disappearance and
spends a weekend in jail, will Daniel decide Cynda's an itch
he's already scratched or could he cling to her?
Content warning: Contains multiple scenes of bondage,
ight bdsm play, anal penetration, and spanking, both as
foreplay and as discipline. Forks and fruit are used in sexual stimulation,
and the story presents a relationship dynamic of domestic discipline.
No fictional character was harmed in the making of this story.
Please protect your copy of this file from minors.
Story word count: 84,500
The dusky color of her skin accented the chrome chain stretching from her slender neck to the hitch on the bumper of his Chevy truck. The combination hit Daniel De Marco like a punch to the gut. His truck was black, the factory paint a color he'd been told was the absence of all light. The woman could be described as black too, but showcased against his tailgate, her skin defied the label. She was a rich brown, with depths of shade that varied from her shoulders to her tummy, from her elbows to her knees—a kaleidoscope of darkness that seemed to him more like the presence of all color.
She was also half-naked. Early morning sun caressed her curves and her costume, both delighting and annoying him. She wore a lime-colored tube top with black stripes that, frankly, hurt his eyes. The standard tires on a small import car were wider than her skirt was long, but the ripe curves of her ass peeking from beneath it were entrancing. Her shoes were the final insult, clunky monstrosities with thick platform bottoms in an eye-assaulting shade that made him grateful there were no lime trees in his yard to take offense at the way the color of their fruit was being mocked.
Not the final insult, he noted as she bent to scratch her calf. Her nails were painted a hideous shade of purple. Her toenails matched. It might've been self-defense that made him focus on her ass as she lingered in her position. Although, it was most likely the fact that while some men were into breasts, and some were into legs, Dan was an ass man.
God help him, it was so easy to imagine ordering her to hold her ankles while he wrapped her chain around his fist. He saw himself pouring his favored peach oil over her skin, rubbing it into those rounded cheeks until they gleamed, coating his cock with it to ease the slide of his shaft into the small puckered hole he preferred to fuck. Dan almost felt his cock slipping between those voluptuous curves and pressing into the tiny opening so forcefully she'd cry out.
He wasn't dressed, having just rolled out of bed and headed to the kitchen to get the coffee pot started before showering, and the fading erection he'd woken with came rushing back while he stared.
He had to get her off his property. Damn Brian Case. After six years of trying, either Brian had talked to someone who really knew what made Dan tick, or the real estate developer had gotten lucky.
He'd never seen the woman before, he was sure. She straightened, giving her microscopic skirt a yank, and resumed stalking back and forth. He noted her circuit took the chain to its limits, the way he imagined a wild animal would. Her hair was straight, with a few half hearted waves. He pictured the heavy length if allowed to reassume its natural kink and volume. He'd prefer it that way, he decided. No, he'd prefer neat braids, finished off with beads. As long as he was standing in the shadows of his own kitchen, making over a strange woman to suit him, he'd strip off her garish makeup too, and mentally remove her nail polish along with her clothes.
But because his father's blood ran in his veins, he'd leave the chain around her neck. No, he'd replace the chain with his belt.
He exhaled in frustration, using one hand to rake his hair from his eyes and curling the other around his aching shaft. This was a helluva start to the long Labor Day weekend. Now, rather than enjoying a few days without the concerns of his business or his brothers, Dan knew he'd end up roaming the ruins of his personal Eden, longing for something no decent man could have.
He'd come so close a couple of times, with women he thought understood what life as his woman entailed, only to end up being told he was a bastard and a caveman on their way out the door. While his parentage wasn't in question, his father's influence was surely what kept Dan a single man.
Why then, did he long to be just like his father, Rafe, ruling his woman and his offspring with unquestioned authority? Because all that had gotten either of them was alone. He wasn't like his baby brother Colton, who'd found love with a woman so stubborn she made Dan's teeth ache, or like Eric, whose relationships with women were so superficial it was a wonder to Dan his middle brother remembered the names of the women he dated.
He snorted softly. No, all he wanted was to pour his soul and his seed into one woman who'd want nothing more than to make him her world. Dan yanked his hand off his dick in disgust. He hadn't sunk low enough to jack off while peeping out his own kitchen window at a strange woman, even if she was trespassing.
He was a dinosaur and he knew it. The concept hadn't worked for Rafe and it'd worked out just as badly for Dan. Women were no longer content to stay home and raise a family. They wanted jobs and felt their equal paychecks gave them an equal say in family decisions.
Why was it was so barbaric to want to spoil and coddle one woman, and in return, expect her to honor his decisions in all ways? He'd given up trying to understand why that was true and just accepted it. He'd stay single, though, because apparently what he wanted was the new form of slavery to the current female way of thinking. Perhaps that was why he found the sight of the woman chained to his bumper so riveting.
* * * *
Cynda Avery paced, waiting for the old farmer to wake and find her, recalling what Kingsley Dazza had said when she begged him for more time. "You got two choices. Either go to this farmhouse and play this game to soften old Daniel De Marco up so I can buy a few acres of land he won't sell, or gimme nineteen thousand dollars," the loan shark had growled, yanking her hands loose from his shirt. "You got two weeks. Since I know you ain't got nineteen thousand dollars, you can either go park yo' ass in his yard till he listen, or start helpin' yo granny pack."
