Cowboy Casanova - Lorelei James [63]
He came in a head roaring rush.
She followed right behind him, her inner muscles clamped down as she humped against the pillow.
They stayed like that—sweaty, panting, sticky, spent—for quite a while.
What a great way to start their weekend.
Late Sunday morning Ben rolled over and grabbed his phone from the nightstand. “Hey, Quinn. What’s up?” Ben frowned. “That’s today? Shit. No. I forgot. Thanks for the reminder. I’ll be there in fifteen.” He hung up and headed straight for the shower. Then he grabbed his clothes from the closet.
“Where are you going?”
“I told Quinn and Libby I’d watch Adam and Amelia today. Usually my mom volunteers to baby-sit, but she’s outta town.” He buttoned his shirt. “I don’t know how long I’ll be gone, so make yourself at home. No reason to get up.”
“You expect me to wait here for you all day?”
“Like I said, I don’t know how long I’ll be gone.”
Ainsley threw back the covers and angrily started gathering articles of clothing.
“Are you pissed off about this?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
She held out her arm. A section of rope still dangled from her wrist. “Oh, maybe because we’d barely finished screwing, and you left me half-tied to the damn bed so you could answer your phone!”
Shit. He tried to catch her gaze but she stomped away. What was she trying to tell him by calling that last heart pounding, body-pumping bout of sex…screwing? It’d been more than that. It’d been freakin’ phenomenal.
“And then you gave me the impression that I was supposed to lie in bed all day and wait for your triumphant return.”
“That’s not what I said.”
“Not in so many words.” Ainsley muttered as she yanked on her clothes.
“Something you wanna say to me? Instead of throwing me dirty looks and mumbling under your breath?”
“I realize I’m your sub. But I’m not some object like your saddle. Hanging around ready to be used when you need me, set aside when you don’t.”
Jesus. Did Ainsley really just compare herself to his saddle? And what the fuck was up with that “be used” comment?
She flounced to the bedroom doorway.
“Where do you think you’re goin?”
Ainsley deigned to give him a mocking look. “I’m going to the fucking opera dressed like this. Where do you think I’m going? I’m going home.”
“Like hell.”
“I’ve been here since Friday night. I need to check on my cats. Then I have to finish unpacking and wash clothes. All things I’ve neglected, because I have a life besides the one I spend bound for your pleasure.”
That smartass comment raised his blood pressure. “You trying to see how much hotter you can make the water you’re already in, sub?”
“No. Sir, Bennett, Sir,” she snapped off with military precision and notched her chin higher. “You told me we wouldn’t spend every waking minute together. We have this weekend. I think I deserve a furlough.”
And it’d been one of the best weekends he could remember, not that he could tell her that with the anger emanating from her like a poisonous cloud. Hey wait. Had she just compared the weekend to a…prison sentence?
“I’ve got a busy week, so I’ll call you. Or maybe you’ll call me when you need to practice your rope-tying skills.” She threw the rope at him and disappeared down the hallway.
Maybe you’ll call me when you need to practice your rope-tying skills? Oh hell no. That would not fly with him.
Ben heard the door slam. By the time he made it outside, her car was halfway up the drive.
Oh, little sub, you’ve just landed yourself in a whole passel of trouble.
Chapter Fifteen
Ainsley spent all day Monday on the phone with Chase McKay’s publicist and going back and forth with Steve Talbot, president of Settler’s First Bank. They’d come to an agreement about co-sponsoring the local event as a platform for Chase to announce his new charity. Steve’s attempts to cut National West out of the event entirely displeased Mayor Mark, who championed