An Acquired Taste Read online

  Her mind flashed to the room she loved, and dreaded, and all the things she wanted again. Cuffs, the smell of leather, the feel of the bindings—her body arched, her heart beat wildly. Tension, unbearable and exciting, legs straining, toes tautly stretched, her fingers tightened around her clit and pulled the tiny bud of nerve-filled flesh.

  What did he look like? Was he as good looking as he sounded? Was he married? Her fingers teased and tormented, as those thoughts and more flashed through her mind. Water leaped and splashed, as her body thrashed.A tight, hard orgasm took her breath. With her head thrust back and her body quivering uncontrollably, she groaned her pleasure. Too fast, her world returned to normal. Her body relaxed, her breath slowly returned to its usual rhythm. A tug of regret that she was alone was all that remained,then that too faded.

  Sitting up, she sluiced water over herself. Delicately scented soap and a large sponge made quick work of cleaning the dirt and grime away. Clean, she picked up her wineglass and sipped the tart liquid. The glass was small and after only a few swallows, it was empty. Out and dried, she padded to the bedroom with just a towel wrapped around her. Ginger followed.

  "Come on, Gin, time for bed." She flicked the end of the large cream-colored bath towel at the cat and laughed when he leapt for it and missed. Skittering across the hardwood floor, he was all arms and splayed legs. He leaped onto the bed after her, and curled up against her stomach when she'd settled onto her side. Sleep came quickly; the hard work and fresh air had done their trick.

  Chapter Two

  Dressed in a pair of royal purple, satin lounging pajamas, with her first cup of coffee in hand, Cynthia walked out the back door onto her private deck. The sun streamed through the trees at the end of the garden, touching each flower and leaf, as if kissing it with an added touch of color. A light breeze picked up her hair and sent tendrils of it across her forehead.

  It was just past nine-thirty and she wanted to spend a few minutes in peace. Settling onto a lawn chair's deep cushion, she let her head fall back so that she got the sun full in the face. Its warmth was like a longed for caress and she drifted into a light sleep.

  She'd just awakened when she heard the doorbell ring at the front of the house. Placing her cup on the side table, she got to her feet and headed for the door. She stopped before she opened the door, checking that she was at least decent before she reached for the knob. Flicking the lock off, she swung the door wide.

  A tall, blond, beautiful man—perhaps a year of two younger than she was—and dressed in clean but well-worn jeans, a red plaid cotton shirt, and work boots, regarded her. A smile lifted the corners of his mouth as he said, "Ms. Lyon—Cynthia Lyon?" He extended his hand towards her and waited, as if he had all the time in the world.

  "Yes," she replied as her gaze skimmed from the top of his wavy, golden hair, down over deep-set eyes, well-shaped straight nose, and full lips to the square jaw, and further still to his wide chest and muscular arms with the shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows. His waist was narrow, as were his hips, but his thighs bulged even through the jeans. The bulge nestled between his thighs trapped her attention and took her breath. "I'm Caleb Jenkins, from Jenkins and Sons." Cynthia tore her gaze from his midsection and felt herself flush. "Yes, you're early." Her voice was a little harsher than she'd planned. She reached out and took his hand. Past him, she spotted the Ford truck and knew it had to be the man she'd talked to on the phone. Taking a deep breath, she gathered her control and again looked into his eyes. They were hazel. The lashes were lighter than his eye color and swept seductively over them when he blinked. "Would you like a cup of coffee while I show you around?" "You read my mind," he said cheerfully. "Yes, please." She dropped his hand and stepped aside, allowing him to enter. Without a word, he bent and unlaced his boots, sliding them off before stepping off the tile foyer. Gray wool work socks emerged, and the boots he placed to the side were scuffed and paint spattered.

  "This way," Cynthia said, and pushed the door closed before walking towards the kitchen.She felt his eyes on her.

  "Nice house, you and your husband must really like it," he said innocently.

  She stopped dead. Her thoughts had been a million miles away from Tom. She turned and as calmly as she could, replied, "I'm a widow. My husband died six months ago. He was hit by a drunk driver."

