Bound to be Dirty by Savanna Fox Page A

dispassionate. Tonight, with his commanding manner and unaccustomed beard, with her poor vision and light-headedness, he seemed a different man. “Dax, what are you doing?”
    â€œDon’t talk.”
    Another order. Had he said anything since she arrived home that wasn’t an order? She should protest. Except . . . as she’d decided earlier, tonight she didn’t want to talk.
    She’d also decided she didn’t want sex. But now her body urged her to reconsider. Her husband’s behavior had an edge that reminded her of the bad-boy vibe of his youth, though now he was definitely a man and this edge was, well, edgier. It was arousing, and a tiny bit scary. But she’d known Dax for fifteen years. He would never hurt her, never harm a woman.
    Squinting up at him, she saw a gleam in his gray eyes, but couldn’t tell if it was lust or something else. The lines of his face were set, hiding his thoughts and feelings.
    â€œOn your stomach,” he said.
    Doggy-style sex. Disappointment brought a quick rush of moisture to her eyes and she rolled, to hide her face. He wanted sex where they couldn’t see each other’s faces, where kissing was impossible. Sex with no intimate connection. No, she wouldn’t do it. Forcing back the tears, she tensed her body, readying herself to roll back again.
    Before she could move, Dax pinned her down, planting his denim-clad knees on either side of her hips and curving his hands firmly around her shoulder caps.
    She twisted her head to the side. “Let me go.”
    â€œI told you to keep quiet.”
    â€œYou have no right—”
    â€œKeep quiet.” His fingertips dug into her flesh, almost punishingly hard. “I’ll look after you.” His touch eased and turned into massage, kneading into the tight muscles of her neck and shoulders.
    Again, he’d surprised her. It felt so amazingly good, she groaned with pleasure. All this macho stuff, just to give her a massage? She couldn’t remember the last time he’d tended to her aches and pains.
    â€œPut this under you.” He handed her a pillow and she shoved it under her chest so that her back arched toward him.
    With controlled strength, Dax used the heels of his hands, his fingers, his thumbs, even his knuckles to work out knots. Pain made her wince, but she knew his touch was healing. She drew in a deep breath and tried not to tense against those probing fingers, but to let her muscles relax.
    And yes, the knots slowly released. Her body warmed, loosened, softened. As the tension eased, she almost purred with relief and pleasure. Dax, touching her this way—what did it mean?
    As he moved from her lower back to her butt cheeks, his touch gentled and became more of a caress.
    A sensual, sexy caress, or at least that’s how it felt to her. Arousal throbbed between her legs and quickened her breath. Her nipples tightened, pressing into the pillow beneath her. She wanted to squirm, to rub her nipples against the crisp cotton, to wriggle her hips in a wordless request that he slide his hand between her legs. But she was unsure what he intended.
    When she’d been young, Dax had told her she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. Now did he think her lean, lithe body was attractive? Sexy? Did he mean his touch to be erotic or was her sex-starved body overreacting?
    She got her answer when his finger traced the crease between her buttocks, then slid between her legs. He traced her naked flesh slowly, igniting arousal inch by inch and making her quiver as need mounted. When he brushed her labia, spreading the moisture that slid from her body, she pressed against his hand, wanting more. Massage as foreplay. She liked it. Yes, she wanted sex with him, but face-to-face. “That feels so good, Dax.”
    His hand withdrew and a slap stung her butt cheeks.
    â€œOh!” She jerked and automatically started to turn over.
    He planted both