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http://www.redhotromancebooks.com/freebies.html
The Golden
Adonis
All rights reserved.
Copyright 2007 © by Maren Smith
This book may not be reproduced in whole
or part, by mimeograph or any other means,
without permission of the author.
THE GOLDEN ADONIS
Graham Becker was her-best-friend's-brother'
s-friend-of-a-cousin-twice-removed, so it wasn't as though he were a
stranger, Julie told herself. And, quite frankly, she needed the money that
renting out the extra room of last summer's inheritance--her grandmother's
old town house--would bring her. College wasn't cheap at the best of times,
but with the economy in a slump and part-time employment at an all time low,
it had come down to a choice between getting a tenant or start developing a
long-lasting relationship with starvation.
So when she heard the polite, three-rap knock on her front door, she brushed
her blonde hair back, wiped her dishwater hands on the seat of her black
skirt, prayed, "Please, dear God, no drums," and went to open the door.
"Holy cow!" she blurted aloud, abruptly losing the cool-composure she'd
worked hard all morning to perfect.
At the sound of her voice, the golden-haired Adonis turned away from the
street and grinned back at her. "Close." He stuck out his hand. "Name's
Graham."
You're staring, her brain told her.
You're also drooling.
She snapped her mouth shut, reached out to grasp his hand, and her knees
lost all solidity. She grabbed onto the door frame to keep from sagging. He
had a firm, warm, solid grip that just seemed to leech the strength from her
legs. "I'm Julie."
She wished she'd worn a dress.
She also wished she didn't have wet hand prints on the seat of her butt.
"Pretty name." His smile widened when she only stood there, moving nothing
but his arm, which she pumped slowly up and down. Then he leaned into her,
bracing his strong shoulder against the threshold as he lowered himself to
meet her eye-to-eye. "May I come in, Julie?"
She snatched her hand from his, tucking her whole arm behind her back as she
stepped quickly out of his way. Her face burning hot, she ducked her head
and hastily cleared her throat. "Yeah, sure," she squeaked. "By all means.
Please. Come on in. Living room's through that door. Take a seat. Need a
drink?"
Stop babbling.
He chuckled, a full, rich sound. "No, thanks. I'm good."
Lord help her if those words didn't settle right into the pit of her
stomach, warming her from the inside out.
She followed him into the living room so he wouldn't see the wet hand
prints, and as they walked the short distance across the old hard wood
flooring, she admired the way his Budweiser t-shirt stretched taut across
his back and shoulders. He wore it neatly tucked into his jeans, too,
providing a wonderful view of his narrow waist, lean hips, and a butt
perfect enough to frame and hang on the wall. He'd brought a duffel bag with
him, but that was it for luggage.
"So you need a room," Julie said.
He smiled back at her, his blue eyes sparkling. "It's preferable to a
cardboard box, yes."
"Are you an axe murderer?"
His smile split into a grin, showing twin rows of straight, white teeth.
"Part-time grease monkey at the Oil Can Henry's. My major's in physiology
and I've got another year to go before I get my Master of Science degree.
Environmental health. I like looking at diseases."
He sat down on one end of the couch and because it was the only sitting
surface in the room, she took the opposite end, crossing her legs beneath
her as she faced him. She half-raised her hand and confessed, "Archeology."
"Indiana Jones."
"I prefer Laura Croft. More money, less chin hair."
He laughed, warm and bright. She liked the sound.
"The room's two-hundred-and-fifty a month. It's the master and has its own
bathroom. I'd like you to pay half of the electric and water bills and for
all long distance phone calls you make. The back porch is screened in, and
that's where the washer and dryer are. The kitchen's through there," she
pointed to a door on their right. "Label anything you don't want me to eat,
and if you use the last of it, please replace it."
"Simple common courtesy stuff," he said.
"Pretty much."
"You don't want any references or my past renting history?"
"You said you weren't an axe murderer. I trust you. And so long as you don't
sit around in your underwear and scratch, we should get along all right."
The Adonis half-laughed, looking down at his lap as he shook his head, but
he became her roommate and life got pretty interesting. Particularly the
next morning. Mostly because the first thing in the morning, before the
coffee started perking, wasn't Julie's most functional time of the day.
Having slept since he moved in, she'd forgotten all about Graham.
Standing in the narrow kitchen, she was in the act of pouring water into the
Mister Coffee when she heard a small bumping noise coming from the master
room. She didn't really even think about it. One minute she had a dishtowel
in her hand; in the next, she was standing in the open bedroom door, staring
into the bathroom at Graham, who stood combing his thick blonde hair in
front of the medicine cabinet mirror.