  Caleb had been so close behind her that when she stopped he'd almost walked into her. She saw his discomfort from a mere few inches away. He quickly took a step back, giving her space. "I'm so sorry," he stammered."Please accept my condolences. I had no idea."

  "I know you didn't, how could you?" She gazed up into his eyes again and forced a smile. "Come and get that coffee and I'll show you where I think I've got a leak in the roof." "Yes, ma'am." He followed her into the kitchen, waited while she poured him a large mug, and had offered him cream or sugar. He refused, saying he preferred it black. "All right, where's that leak?" he asked after he'd taken a sip.

  "Over there." She pointed to the dark spot on the ceiling on the other side of the room. "To me, that looks like a leaking roof." She watched him walk across the room and peer up at the ceiling.

  "Yes, you're right, that's what it is. Any idea when the roof was checked last?" "On the paperwork I've got, it says twelve years." "I'll have to go up and have a good look. Hopefully, you're only going to need it patched. If not, then a new roof, depending on the tiles you've got up there." He lowered his eyes and asked, "You also said something about a sunroom?"

  "Yes," she moved through the dining room to the sliding glass doors. Opening them, she nodded for him to follow her. "Out here. I'd like to be able to open these doors and have a room that's all windows."

  Again, he followed her. When they stood out on the lawn, Cynthia turned and looked back at the house, and at him. He was well worth looking at, and she felt a twinge of excitement. She thought he'd look amazing naked and in cuffs.

  "On that side is the master bedroom, with a door leading onto that deck." She pointed to her room and went on, "I'd like that deck covered in. I'd also like the room to extend across to enclose that double sliding door." She slowly swung her arm along, indicating how far she wanted the sunroom to extend.

  Caleb took a sip of coffee. A thoughtful look came over him, as he looked at the back of the house. "Do you have the original plans for this place?"

  "Sure do," she answered and went inside for them. She'd pulled that folder out of her filing cabinet and left them on the dining room table. She grabbed the blue cardboard tube and turned back, only to stop and look at him again for a moment. He really was a hunk, standing out there in his sock feet, gazing up at her roof and drinking coffee. Come on, girl, business now, fun later, maybe.

  "Here you are. We knew the couple who had this place built, so we lucked out when it came to getting these when we bought the place." She held them out. When he reached for them, his fingers brushed hers. She jerked her hand back as an electrical shock jumped between them.

  Snatching the paperwork before she dropped them, he blurted, "What the—" "You felt it, too?" Cynthia rubbed her hand. "Sure did." He smiled. "You okay?" "Yeah, just surprised me." She became aware of her nipples rubbing against her satin top. They were as hard as dried raisins, and as sensitive as her suddenly aching clit. Shifting her legs, she realized that her inner thighs were wet.

  "Have you got a ladder handy, or should I run out and get mine from the truck? I'll need to get up there and find out where the problem is." He put his coffee cup on the nearby table and slid the rolled papers out of the tube. It took him just a moment to locate the blueprints and uncurl them.

  "Huh?" She looked up at him, her mind lost in the uncalled for and unexpected feeling of excitement. She cleared her throat, focused on what she was supposed to be doing, and replied hurriedly, "Yes, right over there, at the side of the shed." She pointed to the left side of the garden shed.

  "Good," he said, and returned to looking at the drawings. "These are good. It looks like you've go
t twenty-year roofing. Unless there's been consistent storm damage, I should be able to patch the leak."

  "That's if I hire you," interjected Cynthia, feeling as if the conversation was getting out of her control.

  He looked up at her, surprised. There must have been something in her eyes, or posture, because he quickly dropped his and replied, "Yes, of course, ma'am."

  She smiled at the color that crept over his face. "Why don't you go and get the ladder so you can check the roof?"

  He didn't say a word, just handed her the drawing and went to get the ladder. She watched him move as he walked towards the shed. He had a very slight limp, as if he'd sprained his ankle and it was still healing. He had a tight, hard butt. Idly, she wondered if he'd ever been spanked, but quickly pushed that to the back of her mind.