Recalling Dazza's low laugh still made her want to rake her nails across his shiny head and right down his bowling ball face. She pictured blood running into his cold eyes and felt somewhat better. He wanted her to come here and play sex games, in hopes she could soften up the farmer so he'd listen to King.Sex games. As though all men didn't play those. This game had some rules, according to King. The biggest ones were not to talk back and no matter what, to keep your eyes down. Good idea, that way this old farmer wouldn't see her contempt.
What kind of black man would force a black woman to show up at some old white dude's house, offering to reenact the Civil War—not the fighting part, but the slavery part?
She knew the answer. The kind of black man that claimed to be all about community, but in reality just stole houses from little old ladies like her grams.
She'd refused, but two days later had gone slinking back to his office, agreeing to try his plan. She'd had no other choice. Though she felt what he'd done to Grams was illegal, no lawyer in town would take her grandmother's case without payment. Tied like a dog to this truck, Cynda knew how abandoned puppies and kittens must feel when folks threw them out.
Something smelled wonderful, though. Now that the sun was up and she could see the butter-colored farmhouse, she thought the scent might be coming from the odd tree loaded with huge bell-shaped tangerine blossoms that anchored one end of the long back porch, but then, the delectable aroma might be from the Confederate jasmine vine scampering up the side of the two-story home to disappear over the tin roof.
Her grams would know. Grams would love the assortment of flowers growing around this place. Her grandmother was surely the reason Cynda let herself be chained in some strange man's back yard.
Honey chile, ever' woman's gonna pick her own pain.
That was her grams' favorite saying about men. Cynda had yet to find a man she felt was worth suffering for. She tried to see her beloved grandmother's face, to keep from unhooking the damn leash and starting the long walk back to the highway. She couldn't afford to dwell on the insult of being chained in some white man's yard, but fury burned within her that a black man would suggest this… this… outrage. It didn't take a genius to figure out this landowner must be some redneck who didn't want black neighbors.
Or maybe he sensed, as she did, that King wasn't the kind of man anyone would want nearby. She couldn't afford for it to be the latter. Besides, if the farmer was prejudiced, wouldn't King have sent a white woman?
* * * *
Dan forced his gaze away from the woman Brian had sent to soften him up about selling the family land to stare instead at the parallel rows of trees that began at the edge of his close-clipped back yard. He raised his gaze once more, to the gentle mountain beyond, crisscrossed with the verdant remains of what had once been the largest commercial peach farm in South Carolina. If he squinted, he could see the gaps in the rows where the fruit trees had died and he and his brothers had cut them for firewood but not bothered to replace the loss with a sapling. The family made their living from the garage out on the highway nowadays, a business Dan's father had begun after their mother walked out when Dan was nine. His grandfathers had jointly continued operating the orchards as long as they'd been profitable, but once Dan's mother disappeared, Rafe had wanted nothing else to do with the farm. Coaxing fruit from the land required love, the old man had said on many drunken nights, and Cammie had taken all of his when she walked out the back door without saying goodbye.
Mocking silence from the six-bedroom farmhouse combined with his half-hard cock made him step onto the back porch without bothering to grab pants or a shirt, uncaring of her delicate feminine sensibilities, assuming she had any. She was trespassing, goddammit, and if she didn't want to see a dick, then she had no business letting Brian chain her to his truck.
He was going to use the diesel fuel left in the barn and burn the farmhouse to the ground this week, too, Dan decided as his bare feet hit the gray-painted boards. He'd been thinking about doing it for years. Maybe he'd roast fucking wieners and marshmallows while he watched his old man's ghost twist in the flames. Then, he'd build a one-bedroom cabin on top of the mountain and send Brian Case a picture of it. Because while none of the brothers cared to operate the eight-hundred-plus acres of orchards, every last living De Marco would burn in hell before he'd sell the land to some asshole like Brian, who wouldn't be satisfied until he'd crammed a few thousand families into overpriced homes set so close together people couldn't step foot outdoors without tripping over each other.
"I expect you to unlock that damn chain and get the fuck off my land or I'm gonna bend you over my knee and spank your ass for letting Brian Case chain you to my bumper," Dan drawled. She nearly tripped in her hideous shoes when she spun, causing Dan to grin despite his anger. Her brown eyes went wide when she realized he was bare-assed, her gaze dropping to his erection. Her succulent lips opened to form a perfect circle.
Leaning against the porch post, Dan replaced his hand around his newly-throbbing shaft, stroking his fist along the waking length while watching her through narrowed eyes. "You can get in your car and go tell Brian the orchards still aren't for sale." His grin got wider as she continued to stare at his hand rather than his face. "But do tell him I thank him for finally figuring out the skinny bitches he's been sending aren't my style. Give him my compliments on picking a woman with an ass a man could really get into, not to mention how fucking fine you look in a collar. But sugar, your taste in clothing is wildly inappropriate."