Taken by Chance (11 page)

chapter
11

Thea had hovered
for a while as Chance packed Lena’s stuff into his old Army duffle, even
remarking on how most women wouldn’t let a man they’d only just started
sleeping with anywhere near their private things, but eventually she’d seemed
satisfied with his conduct. He was being careful, after all. And he wouldn’t
know about most women—it occurred to him that he’d never done anything as
ordinarily intimate as pack a woman’s clothing for her before. It just hadn’t
come up.

Huh.

Even so, Thea had
eventually wandered off to take a phone call, and Chance had been left in
Lena’s apartment. The clothing had been easy; she had a nice closet, easily
organized. He’d gotten that out of the way in about two minutes, even though he
was sure to have screwed something up, but he figured he could take her
shopping.

Damn, this was
moving fast.
From zero to sub in one day.

Anyway it was the
other essentials he was having trouble with, reminding him how much he didn’t
know about this woman he inexplicably—to use her word—felt close
to.

Her apartment was
full of books. Just everywhere they could be stashed, books. Well-loved books.

And
not just books.
There were legal
pads with dense handwriting all over the place, bulletin boards with index
cards on them with little headings like, “Inciting Incident: car wreck” or
“Plot Point 1: gets the package.” He had no idea what they meant, but
apparently Lena did, and this was obviously
all important
to her. She wasn’t kidding: she wrote like it was her job.

He couldn’t take
all
of it, not yet. But he obviously had
to bring some of it. A woman who lived and breathed books and writing like this
obviously needed them. He could just check out these binders to find out which
one was the script she was working on now, and bring that over with her laptop.

He hadn’t meant to
start reading. But he had to at least skim to figure out what was current.

Then he’d gotten
sucked in.

Somehow she’d made
the story of two lovers on opposite sides of a war funny and breathtaking and heart
wrenching.
And
suspenseful
.
He wasn’t a guy who read romances or love stories or whatever, but this was
crazy. No wonder no one knew what to make of her stuff. It was unlike anything
else, and it was just too good.

The thing that got
him, though, was her grasp of people. He’d only ever felt like this when
reading
Anna Karenina
back in high
school. That was the only book in that long, torturous year of Ms. Grisham’s
English class that had blown his mind. Maybe it was the burgeoning Dom in him,
but he’d been fascinated by how Tolstoy had so much empathy and compassion for
people he didn’t even like that he was able to get inside their heads
completely. Tolstoy
knew
his
countrymen, better than they knew themselves.

This was like
that.

He
laughed—he’d just compared Lena to Tolstoy.
That…that
was insane, right?
Chance was no literary critic, but he knew what he
liked. Screw it. Tolstoy it was.

That was when Thea
had shouted for him.

He shoved a few of
the binders and her laptop case in the duffel, slung it over his shoulder, and
headed toward the commotion.

“Thea, what’s up?”
he called down the stairs.

“I think our girl
might be doing something a little crazy,” she said. “I only tell you this
because I don’t know if that photographer is the violent type, and because you
run faster than I do.”

Chance had seen
Paul Cigna sitting in his car down the block. Apparently, so had Lena.

He broke into a
run, tearing out the front door.

Lena was
definitely doing something…maybe not completely crazy.
But
not obviously sane, either.

She was standing
at Cigna’s window, blocking the photographer’s view of Chance’s approach,
dressed in her outfit from last night and yelling something.

Shit
.

Something in
Chance redlined. That man was intent on hurting Lena, either psychologically,
with his fucking camera, or physically, because he was a creep. Chance welcomed
the feeling he’d learned to hate—that lurch in his gut, the fire coursing
up his spine—because it was what was going to stand between Lena and Paul
Cigna. He broke into a run.

“Let’s just get
this over with so I can get on with my life,” Lena was saying. “I’m not
interesting, I’m not famous,
nobody
cares who I’m
dating or what I’m doing, so why don’t you take whatever creepy ass picture you
want right now and then leave me alone?”

Chance was close
enough now to hear Cigna’s creepy, calm response.

