Dangerously Bound (12 page)

A long, sweet shiver trembled through her body.

“That’s what I’m counting on,” she told him.

Things had shifted somehow from uncertainty and nerves to a hot sensuality in mere
moments, it seemed. But that was Mick. Hard with her one minute and soft the next.

Hard with me . . . oh my.

“Now you tell me what your preference is regarding any sexual contact.”

“I . . .” She pressed her fingertips to her lips for a moment. “I really don’t want
to be the first one to say it.”

“What if that’s an order?”

“Then I’ll disobey. Just accept that you’re not going to get me to roll over on this
one, Mick.”

He laughed. “All right, stubborn girl. I’ll tell you that I think it’s a bad idea
to put too many strict limitations on how things go. Again, this is us. We’re not
strangers. We should give it every chance to allow things to flow naturally.”

“I agree. Except . . . actual sex is something else, Mick. It’s too intimate. We need
to see how play goes, how
we
go, before we can even begin to negotiate that.”

“Agreed. But I’ll send my clean health papers to you. I get STI checked every twelve
weeks. I’ll expect you to do the same in the name of transparency whether we’re having
actual intercourse or not. So, we need to discuss when we do this again,” he said.
“What’s your schedule like?”

“I don’t really have much of one yet aside from house renovations, which haven’t begun.
Lunch with Marie Dawn today—”

“Good.”

“See? I can follow instructions sometimes.”

“Sometimes,” he said wryly. “What else this weekend?”

“That’s it.”

“Then we’re back to The Bastille tonight.”

The breath went right out of her. “Oh.”

“Is that an argument, Allie?”

“What? No. I just didn’t expect things to happen so fast.”

“I like fast.”

God, she was going wet just hearing the tease in his voice, the authority.

“You always have.”

“I’ll pick you up at eight. Be ready. Same instructions as last night.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Don’t be smart, Allie. You’d do well to remember I’m as much a sadist as I am a rope
Top.”

“And I’m as much a masochist as I am a rope bottom.”

They were both silent for several long moments while her system burned with desire.

“Tonight,” he said finally.

“Tonight,” she repeated.

They hung up and she clasped her cell phone in her hands, pressed it to her chest.

This was either going to be amazing or heartbreaking—again. She wasn’t sure she could
handle heartbreak. But Mick was right: if they didn’t try, how would they ever know?
She didn’t want to live with a head full of the might-have-beens. She’d been doing
that for years, and she’d never gotten over it. But she also couldn’t go into this
with a heart full of dread. She would need to gather her strength, to not let the
fear defeat her. She would do it. For him.

And she would do it for herself. They both deserved, finally, to
know
.

*   *   *

S
OMEHOW SHE’D KEPT
herself busy all day, talking with Allister about the remodel, which he would start
next week after a good look at the place on Monday, then at the hardware store, picking
out paint and looking at kitchen cabinets. She’d taken a long
bath, let herself sink into the ritual of smoothing lotion onto her body, doing her
makeup, brushing out her hair until it shone.

This time she wore red silk lingerie and a black knit tank dress that skimmed the
tops of her thighs, and high black sandals with straps that crossed delicately over
her instep. By seven forty-five she was ready, heart racing once more, checking her
reflection in the mirror, wanting to be perfect for him.

When the doorbell rang at exactly eight o’clock, it startled her, even though she’d
been waiting for it.

Calm down.

She shook her head at her own ridiculousness as she went to open the door.

Just like last night, he seemed to dwarf the doorway. And he was so damn sexy, with
his devilish goatee. He wore a bit of a smirk.

“Very nice, Allie girl. You ready to go?”

She nodded.

He opened the screen and took her arm, pulling her out. Silently, she handed him the
house keys and he locked the front door, handed the keys back to her and kept a hand
at the small of her back as he led her to his truck and helped her in.

She was sinking already, her mind emptying of everything but the sense of déjà vu
and the overwhelming sense of Mick’s presence as he drove them to the club.

“You doing all right?” he asked her.

“Yes. Just getting my head in the right place.”

They stopped at a light and he turned to her. “I think you’re there already.”

She smiled. “Yes. I can’t help it.”

“I don’t want you to. You’re exactly where I want you, in fact. Going to The Bastille
with me, starting to float your way
into subspace. About to be in my hands. Oh, yeah. That’s about perfect.”

