Taut: The Ford Book (Rook and Ronin Spinoff 2)

“I don’t do funerals.”

“Ha!” she belts out. “OK, first, Ford.” She says my name with a snarl. And now I know I really pissed her off with the spankings. “Do not insult me with your answers by assuming I’m stupid. Second, even if I accepted that as a plausible answer, and I don’t, but even if I did, I’d need every detail on why you don’t do funerals. And then I’d like to know exactly why you couldn’t muster up some courage and just attend a function for a few hours to honor the father you say you loved.”

I might like to turn her over and slap her ass for that remark. Luckily she continues and doesn’t wait for an answer, because I’m very close to leaning over and doing it.

“You had your way with me in front of the window, now it’s my turn.” She gets up and walks over to the office and grabs the Scotch out of the drawer and the nosing glasses from the desk. She sets the bottle on the coffee table in front of me and goes to the basement bathroom to wash the glasses. I have a full two minutes to seethe properly before I have to tuck that shit down and pretend she’s not pissing me off.

“Pour,” she says as she sets the glasses down.

“I’ll make it a double, how’s that?” I ask her with fake amusement.

She takes her glass and sits on the far side of the couch. As far away from me as she can get. It’s only then I notice she’s still only in her pink panties under that t-shirt. It’s hard to miss, she’s flashing them at me. “Cute,” I say, tilting my glass in the direction of her open legs.

She laughs. “You think I’m going to give in and let you win this game, Ford? I won’t. I don’t like to lose either.”

“So you’ve been hiding this cut-throat fem-Nazi behind some demure broken-hearted wife routine for what purpose?”

“Fuck you. Don’t speak about my—” She stops mid-sentence and takes a deep breath and this sets off a small alarm bell in my head. “Don’t talk about him.”

“Then don’t talk about my father.”

“I’m allowed. You wanted me to submit to you for this game. I wanted you to answer my question. That’s the deal we made, and from what I can tell, you’re being disrespectful to me right now. Rude, even. Because you’re not doing what you promised.”

Wow. I might regret ever meeting this girl.

“Fine, you want to know why I don’t go to funerals? I’ll tell you. I was diagnosed with Asperger’s syndrome as a child. I’ve seen more than forty specialists over the course of my life—”

“Wait. Why? Asperger’s doesn’t require that many doctors, especially if you’re high-functioning. And if you do have Asperger’s then you’re definitely high-functioning. So you left something out.”

I squint at her again. Who the f**k is this chick? “I’ve left a lot out. But you only get one question. You want to know why I didn’t go to my father’s funeral. I don’t do funerals because I don’t experience emotions like most people. Funerals, celebrations like birthdays, that sort of thing… New Year’s parties—none of these things have meaning to me. And my father would’ve understood my decision not to go to the funeral. So don’t pretend like you know enough about me, or him, to even form an opinion about that.”

She stares at me.

“Are we done? Are you satisfied?”

She downs her double shot of whiskey and sets her glass down on the coffee table. Then lets out a long breath. “OK.”

“OK?”

“I guess that’s the only satisfaction I’m getting tonight, so I’ll take it.” And just like that the other Ashleigh is back. The pit bull has been collared and leashed.

I huff out a laugh and then drink my whiskey as well. “You decided you didn’t want me to satisfy you, so don’t blame your disappointment on me.”

“You hit me!”

“You disobeyed. I told you I would spank you if you disobeyed. You admitted to liking it. You pushed me on purpose.”

“It f**king hurt.”

And this is not an exaggeration. I did hurt her and she’s mad. Mad enough to have tears building, so I ease up a little. “Believe me, I’m not into hurting girls. I’d rather make you squeal my name in pleasure.”

She shakes her head but a reluctant smile comes forth. “I thought it would be”—she shrugs—“fake. Playful. I didn’t expect it to hurt like that.” She palms her breast through the t-shirt and pauses on the nipple I pinched. “And it still hurts now. I won’t be able to nurse.”

“Sorry. I didn’t know they were so sensitive. And for the record, if you were just some one-night girl I’d never touch you again after your behavior. I’m not looking to punish people. I just like to be in control. I don’t want to hurt you. I’m not into whips, I don’t want to humiliate you or piss on you for f**k’s sake. I just like to call the shots and I like to f**k girls who let me do that.”

“And that’s why you have the sphere of privacy?” She laughs as the words come out. “You’re so stupid, Ford.”

“What can I say, it’s my Jedi power.” I smile and she sighs, then leans back into the couch, tucking her legs up close to her chest. “Come here, Ashleigh.”

“Why?” She’s scowling at me with suspicion. “So you can pinch me again? Or smack me? Or something else equally stupid? No, thank you. I might be in a tight spot but I’m not a slow learner.”