“But that’s not
the shot I want, sweet thing.”

The beast in Chance
roared.

Keep a handle on it.

Chance put a
gentle hand on Lena’s elbow and firmly pulled her out of Paul Cigna’s line of
sight. He’d be damned if he let that asshole enjoy the view of Lena in that
dress for one more second. When she saw it was
him
, she
unconsciously stepped into the protection of his arm, and in the back of his
mind he was pleased.

But
first things first.

“Hey, asshole,”
Chance said, leaning down to the window, feeling like he could get his fingers
to leave dents in the metal if he wanted. “What did I tell you last time?”

Cigna’s expression
turned on a dime. The fear on the man’s face as he put his car in gear was
satisfying, though not as satisfying as it would have been if he’d begged Lena
for forgiveness and promised to leave her alone—on his knees. Instead,
the coward peeled out without a word, turning recklessly onto Abbot Kinney.

Chance held Lena
close to his body and took deep breaths while he waited for the pressure inside
to dissipate and be replaced by normal thoughts. He was still on high alert.

He was still
pissed about the leer he’d seen on Paul Cigna’s face, and not just because the
man himself sickened him—he had been leering at a woman who was his. His
responsibility.

“You ok?” he asked
Lena, looking down. She was still pissed, but she there was something
more—she looked puzzled.

“I’m frustrated,”
she said. “And confused.”

Frustrated?
Confused?

Did she have any
idea what kind of danger she’d just put herself in?

“Lena,” Chance
said, keeping his voice controlled. “That could have been dangerous. I get why
you’d want to confront him, but don’t do that again. I’m not kidding.”

She raised a
mischievous eyebrow. “You’re not the boss of—”

His look stopped
her. She said, “Oh.”

“Yes,” he said. “I
am.”

“Yeah, but not
literally.”

Jesus,
this woman.
Chance stopped
her, put the duffel down, and turned her to face him. They were in the middle
of the street, and he did not give a damn.

“Yes. Literally,
figuratively, however you want to put it. Your safety is my responsibility—physically,
psychologically, whatever.
All of it.
I am not going
to let anyone hurt you, not Paul Cigna, not you. That clear?”

Lena’s head had
been back at the confrontation with Cigna, but now she was most definitely in
the moment. She looked up at Chance with some weird mixture of nervousness,
happiness, and that anxious tension he’d seen in her before.

“Yes, that’s
clear,” she said. “I didn’t…I didn’t think of it like that, though. I just
wanted to take control of it. I thought you’d be pleased. And I
was
pleased—it felt good. Until he
got, you know, all creepy.”

Were her eyes
actually brimming with tears?
Sensitive, brave, wild
submissive.
It was every flavor he loved, and now she was crying because
she’d disappointed him, or because she thought he was being unfair, or both,
when she was already in the middle of an emotional time.

But she needed to
understand this. He sighed.

“You notice things,
don’t you?” he said. “You noticed I was proud of you when you pushed yourself.
And I encouraged you to take control of that situation yesterday. And it felt
good when you did.”

Lena nodded,
clearly embarrassed that she was nearly crying. He tilted her chin up so she
couldn’t avoid his gaze.

“Look at me,” he
said. “I am proud of you for wanting to fight, and don’t beat yourself up for
crying—you’ve got a lot on your plate. But your safety is always going to
come first. You put yourself in danger on my watch again, and I’ll have you
over my knee in the damn street, you understand?”

The shock of his
promise hit her physically. He watched her closely. First a look of gratitude,
so much gratitude just because he cared even a little bit—again, she
expected so little of him, maybe of everyone. Then outrage.

And then it all
gave way to arousal. Arousal crowded only by the lingering expression of shame.

If he didn’t think
it would be too much for her at this particular moment, he would have pulled up
that dress and spanked her in the street. The thought drove him crazy.

As it stood, he
didn’t want her to feel insecure about their arrangement, he just wanted her to
think before she did things, but he wasn’t good with words the way she was. He
did better with actions.

