Never Let You Down: The Connaghers, Book 4 Read Online Free Page B

on the verge of something that would change their lives forever.
    “I dare you, Princess. Hit me again.”
    God, for a man who’d only spoken to her a handful of times, he knew exactly what to say to get what he wanted. What they both wanted, evidently, because she moved farther into the room, shifting so she could get a better blow across his back with her right hand. The first sharp crack made her flinch as hard as he did at the impact. Tears filled her eyes and her throat ached like he’d wrapped his fist around her neck. She almost dropped the crop, her fingers numb and cold.
    “Don’t you dare stop,” he growled out. “Give me another good one. Just one more, Princess. That’s all I’ll need.”
    His head dropped back, his body arching, his hips surging forward. His hand pumped harder, his face dark and taut. She swallowed hard and brought the crop down again on his broad shoulder. He let out a gut-wrenching sound, like she’d jammed her hand down his throat and grabbed a fistful of his belly to drag back out. Spasms shook his lean frame as he spent himself, pulse after pulse that left her trembling and aching as if she’d taken a nasty fall off her horse. And the red marks on his back. She wanted to sob at what she’d done even though he’d found pleasure in it.
    His bracing arm bent so he could use his entire forearm and not just his hand, as if his strength had given out. He dropped his head against his arm and drew a shaking breath. “Come here, darlin’.”
    He didn’t turn around or reach for her, which made her glad. She didn’t want to see his face right now, nor him hers. It was too much. Too intimate and personal. Instead, she buried her face against the velvet heat of his back.
    “Don’t cry. Please don’t regret what you gave me.”
    She didn’t realize she was crying, but he must have felt the wetness of her tears against his back. She lifted her face and impatiently wiped her eyes, but the sight of the welts she’d given him made a fresh wave of tears flood her eyes and she couldn’t stifle the pitiful little cry.
    “Ah, Princess.” He sighed and lifted away from the wall, pressing back against her. “Let me wash up so I can hold you.”
    Awkward and shy like she’d never felt in her entire life, she stepped back and watched as he washed and dried his hands. At least he’d tucked himself back into his pants, though his jeans still hung loose and open about his hips, only staying up thanks to an old cracked leather belt. He’d undone the buckle and loosened it a few notches, but it held enough to keep his pants up. She couldn’t help but run her gaze over the lean lines of his body, even though she didn’t have to look in the mirror to know she was fire-engine red. He had the body of a man who’d worked hard his entire life. Not an ounce of fat or softness on that wiry frame, and so damned tall she’d get a crick in her neck every time she had to glare at him. He had a surprising number of scars too. Had he been in knife fights or something? God, what kind of man was he, really? She didn’t have any idea.
    He caught her looking in the mirror and let out a low laugh. “You’re thinking I look like I’ve been in a war or two? You’d be right, as long as you’re assuming the thing I battled was a rodeo.”
    “You got all those scars in rodeos?”
    Nodding, he turned around to face her, leaning back on the sink as if he was trying to make himself less tall and possibly threatening in the enclosed space. “Sure did. Mostly bull riding, but I busted my left arm and three ribs last time I rode a bronc.” He touched the torn-up skin on the inside of his left forearm. “Bone poked through. It was a mess. Took months to heal and it still pains me some.”
    “That’s why…” Her tongue quit working but he caught her meaning and smiled slightly.
    “That’s why I had to end up bracing my whole arm against the wall, rather than my palm. The pressure on the bone started to