He was partially naked, a form-fitting pair of jeans the only thing he wore.
The broad expanse of his torso was as bare as his feet and, as he raised his
arm to utilize his comb, the muscles jumped and played across his shoulders
and back in vivid masculine display. Then his eyes found her in the
reflective glass of the mirror and he stopped. His expression never changed,
but the comb lowered a fraction of an inch and he turned his head to look at
her.
By all accounts, he should have been angry. After all, she'd just invaded
the privacy of his bedroom. But despite the 'move, move, move!' orders her
brain was screaming to her feet, unaccustomed to seeing a man so intimately
attired, Julie found her stockinged feet rooted to the floor.
"Is something wrong?" Graham asked, and Julie came sharply back to herself.
Her face turned a hot, slow shade of pink. "Um..."
She blushed even hotter and her hands began a rapid series of embarrassed
half gestures. Silently opening and shutting her mouth, she pointed back at
the kitchen over her shoulder, then at herself and then seemingly everywhere
at once.
"I, uh...was just...um..." She stopped, mortified that her usually witty
tongue would choose this exact moment to give up on her.
"Just what?" Graham smiled, now turning to fully face her.
Oh, God. His pants weren't even buttoned at the top. She tried not to look.
She looked.
He was a living, breathing, Bow Flex commercial. He had Popeye arms and
six-pack abs, smooth, chiseled muscles that were fashioned washboard-hard
all the way down his stomach. A thin line of dark hair captured her eyes and
drew them inescapably down into the waistband of his jeans, straight to the
heavy bulge beneath, which grew slightly as her gaze settled upon it.
Suddenly what she wanted didn't seem to matter. Julie didn't bother trying
to finish her sentence. She stumbled backwards out of the room, grabbing
frantically for the doorknob as she collapsed against the wall. She pressed
herself flat against it. It was a mercy when the door shut softly between
them. She closed her eyes, feeling strangely shaky, excited, confused and
frightened most of all. Jesus, what had she gotten herself into?
The smell of percolating coffee was beginning to wind its way through the
house and Julie staggered back to her bedroom where, if there was a God, she
would die peacefully and without further embarrassment.
All theology-versus-science debates were abruptly and single handedly solved
when Julie shut her bedroom door and gazed into the full-length mirror that
hung on the back. She had forgotten she was dressed in a short pink t-shirt
with straw huts strategically located over each breast and the words,
'Tittie Tikki' underneath. The bottom of the t-shirt ended at her abdomen,
which had not seen a Bow Flex, or even a sit-up, in quite some time, leaving
her panties fully exposed. Was she wearing the lacy, sexy, black french-cut
panties? Oh, no. White cotton with little pink hearts. Mismatched socks that
came from trying to dress with her eyes closed were the crowning achievement
of the morning, and proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that there was no God.
She fell face-first back into her unmade bed and lay there, waiting for
Death by Embarrassment to afflict her. That was the problem with strong
constitutions; a body rallies just too quickly and instead of a merciful end
to all her suffering, she was forced to continue living out the day.
She faced Graham at the breakfast table over twin bowls of cold cereal and
the newspaper. While he read the sports section, she stared blindly at the
comics, holding them up to cover her still fiercely blushing face. There was
absolutely no conversation and he got up to leave first. She listened to him
rummage in his bedroom to pack his books into his duffel bag, then come back
to the kitchen.
His warm hand settled on Julie's arm, forcing her to lower the comics. He
then leaned over and kissed her on her bangs. "Don't worry about it," he
said, then headed for the door, calling back. "See you later."
The Adonis left the house and his kiss on her skin leeched what little
self-composure she had left. She slid off her chair and landed in a heap on
the kitchen floor. Just a puddle of denim jeans, cotton shirt and flopping
limbs under the table. She whined, covering her face with her hands and
kicking her sneakered feet against the floor. She had to get over this. She
checked her watch. Ugh. She had to go to school. She was running late again.
A bad morning turned into a Let's Get Julie day. It wasn't helped along any
by the fact that she got to her first class of the day twelve minutes late.
The instructor gave her a hairy look while she made her way as unobtrusively
as possible to the only empty chair in the room. Naturally it would be right
up front.
As often as she was late, she would have thought he'd be used to her tardy
tendencies by now. Apparently, however, that was an incorrect assumption as
the note she found in her mailbox later that afternoon clearly stated. One
more late arrival, the letter read on its no-nonsense university stationary,
and she would be awarded an incomplete grade for the semester.
