Desire's Edge (15 page)
“Because I asked,” he said quietly. “I tend to get philosophical this early in the morning, when it’s still dark out.”
He knew it was bullshit. Some lame excuse.
She turned onto her side, facing him. “But is this the sort of thing you were asking about?”
“I want to know whatever you want to tell me.”
It was true. He did.
“Okay.” She pushed her hair back once more, tucking it behind her ear, baring her shoulder. He smoothed his hand over her skin. He couldn’t help himself.
“I really don’t know why I’m telling you this, in particular,” she said. “Maybe because I’m not quite awake yet. Or because it’s dark out, as you said, and it feels . . . safe.”
“Do you want to tell me more? You don’t have to.”
She nodded her head.
“When Jake broke things off with me I was devastated. But more because it was a blow to my ego. My self-esteem. And I was shocked. Because I have never been one of those girls. Someone who gets her self-image all tied up in a man. At least, I’d never thought of myself that way. But he judged me so harshly. So
instantly
. And I mean, the moment he found out that I wanted to be spanked, to do something that was outside the ordinary realm of sex he was familiar with—comfortable with, I guess—it was over. Just like that. And it took me a little while to realize that my reaction to the breakup wasn’t about him, as much as it was . . . It was too reminiscent of my parents. Never measuring up. And the fact that he would leave me over something like that. It made me feel dirty, when that had never seemed dirty to me before. Nothing about sex had ever seemed intrinsically wrong to me before, as long as it was between two consenting adults, you know?”
instantly
. And I mean, the moment he found out that I wanted to be spanked, to do something that was outside the ordinary realm of sex he was familiar with—comfortable with, I guess—it was over. Just like that. And it took me a little while to realize that my reaction to the breakup wasn’t about him, as much as it was . . . It was too reminiscent of my parents. Never measuring up. And the fact that he would leave me over something like that. It made me feel dirty, when that had never seemed dirty to me before. Nothing about sex had ever seemed intrinsically wrong to me before, as long as it was between two consenting adults, you know?”
“I feel the same way. That’s exactly it.”
He loved that she got it, that they were on the same page when it came to sex. But then, he’d already suspected this about her, had felt it right away.
“I was so angry,” she went on. “At him. At myself. But I was also just . . . crushed. And looking back, that was definitely more about the whole thing with my parents, the way they’d always looked at me, and found me wanting. The way that left me feeling about myself beneath the confident exterior I’d constructed and mostly believed in. I don’t mean to sound whiny or pathetic. But that was how it was for me growing up. This constant state of being rejected by them.”
“I don’t think you’re whining or being pathetic,” he told her.
“I’m twenty-nine years old. I feel like I should be over it by now. Do you ever feel like that, Dante? God, tell me I’m not the only sad story here.”
Dante shrugged. “I had plenty of issues with my dad. I still do. I don’t have a real connection with him. He’s always been so harsh. Demanding. A perfectionist. Totally unforgiving of weakness. You know, my mom’s health has never been good, and he judges her for that, I think, even while he’s holding it over my head, my brother’s head. That man can wield a guilt trip like nobody else. If we didn’t do our homework or forgot to mow the lawn, normal kid stuff, he was on us. We had to be responsible. We were letting our mother down. And God forbid we ever showed a chink in our armor. Even when we were five, six years old, we weren’t allowed to cry if we got hurt. I broke my arm falling off my bike when I was ten, and I just gritted my teeth while they set the break. The nurses all told me how brave I was, but it wasn’t that. I didn’t dare cry. Didn’t dare complain.”
He remembered it so clearly. The starchy, chemical scent of the emergency room. His father’s glare. His mother standing behind his father, looking over his shoulder, afraid to say anything. Afraid to comfort her child. A shiver of disgust ran through him. He swallowed it down, as he always did.