She didn’t know what to say as a sense of satisfaction at his pleasure flooded her.

For you, Mick.

They reached the club and he parked, came around and helped her from the truck. Inside,
the same woman—Pixie—sat behind the desk.

“Welcome back.”

Allie nodded. “Thank you.”

She was glad there was no more conversation aimed her way. She didn’t want to lose
her head space.

And Mick didn’t let her. He grabbed her arm hard, his fingers biting a little into
her flesh, the command coming through in the small shock of pain, but she welcomed
it. Her head sank deeper as she followed him into the club.

He took her to the back of the main room and through a doorway that opened into a
long hall.

“We’re going to keep things private tonight,” he said, his mouth close to her temple
as he steered her down the hallway. “I don’t want our focus to be interrupted even
by the thrill of exhibitionism, the sounds of other people. It’s just you and me tonight,
Allie.”

She shivered at the thought.

He guided her through a door and shut it behind them.

They were in a small room that had several pieces of equipment in it: a padded spanking
bench with knee and armrests in one corner, a large bondage frame in another, and
in the middle of the room was a hanging “bed” suspended from chains at all four corners
and covered in red vinyl. Against one wall was a love seat upholstered in red velvet.

“What do you think, Allie?” he asked her, moving in close and wrapping his fist in
her hair. “I’m going to lay you out on that table. I’m going to tie you down and do
some wonderful and terrible things to you.”

All she could say was, “Yes, please.”

S
HE DIDN’T DARE
to look at him. Not because he was the Dom, but because she was afraid if she did
her legs would shake too hard to hold her up.

He leaned into her and whispered in her ear, “I can sense you, you know. Feel what
you’re feeling right now. That trembling under your skin. Your pulse racing. I can
see it at the base of your throat. I can feel it.”

He pressed two gentle fingers to her neck, and she sighed.

“Ah, there it is. That honesty. You can’t hide it, can you? But I don’t mean that
as any sort of judgment. I
want
to hear it. Your sighs, your moans. I want to know your pleasure. Don’t hide it from
me. Don’t try to hide anything from me. You’re familiar with this process—you know
what we have to do in order for this to work. So tell me now, what are the nerves
all about? This hard set to your jaw, your shoulders? Because I feel like if I put
my arm around you right now you might break in some way.”

“I might,” she murmured, having to bite back tears for some reason she didn’t understand.

“Allie, I don’t want to hurt you. Not in that way.”

She swallowed. “I know. But you might, Mick.”

She heard him exhale on a long breath. “I’ll do my damnedest not to.”

She nodded, glanced away, letting her eyes lose focus in the dim, colored light.

“Look at me,” he demanded.

She swallowed again, the lump in her throat thickening. She couldn’t seem to force
herself to do as he said.

“Allie,” he said more gently. When she didn’t answer he said, “Okay, if this is how
you want it.”

The next thing she knew, he’d picked her up and placed her sitting on the edge of
the hanging bed, parted her thighs and stood between them. A tear plopped onto her
cheek.

When he took her chin in his hand, she tried to shake him off, but he held on firmly,
forcing her to face him.

“Mick, please.”

His brows were drawn over his beautiful gray eyes. Eyes like granite and quartz.

“I don’t mind if you cry,” he said. “But you
will
talk to me.”

She started to shake her head, but he wouldn’t let her do it.

“Talk, Allie.”

“This just . . . isn’t what I expected. I don’t know what I did expect. Except I suppose
I figured that with all my years of experience to draw on, this would be familiar
ground—just you and me getting to know each other again through kink, once we got
past you being mad about me dragging you here.”

“I’m past that—I don’t hold a grudge. Well, I do, which I guess we both know. But
I’m not mad at you. And this
is
us getting to know each other through kink. Tell me why it’s hard for you.”

“Isn’t it hard for you, Mick? Jesus, don’t tell me I’m the only one who’s having a
rough time with this.”

“Yes, it’s hard for me. Remembering what we used to be. Figuring out where the hell
we are now. Because this part—the kink—has changed . . . maybe everything. But my
job right now is to hold it together. To hold
you
together.”

The look in his eyes told her he meant it. That he
would
hold her together.