Perfect. The day couldn't possibly get any worse.
She dropped the letter on the couch, along with her books, and went to take
a shower. She changed into a fresh pair of comfy coveralls, blow dried her
hair into a shaggy mane of unbrushed lazy waves, and painted her toe nails
pink in an attempt to assuage her anxiety over the thought of what an
incomplete grade would do to her scholastically.
By the time she was ready to leave the bathroom, her new roommate was home,
standing behind the couch, his duffel bag of books leaning against his leg
while he read her note. When she came into the living room, he looked at her
over the top of the letter.
Ooo, nosy. Strike one against the Adonis.
"This isn't good news," Graham said.
A lecturer, too. Big ol' huge honkin' strike two.
She took the letter from him. "This is personal, and none of your business."
"No, that's a threat of expulsion," he said evenly. "Have you changed your
mind about becoming an archeologist?"
"No, of course not!" she protested. "It was just...an accident."
"An accident," he echoed. "What kind of accident could prevent you from
getting to class on time?"
Well, the kind of accident that had dissolved her into a puddle of goo on
the floor, naturally. And it had been his fault entirely, since he'd been
the one to kiss her and leave her like that.
But it'd be a cold day in Hell before she 'fessed up to any of that. Instead
she grumbled, "Never mind."
Boy, the hairy eyeball Graham gave her was even better than her instructor'
s.
Julie drew herself upright. "You've lived here less than one day. You don't
get to lecture me yet."
She snatched the letter from his hand and walked into the kitchen with it.
Unfortunately, he followed her. And he didn't let it drop, either.
"Are you trying to get yourself expelled?"
Slapping the letter down on the counter, she pulled a glass from the
cupboard. "I can't believe I'm getting lectured by my tenant. This is my
house, remember? Do you know what that makes me?" She tapped her chest with
one finger. "The boss. Me. Which, by process of elimination, makes you the
grunt. So start grunting and quit telling me what to do. Hey, I don't make
the rules. That's just life on the social ladder. Get used to it."
He folded his arms across his chest. "Are you going to school on a
scholarship?"
She pulled a jar of orange juice from the fridge, shutting the door a little
harder than she intended in her annoyance. Glass in one hand, juice in the
other, she shrugged at him. "Yes. So what?"
"So you get an incomplete and you don't get to continue your schooling next
year. No school equals no degree, and your student loans will come due. You'
ll probably have to sell your house to cover the debt, and that does make it
my business. I'd rather not be homeless."
She thunked her glass down on the kitchen table, but she couldn't think of a
single rejoinder to that. She finally said, "I promise I won't be late
again."
He leaned closer and softly asked, "How many times have you said that
before?"
Julie cringed a little. "You don't know, I might really mean it this time."
Graham looked at her.
Groaning, she flopped down on one of the four dining chairs. Then she
sighed. "I really do want to be an archeologist."
After a moment, Graham took the letter, pulled out a chair and sat down
across from her. She watched him surreptitiously through her lashes as he
reached over to take the juice from her hand and set it and the glass aside.
He lay the letter before her and tapped the top with his finger. "This is
serious business, Julie. One more tardy mark and the last three years of
your life are wasted. You won't be permitted to enroll next year. If you
continue your education at all, it won't be at this school. All your
studying and hard work will have been for nothing. Good bye Laura Croft."
"Ugh! I know!" she groaned in exasperation. She flopped her head back,
rubbing her face with both hands. Then said again, a bit more subdued, "I
know. You're right. I'm sorry."
"There's no need to be sorry, Julie. Just don't be late."
Julie snorted. "Easier said than done. I've been trying for three years. I'
m--" she sighed. "I'm just not a morning person."
"I'm going to help you," Graham told her.
She blinked at him twice. "You are?"
He nodded once, his eyes locked steadily on hers. "Will you accept my help?"
There was something strange about the way he was looking at her. Something
strange about the way he suddenly sounded, his words oddly weighted and his
question with an almost ominous feel to it.
She blinked twice more, then cleared her throat. "Okay."
"I want you to say it, Julie. Will you accept my help?"
"Yes, I'll accept your help," she parroted back, feeling a bit foolish as
she did so.
"I need you to trust me not to hurt you. You aren't going to like my
methods, but I can guarantee you'll hustle yourself on out the door on time
tomorrow morning, so the results of what I do will be well worth it. Do you
agree?"
What, was he going to turn her alarm up full blast? Walk into her room in
the morning, banging on pots and pans? Pick her up and dump her, sound
asleep, into a tub of ice water?
