Actually, him hurting her wasn't the reason she prayed. Because, even angry, Flint wouldn't do such a thing as hurt her. Not physically, anyway. The indignity of the position was suddenly apparent. Her kneeling with her backside in the air? He'd like that. If she'd come miles and miles why, oh why, hadn't she thought of that first? Well, she couldn't very well back down now.
"I I will lie down. Once you're fully inside, that is." How mortifying to have to say so.
"Whatever, sweetheart. But sort your skirt, you don't want me seeing that nice little derrière of yours."
What was mortifying for her plainly didn't disturb him in the least. She fiddled with her skirt. His voice was brusque as a broken tuba. His face well, she couldn't see his face, but she could imagine the bone-hard way he p
