Jacked (49 page)

I didn’t think my dad would share, but he was emotionally strained and vulnerable. Anything was possible.

Just when I thought Adam would make a right onto Landsdowne Avenue, he drove straight. “Um, aren’t you taking me home?”

“Yeah,” he glanced over, “just not your home.”

ADAM PUNCHED IN
his security code, reset the house alarm, and tossed his truck keys onto the granite countertop. I hung my dress coat up on one of the hooks on the wall in his laundry room where I’d learned all coats go.

I was also learning the many moods that made up Adam Trent, but unfortunately was at a complete loss for the one he was currently wearing.

“You okay?” he asked.

After having been asked that question over two hundred times tonight, I was done hearing it. “I’m
fine
.”

He held up both hands. “Easy. You didn’t cry tonight, that’s all. I’m just checking.”

I was particularly proud that I hadn’t. Someone had to hold my family together.

“I thought you would,” he continued, taking the folded tissues out of his pocket.

“I’m sorry if I disappointed you.”

His irritated glare set me back a half step, making me instantly regret my snappy retort.

“You getting short with me, Doc?”

My head was starting to hurt. “Sorry. I just have a lot of things on my mind right now.”

“Like?”

I shook my head; I wouldn’t even know where to begin—not that he would care.

He rested his hands on his hips. “You want to talk about it?”

And make you dump me faster? I don’t think so.
“No. That’s okay. You really don’t want to hear my problems.”

“I don’t?”

I needed to crawl into bed and hug a pillow. I’d thought about asking him to drive me home; I was tired and torn between wanting to be alone and needing the comfort of his company. “No, you don’t.” And that’s when residual echoes of Randy telling me to
“Just shut the fuck up already. If I wanted to hear bitching I’d have stayed at work!”
roared through my brain. It was a hard lesson learned, and one I’d never forget. “I’ll work it out on my own. It’s okay.”

Adam scowled and then scanned the corners of his kitchen. “I don’t think you’re on your own here.”

“I’m fine, or at least I will be.”

He muttered a curse. “You’re fine?”

“Yes.”

“You don’t look fucking fine, Erin.”

“They’re my problems, Adam. I’ll figure it out. You don’t need to pretend to care. Really. It’s okay. Believe me; I know guys don’t want to hear women whining and bitching about stuff. I learned
that
lesson a long time ago, so I’ll spare you.”

I heard his unmistakable scoff. “Unbelievable. You’ll
spare
me.”

Great, now I’ve pissed him off.

He stormed around the kitchen. “What’s bugging you?”

“Nothing. Just drop it, okay?”

He stared me down, puffing like a bull ready to charge. “You trust me?”

I felt off-balance. “Trust has nothing to do with it.”

“Do you trust me?” he asked again, punctuating each word.

“Why? Are you going to give me a reason not to?”

Adam grabbed my hand and hauled me through his living room. I had presumed his assertive gait meant we were headed to his bedroom, so I was quite confused when he led me downstairs.

“What are we doing?”

He stopped abruptly at the bottom of the stairs. “You’re done questioning me.”

His tone cracked me like a sharp sting from a whip. “Listen, I’m sorry.”

“
Sorry
has nothing to do with it,” he tossed back, echoing my words as he pulled me past the edge of the couch to the center of the room. His grip on my wrist tightened while he glared down at me. “Do
not
move.”

I watched him cross the room, my feet frozen in place with what I could only surmise was curiosity mixed with a bit of fear—fear of angering him further. He fetched a large black duffle bag from the closet built under the stairs, which he deposited at my feet. He stuffed something into his pocket and then stepped up onto the ottoman and clipped something to the ceiling.

Adam stripped off his suit jacket and laid it over the back of the single chair; his jaw hard and tensed. His necktie was the next item to go. He stretched the black paisley silk to its full length and moved behind me, grasping my shoulders firmly as he draped his tie over my neck.

I couldn’t calm my heart rate. “You’re scaring me.”

He peeled my black cardigan sweater off, gliding his fingertips over my bare arms. His lips touched the edge of my ear. “Good. You’ll come harder that way.”

My breath hitched.
I’ll what?

Adam tossed my sweater onto the couch. “You don’t get it, so I’m going to explain it to you.” He seized my wrists, cinching them together with authoritative efficiency. Instinct to flee warred with paralyzing panic.

I felt his breath on my neck. “I asked you to share and you chose not to, making assumptions instead. That does
not
sit well with me.” The plastic noose around my wrists tightened with a final tug.

“Adam—”

“Right now I don’t want to hear another word out of your mouth unless you’re answering my questions or moaning my name. Are we clear? Nod if you understand.”

I wanted to kneecap him but was frozen in emotional overload. His words crackled with commanding authority. He rolled his shirt sleeves up, exposing his corded forearms that were as tense as his focus.

“What are you—?”

He unzipped the large duffle bag. “No. You had your chance to talk.” He retrieved a coil of bright red rope and started unwinding it, running each inch through his hands, meticulously inspecting it. “So we play this my way. After all, aren’t you a little curious?”

Damn him. I was, but now was
not
the time.

He folded the rope in half. Firm hands guided my body, swiftly wrapping me in his cording. His control seemed effortless, as though the motions were practiced and ingrained. I should have balked at the idea, put up some sort of resistance, but his focused attention was too liberating to pass up.

“The red looks gorgeous against your skin.”

Anticipation made my throat constrict. With a couple of passes and measured tugs, both of my arms were bound together behind me with soft cotton, from my upper arms down to my wrists.

I staggered on my high heels as the tension in my muscles increased. “Adam.”

