Dangerously Bound (19 page)

What else is new?

Fuck.

She leaned her head back to look up at him. Her eyes had cleared a bit. He shifted
her, settling her against the pillows, and sat next to her.

Do what you’re supposed to, damn it.

He reached out and tucked a silky strand of her hair behind her ear. “You doing okay?”

“I’m fine. That was . . . amazing.”

“Yeah, it was,” he said truthfully.

Too amazing. Too good.

Panic was a hard flutter in his veins. He tried to swallow it down.

“But now you need to talk to me,” she said, softly but insistently.

“We can talk any time, baby. Are you hungry? Do you need something to drink? I’m getting
some Gatorade.”

He got up before she could answer him, and went to the kitchen, where he paced the
length of the dark slate floors, his heart slamming into his ribs.

He couldn’t fucking talk to her—not the way she wanted him to.

It was Allie, for God’s sake. He owed her.

No.

Not that. Not anything he wasn’t able to give. And to really be himself? To let go
of the reins he’d used for years to hold
himself in check, to contain the beast? He just wasn’t capable. He’d always known
it. That was why they hadn’t been together all these years. She deserved more.

He needed to calm the fuck down.

He yanked open the brushed-steel refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of Gatorade,
cracked it open and took a few swigs.

He couldn’t leave her alone in there for too long—she was going to wonder.

He pulled in a breath, closed his eyes as he blew it out. What he really needed right
now was to go for a long run, to lose himself in the New Orleans heat, in the pumping
of his legs and his lungs. Even in the pain from his damn leg—the pain that was always
there when he went running. But she was waiting for him, and he had to handle this
somehow.

“Okay,” he muttered, scrubbing at his goatee. “Okay.”

He grabbed another Gatorade and went back to the bedroom. Allie was right where he’d
left her, her hair a tumble of dark silk around her shoulders, her breasts bare above
the sheet she’d pulled up around her waist.

He handed her the Gatorade, pulled his sweatpants back on and sat next to her on the
bed.

“Drink some,” he told her. “I want to be sure you’re not dehydrated.”

She opened the bottle and took a few sips.

“Is everything okay, Mick?” she asked.

“What? Sure. Everything’s great. You were perfect.”

He took her hand and pressed a kiss to the back of it before letting it go.

“You seem kind of . . . disconnected.”

“I’m right here, baby.”

“Are you?”

He smiled. “Yeah, of course. Hey, I’m going to have to get
up at the crack of dawn tomorrow to catch my plane. I don’t know if you want to stay.
You’ll have to be up early with me.”

She looked at him warily. “I’m . . . not sure if you’re asking me to stay or to go.”

“You’re welcome to stay if you want.”

“That wasn’t exactly an answer.”

“Sure it was.”

He was such a liar. And a bad one, at that.

Asshole.

“Jesus, Mick. What’s going on here?” she demanded.

“What do you mean? I’m just saying I still have to finish packing, and I have to be
up early. And I thought you were coming over to talk for a while. But now that you’re
here and naked in my bed, you can stay if you want to.”

He had to be up early? Fuck, he was a Grade A piece of shit. But the panic inside
him had to be quelled.

“Do
you
want me to?”

“Sure.”

“Wow, that is
really
not an answer.” She pulled the sheet up to cover her chest. “Tell me what’s going
on with you, Mick. Tell me why you’re shutting down on me.”

He shrugged. “Everything’s fine, babe. But I have to get ready for this trip. It’s
business. And as much fun as I have with you, I still have stuff to take care of.”

Fun? He felt like such a bastard as the words came out of his mouth. Part of him couldn’t
believe he was doing this to her. But the other part—the part that felt the urgent
need to escape—couldn’t help it. He didn’t even want to think about the control he’d
schooled himself in for years, or the fact that he’d obviously lost it completely.

She threw back the sheet and stood up, rummaging on the floor for her clothes. “I
can’t believe you’re doing this.”

“Doing what?” he defended himself, knowing full well it was bullshit.