She shifted on her chair, then cleared her throat again. "Um...yes, I
agree...I guess."
"Do you think you can trust me?" the golden haired Adonis, her-best-friend'
s-brother's- friend-of-a-cousin-twice-removed, that she'd only just met for
the first time yesterday, asked.
The corners of her mouth turned up in the slightest of smiles. "Sure," she
said weakly.
He looked at her for the longest time. Then he leaned back in his chair, one
hand on the table, his thumb slowly, methodically, rubbing back and forth
along the side of his index finger. Finally, he sighed and stood up. He went
to the stove and, after several minutes silent, hands-on-hips contemplation,
he selected a wooden spoon from the blue jar on the counter.
Question answered. He was a pot and pan banger.
Graham came back to the table, lay the wooden spoon down between them and
pulled his chair a good two feet out into the middle of the floor. He sat
down and looked at her. "Come here, Julie."
That odd, warm, melting feeling suffused her stomach again. It reached up to
warm her cheeks, it flowed down to create a pulsing ache between her thighs.
There was something so very intimate in the way he looked at her. As she
slowly pushed back her chair, it made her legs shaky and reduced her
normally confident, long-legged stride to small, timid steps that took
forever to bring her around the table.
When she drew close enough, he reached out to take her hands in his. The
intensity in his eyes had Julie catching her breath. Nervous energy made her
stomach flutter wildly. She felt almost giddy, as if she wanted to laugh,
but the tightness in her throat refused to let her.
"I need you to trust me," he said again. "Remember, I'm not going to hurt
you."
"Right. Okay." His blue eyes pierced all the way to her soul. If she weren't
trembling before, of a certainty she was now. "You won't hurt me."
Graham reached up and began to unfasten the breast clips of her coveralls,
and Julie stopped thinking entirely. Her breath whooshed out of her as he
lifted the first denim strap over her shoulder and let it dangle down her
back. He did the same to the other, and her bib flap sagged down around her
hips. His hand settled on her waist. His bare skin felt warm where he
touched her between the bottom hem of her tank top and the elastic band of
her panties. White cotton with yellow flowers this time. Still no lace. Damn
it.
Without taking his eyes from hers, he stroked her skin lightly, sliding his
hand between her coveralls and herself and the heavy denim fell off her hips
and slid straight down her legs to the floor. Julie almost closed her eyes
without being able to help it and the next thing she knew, she was lying
face down over his lap, staring at the kitchen linoleum. It needed mopping.
Julie froze for a heartbeat in shock. She had the most absurd urge to cover
her bottom with her hands. But no, he did that for her. And as his broad
hand settled over her panty-clad rump, it didn't feel anywhere near as
comforting as it might have had she done it herself.
"G-Graham?"
"I'm going to impress on you the importance of being on time," he told her.
"You can't afford not to be. Have you invested the last three years of your
life in a career you've decided you don't want to pursue?"
"N-no," she quavered. Her mind was screaming for her to flee, or at least to
struggle, but her body had an entirely different agenda, and she simply lay
across his knees, unmoving, staring at the floor.
"I think by now you realize how I'm going to deal with you, don't you?"
The words that meekly fell from her lips left her stunned, and maybe even a
little afraid. "You--you're going to spank me."
"That's right."
"I've never been spanked before," she confessed, clinging to the bottom of
his chair legs.
"That's all right." He patted her thigh. "I know what to do, and I'll be
doing most of the work anyway. All you have to do is lie there and make up
your mind that you won't ever be late to class again." He was quiet a
moment, then asked. "You won't ever be late again, will you, Julie?"
"I sure hope not," she said shakily.
His warm hand suddenly abandoned the surface of her panties and her entire
body jumped when it connected again, an instant later, in a very sharp and
uncomfortable manner.
"Oh!" Julie squirmed on his lap, but he wrapped an arm around her waist,
holding her securely in place. Her eyes wide, on the verge of either
hysterical laughter or panicky screams, she blurted, "Hey, let go! That
hurt!"
But Graham didn't let go. He didn't even loosen his grip. "Do you want to
try that again?"
"No, I-I won't ever be l-late to class again," she stammered, then cried
out, "Oh, NO! Wait!" as Graham's warm hand abandoned her tingling bottom
again.
He began a hard, methodical assault against her upturned backside. Each swat
of his hand flattened first one buttock, then the other, back and forth,
hard but slow, with several seconds in between to allow the full heat of the
slaps to sink into her flesh, to burn and to smart.