“Okay. Okay. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to be. Just take a breath and find that place in your head again.”
He dropped her chin and stroked a hand over her shoulder. “I’ll help you find it.
Come on, now, stand for me.”

He helped her from the table and pulled her dress over her head, paused to smooth
her hair from her face.

“The red’s a nice touch. Too nice to cut off you.”

She watched him as his gaze roved over her body, followed by his hands. He stroked
her arms, her stomach, making her draw in a sharp breath. She shivered when he stroked
the sides of her thighs, the curve of her hips, the small of her back. He pulled her
into his body, and she felt the heat of his skin, the hard muscle beneath her cheek
pressed against his chest.

His hands moved over her back in featherlight strokes.

“Breathe with me, Allie.”

She knew what he meant to do—take her through the slow yogalike breathing methods
meant to relax her. Following his lead, she inhaled deeply, blew it out slowly.

“Again,” he ordered.

She closed her eyes and drew in another breath, careful to keep time with him, exhaled.
Inhaled once more, and exhaled, let her body fall into the slow cadence, let her weight
lean into his strong frame.

She didn’t know how much time had passed when he said, “Let’s begin.”

He lifted her, setting her back on the hanging table. He stroked one shoulder, bringing
down her bra strap with his fingers. Her nipples went hard immediately. He caressed
her other shoulder, drawing that strap down, ran both hands over her breasts, filling
his palms with her silk-covered flesh. She arched into his touch.

“Ah, that’s it. Good girl.”

That phrase could always make her shiver. Coming from him it was like a small orgasm
shuddering across her skin.

He undid the front clasp, and the bra fell off and into his hands. He set it down,
then bent to remove her shoes, pausing to caress her calves, her thighs. He dropped
her shoes on the floor and laid his hands on her shoulders once more.

“Lie back now,” he told her, his voice soft, yet no less commanding.

She did as he asked, lying down on the cool vinyl. He stood over her, dwarfing her
more than ever, somehow. Perhaps it was his command, or the sense of vulnerability
that was always present when she was submitting, magnified now because it was
him
. Not that she minded. She gloried in it.

“I want you to stay there, to stay still,” he told her.

He turned away and she heard him unzip his toy bag, heard some shuffling around as
he unpacked what he needed. She kept doing the deep breathing, trying her best to
still herself even as desire poured through her system like a rush of heat.

The other rush was a keen need to be perfect for him. Even as her mind began to float,
she was acutely aware of it. It was a part of submission for her—to be floating off
into subspace, yet feeling the need to please, to be good for her partner. And now
it was nearly overwhelming. But the lump in her throat was
fading away, being replaced by this familiar role she knew she was capable of fulfilling.
She knew that
wanting
it to this degree would only make her better for him.

She felt him approach, watched as he lifted her arm, used his brushing fingertips
to spread her palm open, bent and placed a soft kiss on the inside of her wrist before
gently drawing it up over her head and sliding a length of rope around it.

She sighed at the tenderness of his touch, at the pure sensuality of the way he was
handling her as he looped and knotted the rope, making a cuff around her wrist, leaving
a line of rope dangling. He moved around the table and once more he lifted her arm,
used his fingertips to stroke her palm open, kissed her wrist, then her palm, sending
a shiver of desire through her body. He wrapped the other wrist in the same way, a
few loops and knots, leaving a long length of rope trailing.

She felt the tug on one wrist as he slung the rope through a chain link somewhere
above her, and her arm drew up and outward. He pulled it a bit tighter before he secured
it. She relaxed into the lovely, familiar safety of the rope as he did the same to
her other arm. She loved this sensation of calmness mixed with the near frenzy of
pleasure and need coursing through her.

Mick.

The rope.

Mick . . .

He moved toward the end of the table and wove more rope around first one ankle, then
the other, before he secured them to the chains at the bottom of the hanging table,
pulled it tight so that her legs were spread wide.

“So damn beautiful,” he said. “And so gorgeously helpless.”

She smiled. She couldn’t help it. It was exactly what she loved about being bound.

“What shall I do with you now, I wonder?” he mused.

She knew he didn’t require an answer—that the remark was designed to get her mind
spinning.

What
would
he do?

He trailed a finger up the center of her stomach, over her ribs, between her breasts,
and her nipples tightened.

“Ah, here’s a good place to start.”