He grabbed her by
the waist and took her mouth in his, the first touch of her tongue reigniting
his hunger for her all over again. It never really went away, but just touching
her was enough to make him burn for her, brighter each time. She tasted so
sweet, and yielded to him so well, giving back with just the right touch of
pressure, just the right sensation on her lips…

It was just
supposed to be a little possessive kiss, something reassuring, but it needed
more. He pressed her to him so he could feel her breasts on his chest, fisted
his hand in her hair, and took his fill. When he felt her skin go hot he pulled
away, licked her bottom lip, and let her go.

“Ok?” he asked.

Lena smiled
faintly, her fingers going to her swollen lips. She seemed a little dazed. “Um,
yes. Ok. Definitely ok.”

“Ok. Now that’s
settled, tell me why you were confused back there, before I get distracted by
that body in that dress. At least until we get in the door.”

“What?” she said.

Chance smiled to
himself. Yeah, she had that effect on him, too. Good to see her get a taste of
her own medicine.

“You said Cigna
confused you, sweetheart.”

“Oh, right. Well,
I just wanted to get it over with, you know? So I was like, ‘Just take the
freaking picture, get it done, I’m standing right here.’ But he didn’t want a
close up or whatever picture I offered him. He was taking photos as I walked up
to him, but it was like he was taking B roll.”

“What’s B roll?”
he asked as he walked her back to Volare.

That got a smile.
Hell, if it got a smile like that every time, he’d sign up for a full education
in Lena’s school of L.A. knowhow.

“It’s like in
documentaries. When some expert’s talking about an artist, for example, they
show B roll of the artist at work, because five minutes of watching
anyone
talk is insanely boring. So they
shoot the guy mixing paint, or preparing his canvas, or literally anything
related that’s more interesting than a talking head—all of that is B
roll. And for still photography, sometimes they’ll do
candids
.
Like, everyday life.”

Chance looked
down, his mind turning her explanation over, trying to figure out why that
worried her.

“So what’s his A
roll?” he asked, holding the gate open for her.

“Exactly,” she
said. He thought he saw her shiver.

chapter
12

Lena glared at the
blinking cursor on her laptop and tried very hard to ignore her phone. It was,
she was sure, mocking her. Her laptop was full of good things: her work, her
progress. Her phone…

That was something
else. Her phone had become the enemy.

For lack of a
better word, she’d been inspired since coming to stay at Volare. Something
about the energy of the place, and the energy of Chance—and the energy
that Chance put into her, on an impressively frequent basis—made her feel
completely uninhibited.
Or as uninhibited as she was ever
likely to feel, anyway.
The result had been a burst of creative
brilliance where she’d figured out the major problems in her latest screenplay
and had set out to rewrite the entire thing, top to bottom.
In
only a few weeks.
And now she only had one key scene left.

So why couldn’t
she write it?

It wasn’t because
she was worried about any of the usual things. This had been like a dream
vacation. She wasn’t worried about her career; she hadn’t been online in
forever and she wasn’t even thinking about money, though she knew she probably
needed to kind of soon. But when she was with Chance, when she was hanging out
with Adra, playing pool with Ford, the club’s blond-haired, gorgeous lawyer, or
meeting any of the other people in this incredible place, she felt accepted, at
home, relaxed.
Small miracle, really.
She would
actually let down her guard.

Until
she’d get another text.

There had only
been a few of them, and she didn’t want to make a big deal out of it, not only
because she was still mindful of the boundaries of her arrangement with Chance,
but because, frankly, she didn’t
want
them to be a big deal.

But she did wonder
how Paul Cigna had gotten her phone number. She assumed it was Paul, anyway.
She didn’t want to think about whether there could be anyone else in the mix.

He would run out
of steam soon. She was sure of it.

And in the
meantime, he wasn’t going to ruin what she had going here. Because for all the
rancid, foul speculation about her personal life outside the Volare compound
walls, this whole venture had changed her. Was changing her.

Chance was
changing her, in all the ways she’d hoped he would.