“I opened my
pain
up to you, and now you refuse to give me anything back. Is that what we’re doing
here, Mick? Is it all about ‘fun’? Because I thought it was something more than that.
I thought it was us getting to know each other again.” She paused while she slipped
back into her underwear. “How the hell am I supposed to do that when all you do is
hide your real self from me? Your truth?”

“I didn’t ask you to open to me like that.”

She straightened up and pulled her tank top over her head. “Didn’t you?”

She was glaring at him. He didn’t blame her.

“Maybe this
is
my truth, Allie. Maybe this is all I can do. Maybe that’s what I’ve been trying to
tell you for years.”

She shook her head. “That is such a cop-out. Poor Mick, so fucked up he hasn’t learned
a damn thing about himself in eleven years.”

“I’ve learned to accept who I am,” he said, hating that he sounded so churlish.

She crossed her arms over her chest. “Really? Then why don’t you share it with the
class? Who do you think you are?”

“I think I’m fine.”

“Fine?” she challenged. “It must have taken a lot of soul searching to come up with
‘fine.’”

“Christ, Allie. Why does this have to be some psychological examination of me? Why
do you have to fucking force it?”

She stood looking at him, a flush coming over her face, her eyes glittering. It was
several moments before he realized it wasn’t anger but tears that gleamed there. “That
was a horrible thing to say, Mick. Take it back.”

“Fuck. I shouldn’t have said that. I know it’s not true.” He
got up off the bed, unable to bear the hurt in her eyes, knowing he was the cause.
He reached for her hand and leaned in to brush a kiss across her cheek. “Come on.
Let’s not argue anymore. Not tonight. Stay with me. Please.”

She shrugged her shoulders. “Only if you want me here. If you
want
me to stay. I can’t do this half-assed thing where I’m the only one who wants me here
with you.”

“I do want you here. I really
am
going to have to pack. But I want you here where I can see you. Talk to you. Touch
you.”

She blew out a breath. “I don’t mind the packing.”

He pulled her in and pressed his lips to hers. He wanted to ignore how soft she was,
how sweet, but he had to kiss her once more before pulling back.

“I’m going to be gone for a few days. Can we not get into anything heavy right now?
We’ll talk more when I get back from my trip. I still . . . obviously have some stuff
to wrap my head around.”

“Okay. It can wait,” she agreed.

He wrapped her in his arms and she leaned into him. He didn’t want to think about
how good she felt. He didn’t want to think about anything.

“Why don’t you curl up in bed while I pack? You can help me figure out what to take.”

She climbed back into bed in her tank and her panties. She was fucking adorable.

“How have you managed on your own all these years, Mick?”

“Probably by running out of socks on every trip.”

“Men.”

“Why do I have a feeling you’re quoting Marie Dawn?”

“Because from her comes the wisdom of the universe,” she said soberly.

“That’s what she keeps telling Neal, anyway.”

Allie laughed, and he felt the knot in his gut loosen a little as he went into his
office to grab his suitcase from the closet. It seemed he’d gotten around the tension.
For now. But he’d think about that later, after his trip. Right now things were okay
with Allie—or at least in a holding pattern—and a little less intense. He had a few
days just to chill, which was what he needed.

You need her.

Yeah, that too. Which was why the timing of this trip couldn’t have been better. He
couldn’t think straight with Allie this close, this accessible. A few days away would
give him perspective.

*   *   *

M
AY IN
A
TLANTA
was almost as hot and muggy as New Orleans, but Mick had always liked this town.
He was booked into his usual hotel, the Omni—it had a killer view of the Atlanta skyline
and was central to his business contacts. And to the local dungeon, 2112, where he
was meeting his friend Finn tonight.

He and Finn had met each other on the kink circuit five years earlier, and they hung
out together whenever they were in each other’s cities, or at the fetish conventions,
where Finn often lectured on BDSM safety and his favorite topic, mind-fuck. He was
a true sadist, one of the best Doms Mick had ever seen, and a good friend.

Mick stared out at the incredible view, the city lights a sea of color against the
dark sky. The sky was clearer here than in New Orleans. His head was clearer here
than in New Orleans.