“Always in control, my doc is. Always fighting what’s inside her head.” He snipped the plastic band off my wrists and then tied the rope off. “Let’s see what we can do about that.” He removed the necktie from my shoulders. The soft silk drifted over my eyes, slowly over the slope of my nose, brushing the scent of his cologne and his focused presence into my senses. Silk tickled over my cheeks and separated my lips. I felt helpless and nervous when he tightened it enough so it would stay in place.

“There we go. Much better,” he whispered right next to my ear, sending shivers of unbridled anticipation rolling through my body. “You can keep your silence. Now then, where were we?” He tugged my sleeveless blouse up with painstaking casualness, slowly pulling it out of my skirt. Firm hands slid over my stomach, warming my skin, and then left me feeling bereft when deft fingers opened each button. My mind went hazy when he cupped both of my breasts.

He squeezed my nipples, rolling them within the lace of my bra. The pleasurable pain jolted throughout me, replacing angered apprehension with heightened awareness. “When I ask you a question I expect the truth, and not some bullshit about how you think I don’t want to hear what’s bothering you.”

His words and teeth grazed my neck. He pinched harder. “Does this feel like pretend to you?”

I couldn’t stifle my moan through the necktie gag, even though my shame and penitent heart were weighing heavily.

“Have I given you any reason to think I don’t care about you?”

I snuffled hard and shook my head.

He pulled and squeezed, zinging another wave of arousal through my darkness. “Have I?”

I shook more fervently.

I felt his deep sigh as he dropped his hands, leaving me cold and empty and strangely alone inside. The rope tugged between my shoulders, jostled my wrists, and then he threaded the end through the clip in the ceiling.

My sleeveless blouse hung open, the air chilling my exposed skin. I felt like a side of beef dangling from a hook, raw and bleeding. It was aggravating, not to mention slightly uncomfortable.

He set a pair of silver sheers on the end table and stood in front of me. A gentle hand softly caressed my cheek. “I’ve thought about this first scene between us a lot. Everyone always placing demands on you. I’ve wondered how you would handle being bound. If you’d be able to free your mind.”

I wanted to kill him with my eye daggers. After several hours of standing at the viewing tonight, my high heels had moved beyond constricting and into the second level of pain. I thought about kicking them off and aiming for his head, maybe even put an early end to the budding humiliation, but then I’d probably be forced to dangle here on my tippy-toes. I groaned my displeasure.

His head tilted. “Do you want me to leave you alone with your thoughts?”

Damn it, he was frustrating.

I tried to slouch; my legs were aching, but every time I let the rope take some of my weight, my arms would pull and send registers of pain into my shoulders and spine.

“Stressful night.” Adam unbuckled his wristwatch. “Kind of night when I could really go for a drink.” He rubbed his wrist, carefully massaging his skin, and set the heavy timepiece on the table. “I know all about stress.”

He sat down on the couch and crossed his feet on the ottoman. “Instead of managing it, I let it get the better of me. One drink led to too many. Took me a long time to realize I was choosing self destruction instead of dealing with things.” He glanced over my body. “But that doesn’t seem to be a problem for you, Doc. You don’t need any help, just like I didn’t. I get that you want to keep that all bottled in. Worry about everyone else but yourself. It’s cool. You don’t have to share if you don’t want to. You’re right—most guys don’t give a fuck.”

Sheer determination had me fighting this every step of the way but gravity was hammering me hard. So were my tattered emotions. What did he want from me? Didn’t I just deal with enough grief and sadness for one day? I was starting to hate him. I closed my eyes so I wouldn’t have to look at him. This was not love. No, this was torture and he was all smug and content and relaxed and comfortable while I dangled from the fucking ceiling.

If he wanted to explore his fetishes, pissing me off was the wrong way to go about it. I shifted from foot to foot, unable to stand in one place for very long, despising him even more with each agonizing second that passed. What had probably been only minutes bound up and tethered began to feel like hours. My ankles were beginning to ache more than my squashed toes.

I started to sway. Thoughts were barraging my mind faster than each pounding beat of my heart. Pain, anger, regret, sorrow, hate, contempt all swirled into a vortex of agony. Sobs started to break. I squeezed the tears from my eyes while my saliva soaked into the silk between my lips. I had to remember to breathe through my nose.
What did I ever do to deserve this?

Strong arms braced me, keeping me from falling over. He tipped my chin up. “I’ve got you. What you’re feeling right now is how I feel. You don’t trust me enough to share more than your body with me. I get that. I want you to trust me, Erin. Trust
in
me. I’m here, baby. Right here. For you.”

I was becoming as distressed and crazed as a cornered cat. Mascara and exhaustion mixed with anger and unshed tears, burning my eyes. That’s when I’d noticed the room had gone silent and his white dress shirt was gone.

He loosened the knot at the back of my head and pulled his tie away from my mouth. I could see his regret and sadness as clearly as my own. “Please. Talk to me.”

My hair hung in my eyes, while his desperate plea resonated through my stubborn stance. Worries that had been plaguing my mind all night flooded my throat and bubbled up out of me. “I’m waiting for you to run.”

“Oh, baby, no.”

I focused on the floor. “It’s just a matter of time. You’ll be sick of me.”

“Sweetheart, no.”

Adam quickly released the tension tethering me to the ceiling, holding my weight. He walked us backward and sat down on the couch, slipping my skirt up so my legs could straddle him. He brushed my hair back. His eyes never left mine. “No, baby. I’m not running.”

“You will.”

“Hard to run with you sitting on me, Doc.”

“You know what I mean. It’s too much. Too fast. Sooner or later… Men don’t want drama.”

“I’m here. Right here.”

Years of inadequacies stood like gatekeepers, prepared to discount his words, while the rationale behind my current breakdown sealed my fate. Surely he’d see me as an unstable female—unworthy of his time—just like his predecessors.

“Hey. Hey.” He held my face. “Look at me.”

His request was difficult. I was afraid of what he’d see.