She’d never been
more sexually fulfilled. There hadn’t been as much of the whips and chains as
she’d thought there’d be, at least not yet—it felt like he was getting
her used to being controlled. And she wasn’t just getting used to it, she was
getting to love it. She felt like she was more of herself now that he’d allowed
her to become fully her.

He’d made every
effort to get to know her. Lena was very conscious of constantly being under
his surveillance, even while trying to respect her privacy, of how he looked
for clues to her hang-ups and desires in every thing they did together—watching
her favorite movies (he’d sat through
Thelma
and Louise
and he’d laughed all the way through
The Producers
), playing scrabble, going to a batting cage,
whatever. Whenever she caught him looking at her like that, it felt like
foreplay. And it felt more and more like she was right to feel like she could
trust him.

In fact, at this
point, just the thought of the man got her wet. And the fact that he’d
told
her that would happen? That he’d
get a freaking Pavlovian response out of her? That he could eventually get her
to come on command?

She squirmed in
her seat and tried not to smile. No way she was getting a dramatic scene done
now.

“Almost done?”

It was Chance. He
stood leaning against the open door of her little writing room, his plain white
shirt stretched tight over his shoulders, his arms crossed and his eyes
smiling. God, even his muscles had muscles. Lena kind of spaced out at the
sight of him for a moment before she remembered all the notes she had all over
the office he had given her.

Yeah. He’d given
her an office.

Which she was
actually insanely protective
of.

“Oh man, please
don’t ask,” she said, unaccountably embarrassed. She scrambled to flip over
note cards and close her laptop, stowing it at her feet as though people might
telepathically read her work if they could see it. She knew it was nuts. It was
even more nuts because it was Chance who’d had the foresight to bring some of
her writing stuff over, sparing her another encounter with Paul Cigna, which
was achingly sweet. “It makes me crazy to talk about stuff I’m working on while
I’m working on it. I know it doesn’t make any sense, but it just
is
.”

“That’s pretty
cute, you know that?”

She scowled at
him.

“Was that a look?”
he asked, eyes bright.

Uh oh.
Honesty, or…?

“Maybe,” she said.

Chance pushed
himself off the doorframe with no apparent effort and walked towards her. He
pulled her chair aside and crowded her until her butt bumped against the desk
behind her.

He had that look
again.
That hungry, dominant look.

Her body betrayed
her entirely. Her nipples hardened into little peaks, visible even through her
bra, and if she thought she was wet
before
…

Chance bent his
head with a quick, athletic grace, and she heard him inhale.

He
was smelling
her.

“You are sweet,”
he said lazily, his head coming back up. “Take off your shirt.”

Lena’s blood
rushed south, but her eyes immediately went to the open door behind him. It was
really, really open. She could see the hallway circling around the open space
looking down on the first floor below, the floating staircase on the opposite
side, even into another room on the other side of the building. And if she
could see out, anybody could see in.

Chance had told
her this was a possibility, but they hadn’t done anything in public yet. Not
even in public places in Volare.

She smiled,
uncertain. “Don’t you want to have dinner first? Aren’t you hungry?”

“Ate already. Want
to play with you. Take it off.”

Play with her
. Just the
way he said it, like she was his to toy with, whenever he wanted, wherever he
wanted—her clit throbbed ever so slightly.

Well, she was,
wasn’t she? She had agreed to that.

A small rumble in
his chest got her attention. She quickly pulled her comfy old Led Zeppelin
shirt over her head, looked up at Chance wearing only her black bra and a
pencil skirt, and rode the sensation of adrenaline flooding her system.

Then she held her
breath.

“All of it,” he
said, frowning slightly, and with one quick twist undid her bra clasp. Her
breasts bounced free while he pulled the straps over her shoulders, and just
the movement, and the look in his eyes as he watched them move, made her
clench.

“Do you know how
hot these are?” he said. “How insanely fuckable you are?”

Chance played with
both breasts, rolling her nipples in his fingers, kneading the soft mounds in
his hands. He knew how sensitive she was there and knew just what to do with
that information. She gasped, licked her lips, and tried to keep her head.

“Chance, you know
the door is open.”

His eyes flicked
up to her face, blazing with lust. “Of course I know,” he said.