  He easily pulled the metal, extension ladder from its hooks on the side of the shed. Carrying it back to the house, he turned it so it was upright, and laid it against the rich brown, cedar siding. "Be right back, I'll need my boots for this."

  She went to her chair and watched. When he came back outside, his boots were in his hand. He slipped them on and laced them tight. Then he was up the ladder. She heard him moving from one side of the roof to the other.

  "Found your problem," he shouted from near the center of the roof. "A branch came down and damaged a couple of shingles."

  Cynthia got to her feet and held a hand up to shield her eyes. "That's it?"

  "Yup, you lucked out. All I have to do is get a half dozen shingles up here. I can have it fixed in no time. That is, if you hire me," he added with a touch of tease in his voice. He rose from his squatting position and went to the edge of the roof. He looked at the gutters and how the roof had been finished along the edge, then said, "I shouldn't have any trouble adding on here either."

  "Okay, come on down and we'll talk," said Cynthia. She walked over to the foot of the ladder and eyed his body as he descended. The play of the muscles in his thighs and ass made her mouth water. He moved beautifully, gracefully, and too soon, he was standing beside her.

  "You said you wanted a sunroom, too. Show me about how big." He was in his own territory and obviously felt at ease questioning her.

  She moved to the corner of the house, and after carefully judging how large she wanted the room, she said, "From here," then she walked past her bedroom and most of the way past the dining room, "to here." "You mean just on the other side of that sliding door?" "Yes, that's it," she said. "Okay, give me a few minutes and I'll draw up a rough draft." He went around the side of the house, and she wondered what he was doing. A few minutes later, he came back with a large notepad, a tape measure, and pencil.

  "I'd like as many windows as possible. That's the whole idea, lots of light.A room I can use in the winter as well." "Got it," he replied. "I'll be inside, if you need anything just shout." Cynthia headed for the door. It was time to get dressed properly, besides she felt as if she was going to attack him if she didn't get away from him soon.

  "I have one more question before you leave. Do you want it to step down into the sunroom, or level entry? "Level entry." "Okay, give me a half-hour and I'll see what I can come up with for

  you." "Sounds good," she said and headed for the doorway. Each step reminded her of how wet she was, how attractive she found Caleb, and how much she wanted to be held. It had been so long, too long. By the time she entered the dining room, she was soaked with sweat. Her knees felt weak.

  She went directly into the bathroom and splashed cold water on her face. With her face still dripping, she looked at herself in the mirror and smiled. Flushed and feverish looking, her dark eyes sparkled. "Okay lady, it looks like you're ready to notice men again." The ludicrous remark made her laugh. Notice, she thought, I'm damn near ready to jump the guy. She dried her face, and headed for her bedroom.

  On the way, she spotted him again, sitting comfortably on one of the lawn chairs. He was concentrating on his drawings and didn't notice her. He scribbled lines, erased them, redid them until he seemed more or less pleased, then he'd go on to the next. "Oh, baby, you are gorgeous," she whispered. A few minutes later, she was dressed in a pair of loose cotton shorts and a matching white tank top. She sat in the dining room, with another cup of coffee and watched Caleb. Thoughts of her special room flashed into her mind, and she felt her face heat up again. Before her mind could get too lost in that fantasy, she saw him walking towards the door. He tapped on the glass. Opening it, she ushered him in. Again, he removed his boots. "I've got two ideas here," he said, and laid two sheets of paper on

  the table. Cynthia leaned over and was amazed at how intricate his drawings were. Each design had its good points: the first was more sleek and modern, with vinyl siding and long, slender, vertical windows lined up like cordwood, the other was exactly what she wanted. Huge picture windows and natural wood siding, the roof extended out over the lawn, and would allow her to sit out even if it rained. It was simple, yet stylish, and still had a country feel to it.

  "This," she pointed to the second drawing and smiled. "This is it. You must have read my mind."

  He laughed, "Well, to be very honest, it's a lot like the one I built for myself."