Why did he want to tell Kara about this? He couldn’t figure it out. All he knew was that he trusted her in a way he hadn’t really trusted anyone but his brother, Renzo, in a long time. He’d never even discussed his family issues with Alec in such an in-depth way, and he was Dante’s best friend.
His eyes had adjusted to the dim light, and he could see Kara watching him. There was no pity on her face. Just an openness.
“I don’t see my parents often because, to tell you the truth, I can hardly stand it,” he said. “I feel bad because my mom is so damn . . . faded. Like my father’s just sucked the lifeblood out of her. I’ve always hated that and it’s only gotten worse over the years. I hate that I can’t protect her from him. But she wouldn’t let me any more than he would.”
“I’m sorry, Dante,” Kara said, her voice soft.
“Christ, I shouldn’t have told you that. It doesn’t matter.” He ran a hand over his jaw, over the spiky stubble there.
“Of course it does. The things that happen to us growing up make us who we are, for bad or good. And obviously it’s made you a responsible man.”
“Yeah. Maybe. I keep striving to be responsible. But I know my limits.”
He wasn’t as horrified at having revealed himself as he should be. Something about it being
Kara
he was talking to. That and the layer of dark that was like a protective blanket. A cocoon. But he wasn’t used to it.
Kara
he was talking to. That and the layer of dark that was like a protective blanket. A cocoon. But he wasn’t used to it.
“Dante . . .”
“What is it?”
“I just felt you go tense all over.”
“Hey, that’s my job,” he tried to joke, but it came out sounding stiff.
“I’m not reading you. Not like that. But . . . what else are you thinking?”
He didn’t want to tell her. But he was going to do it.
“I’m thinking about my limits. About . . . this girlfriend I had in college.”
“I’d heard something about that,” Kara said, her tone soft and low. “That she’d been killed in an accident.”
“It was my fault.”
“I don’t understand.”
“It was my fault,” he said again. His jaw was so tight it ached. But he was going to tell her the rest. “I should have driven her home that night. There was a party and I’d been studying . . . By the time I got there everyone was drunk but me. I should have taken her. But I didn’t want to leave. I let one of her friends drive her, and they were both more than a little buzzed on beer. And she was upset that I didn’t want to spend time with her. It was true; I didn’t. I wanted to hang out with my friends.”
“Dante, you were a college kid. We were all a little foolish in those days.”
He sighed. “Now I sound pathetic.”
“More than me?” she teased, trying to lighten the mood.
It had hit her while he was talking that maybe they were delving too deep. Even though it felt good, lying here in his bed, with dawn lightening the sky outside in shifting clouds of black and gray. It had felt good, until she’d started thinking about it too much. Until this opening-up-to-each-other thing got too scary for them both. She could sense it in him. Felt her own fear like something astringent in the back of her throat.
If they could only stop this part, just keep things where they’d been—amazing sex between old friends—then she could handle it.
“We don’t have to talk about this anymore,” he said.
“Okay. Not a problem. Let’s change the subject.”
He obviously did feel the same way she did, that they’d gone too deep. Which was a good thing. Wasn’t it?
He rolled her onto her back and lowered his body over hers.
“There are a few things I can think of that I’d rather do with our time before work today.” His voice was full of smoke. Full of need.
Instantly her sex lit up, desire coursing through her at the press of his hard body on hers. The scent of him, as dark as the winter sky. Her mind shut off as if a switch had been flipped. She was grateful for it.
She opened her thighs for him, and in a moment his hard cock was sheathed and sliding into her. His hands were on her breasts, his plush lips on her neck. Sensation took over as he arched his hips, surged into her. Lovely and sharp and sweet all at once.
And she let it all go, let go of the old, bitter memories, her own and his. Let go of the fear that made her heart pound with worry about allowing herself to get too close to him. And she let herself become lost in Dante once more.
Kara’s fingers tapped on the edge of her keyboard as she glanced at the clock on her office wall for the tenth time that afternoon. She was waiting for six o’clock. It couldn’t come soon enough.