"Ow!" Julie clenched, struggling to tuck her bottom in as if she could
protect it from further abuse. "Please, wait! I don't need any help! I've
changed my mind! I've lost my mind! Wait!"
She screwed her eyes shut, hissing her breath through her teeth as he picked
up the pace and his hand began to smack faster. And harder. And faster
still, until Julie's bottom was bouncing beneath the vigorous application of
his palm and there was no such thing as holding still.
She twisted her hips sharply from side to side as he expanded his target
area to include the backs of her naked thighs. Her legs kicked, her toes
scrapped the linoleum, and every time she let go of the chair and started to
reach back, she caught herself and quickly latched onto the wooden legs
again. But Graham wasn't swayed. Despite her protests, he turned her bottom
a livid cherry red all around the elastic of her panties. Flushed hues of
pink could even be seen through the white cotton fabric that stretched taut
over the chubby curves he spanked.
"Oh please, Graham, stop!" Tears stung her eyes, but the tone of her pleas
was changing. As he raised his hand again and again, she bucked her hips up
to meet him. Though it hurt, the growing heat in her bottom was spreading
out to her loins.
Julie panted. She could feel the pulsating rhythm of her beating heart
pounding in her temples as well as between her legs. The sensation was new
and unexpected and frighteningly intense. It turned her insides molten and
quickly had the crotch of her underwear soaked with the evidence of her
unwitting arousal.
Abruptly, the spanking stopped. Graham caressed her hot buttocks, soothing
everywhere he had punished and eliciting soft, mewling gasps and groans from
her. When his fingers delved between her thighs, she parted them without
being asked. A slow, shuddering sigh was the only sound she made when he
stroked her through the wet, white cloth.
"You have a nice scent when you're aroused," he said mildly. "Though I
certainly didn't expect it."
Confused, her bottom aching and on fire, Julie gasped out an apology. "I-I'm
s-sor-ry!"
"Don't ever be sorry for being honest about how you feel." He stroked her
once more, then took his hand away. "You've no reason to be ashamed. We are,
however, going to have to take you beyond that."
She whimpered, though it didn't really sink in exactly what he meant until
he hooked the elastic waistband of her underwear and pulled her panties down
the backs of her thighs. Julie grabbed his leg, stiffening as she realized
how completely naked her bottom was and just how much of her he could now
see. She didn't realize Graham was picking up the wooden spoon until it
splatted against her already well-paddled skin. She wasn't at all prepared
for the intensity of that fresh burst of pain, and her cries turned into
real tears and sobs for him to stop before he could even lay the first ten
hard swats.
There was no lecture now. He simply blistered her, turning the hot, red
color of her bottom to a deeper crimson hue. He now concentrated the
majority of his smacks down low on the base of her bottom and the tops of
her thighs, every place that would touch chair when Julie tried to sit later
on, until she was sobbing and kicking and twisting her hips to escape the
spoon just as often as she bucked up to meet it.
Though in reality, he didn't spank her very hard for more than half a minute
or so, her pleas had turned to promises of good behavior long before she
finally realized that he'd stopped. He held her over his lap, gently rubbing
her back and letting her cry.
"That's it," he said. "We're all done."
Tears streamed her face as she slid from his lap to the floor. She knelt
between his knees, shakily clinging to one leg while she gently explored her
throbbing bottom with light fingertips.
"From now on," he said, "If you aren't in your seat a full five minutes
before class starts, I will consider you late and we'll have to repeat this
lesson." He took her hand and placed it on the biceps of his arm, which had
so soundly spanked her. He didn't flex, but he didn't need to. "I'm not
tired," he told her. "If I have to spank you for tardiness twice in the same
semester, I won't treat you as gently as I just did. I want you to know that
I can spank a long, long, long," he brought his face down close to hers,
"long time, if I have to."
She gulped.
"No more late marks on your record. Agreed?"
With a hiccupy gasp, she nodded and let got of his arm.
"Do you like pepperoni pizza?" he asked.
She sniffled and nodded again.
"Good. Give me ten minutes in the corner, bottom bare, no rubbing, and I'll
share my pizza with you."
"Extra cheese?" She wiped a stray tear from her cheek.
"You're the boss," he said, then kissed the tip of her nose and sent her to
stand in the corner.
Julie Grant completed her final year of college in June of 2002. And though
she found herself face-down over his knees frequently in the three years
that they were roommates, and though she was barely able to sit throughout
the ceremony due to a recent and fairly serious episode, no one clapped
harder or cheered for her louder than her roommate and fiancé, Graham
Becker, when she graduated with honors.
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