  "Really?" She looked at him with new appreciation. He wasn't just a pretty face. "Your wife must love it."

  "I'm not married. I haven't found a woman who'll put up with me yet."

  "I see." Her imagination kicked into high gear. She had to force herself to calm down. "What's this all going to cost me?"

  "I'll do the roof for free if I get the job for the sunroom," he said evenly. "Like I said, it's a matter of replacing half a dozen shingles. I'll check in the attic before I leave, but I can't see it being a problem." "Okay, what about the sunroom?" "That's easy. I'll charge you for materials, plus my hourly rate." "And how long will it take to complete?" She suddenly felt nervous.

  She'd had trouble before and wasn't about to let it happen again. "Three weeks," he said confidently. "You'll need permits for the

  electrical.I'll take care of everything." They went over his diagrams for a couple of hours and drank a pot of coffee between the two of them, while they fine-tuned his design. As they worked, Cynthia felt her attraction to him grow, her desire to control him mounting. She tested him, in subtle ways, stepping too close to see if he'd move away, asking him to pick up a paper she 'accidentally' dropped. Several times, she brushed against him, and each time the same jolt of electricity caused her to shiver. She noted his erection—ignored his discomfort, even when he surreptitiously turned and adjusted himself.

  When she was satisfied, she took a deep breath. "I've written up a contract. It's probably a little different from anything you've seen before." Her heartbeat increased. Would he go that one extra step she required? "I've been stung once by contractors, I can't afford to have it happen again." "No problem." "I want a schedule. I want to know when things are supposed to be done. I don't want excuses—I won't accept excuses. Any delays and you'll be punished."

  "Punished?" He looked mystified, a little rebellious perhaps, but she also noticed a glint in his eyes.

  "Yes. Physically punished," she said. "If you keep to the schedule you provide, you'll get paid for the job, exactly like you would for any job. But, if there are any delays: trouble with deliveries or materials, anything, it's up to you to get back on schedule."

  Caleb blinked. He opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out. He swallowed. He shuffled his feet. His voice shook when he finally replied, "How often are you planning on checking this schedule?"

  "Every Friday evening." She smiled when he nodded. She had him. "Punishment, if there is any, will be dished out on Saturday morning."

  "May I ask what kind of punishment you have in mind?" A flush began at his neck and rapidly crept up his face. He looked into her eyes, but lowered his in a matter of moments. His blush deepened. "It will depend on what's behind schedule and how upset I am." He glanced up at her. By the look of frustration on his
face, she

  knew he'd obviously hoped for more information. "Wait here," she said, and went to her bedroom for the contract she'd drawn up. Each step added to her excitement. Her pussy ached and itched. She wanted to rub herself, and smiled because it had been so long since she'd had those feelings. The man was hooked. He seemed to crave what she offered without even knowing what that was.

  The contract lay on her bedside table. It was a single sheet of paper filled with straightforward legalese; she'd made two copies—one for her, one for him. It stated that the contractor agreed to adhere to the schedule that he created.Each Friday, after the workday had concluded, she would compare the schedule with what he'd achieved that week. If he had not completed tasks that were scheduled, he gave her permission to physically punish him. Punishment could not leave permanent marks on his person, or disable him or interfere in any way with his enjoyment of life.

  Picking up the papers, she glanced over them again before going back to the dining room. He sat at the dining room table, waiting for her. He looked eager, but also a little confused and apprehensive.

  Holding a copy out to him, she said, "Read it carefully. I want to see your schedule before you sign it."

  "Yes, ma'am," his voice was huskier than it had been. He read the contract through once, then he read it again. His mouth sagged open, but he must have realized it and slammed it shut. Carefully placing the paper on the table, he asked, "When would you like to see the schedule?"

  "As soon as possible. No later than Monday." She moved around to the other side of the table. She wanted to watch him. She already loved watching him squirm. He seemed to be doing quite a lot of that at the moment. He kept shifting in his chair, moving from side to side, and then tucked his legs under the table. She saw him lift up a little and as his hands were out of sight, she could only assume he was readjusting himself into a more comfortable position.