She would see Dante at six. She would meet him in his office, as he’d told her to. He’d given her other instructions, as well. And, following them, she’d slipped her panties off after lunch. Had spent all day being hyperaware of that nakedness beneath her black sweaterdress.
They’d been doing this for three weeks now. Meeting in Dante’s office as everyone else was leaving to go home. The idea of being in a semipublic place was as thrilling as his touch, his command of her. She picked up a pen and let it roll through her fingers, remembering that sensation. The feel of his hands on her. The look he got in his eyes . . .
She started doodling on the notepad next to her phone, drawing an eye. But it wasn’t enough. She tore the paper off, crumpled it and began again, outlining his face, his broad shoulders.
How to get the clean angles of his jaw, his cheekbones, just right? And that lush mouth, his expression . . . She was too out of practice. Yet it felt good to draw.
Even better to paint, maybe.
She hadn’t thought about it in a long time. But Dante was so beautiful. A man who looked like he did should be painted. His image preserved.
God, he was really getting to her. His dark good looks. His touch. Everything they did together.
She let the pen drop from her fingers. Sighed.
She knew they were taking some small risk with their jobs, even though he’d taken to locking the office door after that first time. And she understood now that it had been meant to challenge her trust in him. He hadn’t needed to do it again, take that kind of chance. Still, she knew it was all a little crazy. But she couldn’t help herself.
She was getting wet simply thinking about it. The fifteen minutes she had to wait would be excruciating. She was aching, needing him.
God, she’d turned into some sort of nymphomaniac, but that amused her more than it bothered her. Most of the time, anyway.
He would never fuck her at work. But he’d bend her over his desk, or over his lap in his office chair, and spank her. It was never a hard spanking, never rough enough to make her cry out. He wasn’t willing to really take that kind of risk with her, which she appreciated. But it was enough to give her that edge of pain with her pleasure. He’d spank her, pinch her, while he got her off with his hands. She loved it. Loved it when he laid her down on the leather sofa in his office and went down on her, holding her body still, forcing her weight into the cushions. Making her feel completely taken over.
She was still surprised at how much she loved his dominance. How easily she’d given herself over to it. To him. And when he took her back to his place, it was even better. He was harder on her, as she became used to the BDSM play. She could take more. Wanted more. They’d even talked about going to his club, the Pleasure Dome. She was a little nervous about it, but the idea excited her, too. Especially the thought of doing the things they did together with other people watching.
She shivered and looked at the clock again. Five more minutes. She pulled her compact from her desk drawer and checked her reflection. Her hazel eyes were sparkling, her cheeks a little flushed. She ran a brush through her hair, slicked on a little lip gloss. Nothing too dark—he would likely kiss it off, anyway. She smiled at herself before clicking the compact shut and getting out of her chair.
She smoothed her dress down over her hips, her stomach, shook her hair out. Time to go. To him.
Dante
.
.
When she opened the door to his office he was standing right there, barely allowing her room to slip through. He reached out with one hand and closed it behind her. She could smell his scent immediately, that dark, sexy musk.
“You’re late,” he said.
“What? It’s exactly six,” she protested.
Dante shook his head, his dark gaze gleaming with desire and a little wicked mischief. “It’s almost one minute after. I’ll have to find an appropriate punishment.”
“Oh, I hope so,” she found herself purring.
He’d never played the punishment game with her. She was surprised at how much she liked it. How her body was responding. But she’d probably respond to Dante this way, with desire shimmering over her skin in one long, undulating wave after another, no matter what he said. What he did.
He grabbed her and pulled her into his arms, holding her body hard against his. She loved how strong he was. How he dwarfed her. He held on so tightly she could barely breathe. And the spanking started at once, simply standing there a foot or two inside the door. He gripped her with one arm around her waist, while with his free hand he smacked her ass. A few times, then he slid her dress up and began to pinch her, small pinches that became harder and harder.
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