His Little Spoon

HIS LITTLE SPOON CAROLYN FAULKNER Published by Blushing Books An Imprint of ABCD Graphics and Design, Inc. A Virginia Corporation 977 Seminole Trail #233 Charlottesville, VA 22901 ©2020 All rights reserved. No part of the book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher. The trademark Blushing Books is pending in the US Patent and Trademark Office. His Little Spoon Carolyn Faulkner EBook ISBN: 978-1-63954-398-4 Print ISBN: 978-1-63954-399-1 Cover Art by ABCD Graphics & Design This book contains fantasy themes appropriate for mature readers only. Nothing in this book should be interpreted as Blushing Books' or the author's advocating any non-consensual sexual activity. Contents Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Carolyn Faulkner Blushing Books Blushing Books Newsletter Chapter 1 "Come here, little darlin'." His deep, husky tone sent a shiver up her spine, as it always did. Liv wondered fleetingly if that would ever change, but she was too busy forcing herself to walk to him to dwell on the possibility. He was standing there, tall and massive as he was, with one big paw outstretched to her. Despite his enormous presence, his movements were slow, deliberate, and strangely elegant for someone of his size. Still, she took her time getting to him, a fact that she knew was not lost on him in the least, wondering—with a different kind of shiver—if she'd be made to pay for that later. She often couldn't tell with him just how strictly he'd interpret her rule about obeying him, although smaller things—like that—were less likely to result in correction. It was surprising that she ever even flirted with the possibility that he might punish her, considering how much she hated it when it happened—how much he made quite certain that she did, each and every time. Oh, but the aftercare was more than worth it, and as he frequently pointed out to her whenever they discussed that topic—because he loved making her blush—that she loved it at least as much as she hated it, if not more so. When she slipped her hand into his much bigger one, his fingers closed around hers with infinite care as he frowned immediately at her touch. "You're cold." "No, just my hand is cold." He turned towards the elaborate, mahogany banister staircase, preceding her up the stairs. "Why is your hand cold, Olivia? Do you need me to turn up the heat? Have you been cold all this time and not told me?" he asked. Even though his tone was neutral, her goose bumps still worsened. Knowing better than to tell him anything but the exact truth, she answered on a blush, "No, it's just nerves, I suppose," peeping up at him to catch the barely-there smile that he quickly quashed. "Really? I know we haven't been together for that long, but do I still inspire that in you?" He stopped on the way to their bedroom and looked back at her, as if that were a major concern of his. Livvie lifted her head, deliberately meeting his eyes. "Oh, yes, you absolutely do." That elusive smile was back on his face. "I think I'll take that as a compliment." "Of course, you will," she teased, with a mischievous smile of her own. "I would never imagine that you would take it any other way." "Regardless of whether or not you meant it to be one?" He grinned down at her. "I merely meant it to be an honest answer to your question. I wasn't wondering about how you would take it." Rigg Bellamy chuckled heartily, making her heart squeeze painfully. Everyone he'd introduced her to—his friends, who supposedly knew him—had told her that he was a very serious man and few had seen evidence of him having much of a sense of humor. But she'd not found that to be true. She loved puns and plays on words, and he seemed to enjoy them as much as she did. It was true that he didn't smile as often as he should—she thought that that level of gravitas merely went hand in glove with being a very successful businessman at a very high level. Liv was given to teasing her family and friends—light-heartedly, of course—and she'd made no exception for him. He'd always taken her barbs well and even come back with a few of his own, although she knew that, unlike her, he hadn't grown up with such exchanges, in a family where zetz flew back and forth across the dinner table every evening and were an ever-present part of nearly every conversation. The bald truth was that Rigg hadn't grown up with a family or even a dining room table, and she was very aware of that fact. The incredible contrast between his humble origins—as an orphan in the foster system—and where he was now was a testament to his incredible will and drive. Having a prominent sense of humor wouldn't have saved him from the abuse he'd endured, nor assisted in making him the enormous success he had become. Considering how much he was now worth, and that he could pretty much afford to have anything he wanted, her loud, raucous, delightfully weird, upper-lower-middle class family was one of the few things she had that he didn't. She wasn't exactly sure whether she should consider them to be an advantage rather than a hindrance, but they sure did laugh a lot! Once he'd escorted her—with an almost ritualistic formality—into their bedroom, Rigg closed the door behind them and leaned against it, hands tucked behind himself as he simply gazed at her. Upon turning around, she noticed how intently he was looking at her and automatically put her hand out towards him, saying softly, almost shyly, "Stop that!" "Stop what?" he asked huskily, although he knew what