He stroked his fingertips over one nipple, and her sex went damp immediately. When
he pinched the hardened flesh between his strong fingers, she groaned.

“Good, Allie? But you don’t have to answer. Your body answers for you.” He kept her
nipple pinched firmly between his fingers, making her have to breathe through the
pain, eyes closed, as he reached for the other and caressed the tip. Pleasure and
pain were a sweet cocktail in her system. Yet the ropes held her safely, giving her
something to hold on to.

When he tweaked both nipples hard, she arched up off the table with a gasp, pain lancing
into her. But he let go almost right away, stroking and teasing the tender flesh,
letting her breath out the pain, take in the pleasure. It was too good. Her pussy
was swelling with need.

He pinched again, and she hissed out a breath.

“Inhale,” he instructed her.

She did, and he squeezed harder.

“Oh, God,” she muttered.

“Shh. You can take it, Allie. Look at me.”

She blinked, clearing her vision, and focused on his face, his gaze locking onto hers.

He pinched, twisting cruelly, and she gasped, but his gaze held hers as firmly as
his strong fingers held her aching flesh. Pain radiated, brought burning desire in
its wake.

“Yeah, there it is,” he said, his tone low. “Your cheeks are going pink, and the same
flush is on your beautiful breasts. Your
eyes are glittering, the pupils wide. I can feel your need in the heat coming off
your body. And your nipples are so damn hard.”

He eased his grip, and she felt the hot rush of blood there as circulation returned.
Still watching her carefully, he caressed her nipples again, and pleasure was even
more acute, rippling over her skin, deeper, into her belly, her sex.

“Oh . . .”

“Quiet now, Allie girl. Be good for me.” She bit her lip, making him smile. “You know
I’ve always loved to see you do that. As if you’re considering your pleasure. Well,
I’m considering it, too. Oh, yeah, I am.”

He smoothed a hand over her tight stomach, right down under the silk and between her
thighs.

She moaned as his fingers slid in her wet heat. Her thighs trembled when he teased
her clit, then slid down and slipped inside her.

“Oh, yes . . .”

His other hand clamped hard over her mouth. “Quiet, my girl.”

She loved the command in his tone, in his hand across her lips, in the way he suddenly
pumped his fingers harder inside her. Faster and faster, his fingers curving to hit
her G-spot until she couldn’t hold still. She writhed against her bonds, her hips
arching into his hand, arms and legs pulling against the rope—she couldn’t help it
as pleasure poured through her system, hot and iron-hard. Her sex clenched at his
thrusting fingers as he worked her roughly, mercilessly, his thumb pressing down on
her clit.

“Don’t do it,” he ordered. “Don’t you come until I say you can, princess.”

She groaned, flexed her toes, her breath hot against his hand still over her mouth.

He kept at it, his fingers surging into her aching pussy, and she was soaking wet,
gushing even though she hadn’t come yet. But she was so close she could barely stand
it.

“Hold it back. That’s it.”

He kept fucking her with his fingers, stroking her G-spot hard and fast, his thumb
causing an almost unbearable pressure on her clitoris. Pleasure crested, and her body
arched again.

“Not yet. Hold it back.
Hold it
,” he commanded.

She groaned, a purely animal sound low in her throat, but she held on to that razor-sharp
edge, her body poised. She was panting, her breath burning in her lungs.

“Are you ready, Allie?”

He plunged in hard, drew his fingers out slowly. Pure torture.

She watched his face as he watched her. His gray eyes were glossy. The idea that he
was probably hard as stone for her right now passed through her mind, and a new shiver
of need coursed through her, making her pussy convulse around his fingers.

“Yeah, you are. Come on then, baby. Come for me.”

He thrust into her and she bucked into his hand. She started to come, and he paused,
making her feel as if her entire body were suspended in midair. Then he started again,
his gaze hard on hers as he fucked her in quick, pummeling strokes, his fingers burying
to the hilt, pulling roughly out, plunging once more.

Her orgasm was like a flood of heat and need, her hips jerking. She cried out against
his hand, her throat going raw as her cries turned into a scream. And still he thrust
into her, his fingers milking her for every last drop of pleasure.

She was soaking wet, gasping for air, shivering all over. And she was lost in the
intensity on his face, the way he looked at her, at the pleasure she saw there.