Deep. Full. Dom.

“But—”

“Strip,” he said,
taking a step back.

She got little
chills from that voice. She only hesitated a little bit, but in that moment she
took her eyes off him for an instant, looking at the direct line of sight
between her and just…so many places in Volare, with that freaking door open…

“Lena,” he said.
“I’m giving you the order.
Now
.”

Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God.

She’d fantasized
about this. She hadn’t tried to get him to do it, not only since that would
take all the fun out of it, but also because of what he’d taught her about manipulating
Doms. But fantasy was so, so different from reality. From knowing she was in
plain sight.

Then why were
panties already soaked?

She closed her
eyes. “Yes, sir.”

And
stripped off her skirt and underwear in one movement, like ripping off a
bandaid
.

“Eyes open.”

She obeyed. His
eyes killed her every time. Like there was absolutely no point in hiding
anything from him. She was already feeling lightheaded, a sign that she was
about to start floating off into what he’d called “subspace,” and he’d barely even
touched her.

“Sit on the edge
of the desk.”

She pushed some
papers out of the
way,
thinking how silly it had been
to be embarrassed about them compared to what was happening now, and perched on
the edge of the antique sanded wooden desk. She jumped when the lip of the
desktop pressed into her bottom, putting sharp pressure on her already swollen
sex. Her skin started to heat up, and she knew she was blushing, or as close to
it as she could get.

Chance fondled a
breast while he smiled at her. “Spread your legs for me. Keep ‘em that way.”

Lena knew better
than to check the door again, but she couldn’t help it. Chance pinched her
nipple, hard.

“Sorry,” she said
hurriedly, and spread her legs as wide as they would go, hooking one leg over
the corner of the desk.

Chance whistled
low.

The air was cool
on her exposed, wet folds, and her nipples had started to ache from want. She
was breathing so fast she really was lightheaded now. She didn’t dare look at
the door again, but it was there, in her peripheral vision. Open.

And then someone
walked by. Someone tall. Male. She couldn’t tell from the corner of her eye if
they’d looked or who they were…

“Oh God, Chance,
they can
see
,” she said.

“Yup. But I don’t
think you get how you feel about that yet,” he said, and dipped one finger
inside her, quick in and out, the sudden invasion forcing a moan from her. He
held the finger up in front of her, where she could see that it was shiny and
slick with
her
.

“You see what I
mean?” he said, grinning at her.

Bad man.
Bad, sexy, impossible man.

“Touch yourself,”
he ordered. “Make yourself come for me.”

Her mouth fell
open a little. This was new. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt ok
doing that in front of someone.
If ever.

Lena’s throat felt
dry, but she swallowed her fear and locked eyes with Chance. That right there
sent little tendrils of pleasure curling through her core, and she licked her
lips. Nobody made her feel like this. Nobody made it this easy.

Slowly, she
trailed her fingers down her abdomen, the muscles fluttering under her own
touch just because it was Chance who demanded it, until she found her center.
Oh God, was she ready for him. She reached her middle finger inside herself to
wet it, and when she saw Chance’s reaction, her own muscles tightened.

“Do it,” he said,
his voice husky.

His eyes fell to
her exposed sex, and the muscles in his neck corded while he flexed his jaw.
She knew that if she looked down she’d see he was hard. Bulging through his
jeans. The thought of his large cock, hard and ready for her, drove her fingers
to her clit. That first touch, with Chance’s eyes on her, sent a tremor through
her.

She moaned.

“Faster,” he
demanded.

Lena obeyed,
rubbing her clitoral hood over the highly sensitive bundle of nerves, each
stroke pushing her higher. With her eyes half closed she took a deep breath,
the spread of oxygen igniting pleasure in every nerve, and moaned.

“Yes,” Chance
said. “Come for me. Now.”

And he reached up
and pinched both her nipples, hard, pushing her over the edge into an entirely
different kind of orgasm. Her scream strangled in her throat, her mouth hung
open in a kind of shock, her eyes half rolled back in her head, and her abs
jerked her forward, into his arms.