He’d spoken with Allie several times in the last few days, checking in on her. They’d
kept the conversation light. He hadn’t mentioned to her that he was extending his
trip by a day or two so he could play at 2112. No, he’d texted a short message to
her a few hours earlier saying business was keeping him longer than expected.

He hated that he’d lied to her. But he’d excused it by telling himself that letting
her know he was going to play with someone else would only hurt her.

It wasn’t as if he’d promised to play exclusively with her.

He turned from the window and grabbed the keys to his rental car. There was no point
in beating himself up about it. He was doing what he needed to in order to get his
head on straight. It was that simple. He fucking needed simple.

The drive to 2112 in Atlanta’s historic Adair Park area only took fifteen minutes.
He found parking across the street from the club—although from the outside no one
would have known what went on behind closed doors.

The place was a beautifully restored Craftsman bungalow set on a large hill lot at
the end of the street, three stories of gorgeous old architecture, outfitted from
top to bottom for kink. He’d been a number of times before and knew many of the regulars.
Still, he’d called Finn and asked him to set up a play partner or two for the night.

He grabbed the small play bag he often took when he traveled from the trunk of the
rental car and walked up the long driveway to the house. It was only when he stepped
onto the porch and knocked on the door that he could hear the music playing inside.

The ornately carved door was opened by a hulking man in a black leather vest.

“Evening, Mick,” the man greeted him.

“Evening, Richard,” Mick said as he moved past him into the club.

He nodded at the pair of collared subbie girls corseted in white leather at the desk,
a matching pair of blondes. 2112 always did it up right.

“Good evening, Mick, Sir,” they chorused.

“We have your online check-in, Sir,” one of them said. “You’re welcome to go on through.”

“Thank you.”

He moved through the door to the right and into what was originally a parlor but was
now a sort of lounge for members of the club. It was decorated in early Craftsman
style, with a few additions. There were large eyebolts in the floor next to chairs
and sofas to which a leash or rope or chains could be attached, and an old gun case
against one wall held a nice array of paddles, floggers and crops. Another young woman
in the club’s official white leather corset and collar approached with a carefully
balanced silver tray holding a decanter of whisky and several crystal glasses.

“A beverage for you, Sir?”

He rarely drank on a play night, but a little extra relaxation sounded good.

He nodded, and watched as the pretty girl balanced the tray with one hand and managed
to pour with the other. She smiled as she handed him the glass.

“For your pleasure, Sir.”

“I’m sure it will be.”

He smiled back, paused a few moments to look over her soft curves, the mane of red
hair cascading over her shoulders, before nodding his dismissal. She was a pretty
little thing, but even if she hadn’t been contracted to train at the house, he wasn’t
interested in the slave mentality. Still, he wasn’t dead. He watched her hips sway
as she walked away to offer a drink to another member.

He moved through the lounge and back into the second parlor, known as the Spanking
Room. This room was more dimly lit and more comfortably furnished, though still in
Craftsman style. Here the submissives were mostly naked. Several were
draped over a lap and being soundly spanked. Small sighs and cries of pain or pleasure
filled the air, and he felt that familiar tingle of anticipation deep in his bones.

He walked through, keeping an eye out for Finn—and finally found him standing in the
opposite doorway, heavily tattooed arms crossed over his massive chest, watching the
action. Finn was an enormous man, with tribal Maori ink covering most of his body
and a short crop of spiky platinum blond hair. His appearance could be intimidating
to those who didn’t know him, but despite his wicked Dom side he was a real gentle
giant, someone who laughed a lot. His thick Australian accent added to that sense
of ease, and he was damn good company.

Finn clapped Mick on the back, his huge hands giving him a good pounding.

“How are you, my friend?” the big man asked.

“Doing okay.”

“I’m not so sure that’s true, but we can talk more later. I’ve set up a few potential
play partners for you. Would you like to meet them? Or do you want to relax first?”

“I’d like to finish this drink and hang out for a while.”