Waking Kiss (6 page)

I’d come here to fuck her, in case you hadn’t figured that out yet. Kinky or not, her graceful, unique ballet body attracted me. I wanted to grope her all over and work out my curiosities with some prolonged and athletic sex. I wanted to pull her glossy hair, pinch her small, pert breasts. After I fucked her, I could stop wondering what it would feel like to fuck her. I could walk out of here in the morning and sleep a lot better tomorrow night.

That was the plan. I just hadn’t expected a blanket fort in the corner.

But she ignored it and drank coffee, and so did I.

“Where did you say you were from again?” I asked.

She half-smiled at me. “I didn’t, remember? You guessed.”

“But you never actually told me.”

She stared down into her coffee cup. “I grew up in Wyoming. In cattle country.” She made a face and looked back up at me. “To this day, I can’t stand to eat beef. I don’t like anything from a cow.”

I stared at her. “No steak? Hamburgers? Roast?”

She shook her head firmly. “I don’t eat beef.”

I pointed at the cream she’d set out for our coffee. “That comes from a cow.”

“It’s not the same.”

“Leather jackets?” I asked. I’d slung mine over the back of my chair.

“I don’t care about those so much. It’s the food that makes me sick. The taste.” She shook herself a little. “There’s a smell in Eastern Wyoming that makes me sick.”

“One nice thing about London—there aren’t a bunch of cattle ranches stinking up the place.”

That made her smile. A little.

“Tell me about your security job,” she said, stirring her coffee. “And your talent for opening locks.”

“I only work on the right side of the law, I promise. I own a personal service agency with my dad. Ironclad Solutions—discreet personnel for the rich and famous. Bodyguards, PAs, travel security. Business is pretty good.” That was an understatement, but she’d seen my house. She knew. I was past apologizing for my money. I gave away as much as I could and enjoyed my life with the rest of it, although I felt a pang of guilt sitting in her tiny, bed-less apartment.

“Bodyguards, huh?” She glanced at my well-developed biceps. “Is it ever dangerous?”

“Sometimes. It depends on the situation. Sometimes it’s just escorting a client around an unfamiliar city, or babysitting celebrity kids. When Rubio travels, he uses our agency’s protection to ensure his…personal space. We serve high profile clients who need security and management, but in most cases it’s not a life or death thing.”

“In most cases?” She shook her head. “Wow.”

“Are you worried about me?” I teased. “About my agents? Believe me, they’re well trained. Like you, only a different set of talents.”

“Is that how you found out about Rubio’s…uh…proclivities? You had to follow him into some sex club?”

“Not me, no. My employees probably have, a time or two. But I knew Rubio in BDSM circles before he ever used Ironclad.” I fell silent a moment, my gaze trailing off over her shoulder to her slouching blanket fort. “Can I ask you a personal question, Ashleigh? Where is your bed?”

A flush crept across her cheeks. She thought for long moments, like she was putting together some big, enlightening answer. I waited patiently to be enlightened, but in the end all she said was, “I don’t have one.”

I leaned closer and whispered, “Do you sleep in the fort?”

She got the same look on her face that she had when Rubio pulled the rose out of her bag. Embarrassment, guilt. A bit of horror.

“If you do,” I said a little louder, “I’ll pretty much think it’s the coolest thing I’ve ever heard. I guess it’s possible that you sleep on your couch, but the fort would be so much edgier.”

“It’s not edgy,” she said, fighting a smile. “I can explain it, actually.”

“I’m all ears.”

She looked over at the pile of blankets. “I grew up in a super religious family. My mom and dad always threatened me about the devil. They said he wanted to possess me, that he was always watching me and making me do bad things.” She bit a fingernail and looked back at me. “At some point, I got this idea that the devil lived under my bed. After that, I couldn’t stand to be in one.”

This was all kinds of fucked up. “So you don’t have a bed because a devil might be under it?”

“I just don’t like beds. Anything could be under them. Devils, monsters. Spiders.”

Your parents
, I added silently. I glanced at her fort. “So, blankets have devil-repelling qualities?”

She shrugged. “A devil hasn’t gotten me yet.”

Ha. You’re sitting across from one.

“Can I go inside?” I asked, standing and crossing to check out the sprawling structure. The sides were propped up with hinged gymnastics mats, one red, one blue. A white and yellow floral quilt spanned the top, along with a couple smaller fleece blankets. There was only one pathway to crawl in.

She hustled over and got in my way. “I don’t think it’s big enough for you.”

I leaned down, peering through the opening. There were more blankets and a small mattress inside. “Oh, I could squeeze in there, but then there wouldn’t be much room for you.”

She stared at me. She wasn’t blushing anymore but had paled almost to the color of her quilt. “You really want to go in?”

“Yes.”

She let out a breath, and her hands opened and closed. She had to know what I wanted to do to her under those blankets. I didn’t think I’d made much of a secret of it, especially after the way I’d kissed her out in the hall. She looked like she wanted to invite me in, but was too embarrassed—or nervous—to do it.

I straightened, giving her some space, and walked around the sides like an appraiser doing an inspection. “We can make it a little bigger, can’t we?” I knelt down and started pushing the mats to the side. At first I worked alone on the renovations, then she joined me, lifting the quilt and repositioning the fleece blankets to fit the new, wider layout of her fort…or her bed.

God knew I didn’t deserve to go into her safe place, but when she slipped through the curtain of the entrance I dropped down and crawled in behind her. I’d come here to fuck Ashleigh Keaton. There was no way in hell I was staying out.

I couldn’t remember if I made blanket forts like this when I was a kid. I did know that I’d never been afraid of the devil. I’d been at home with darkness and violence from an early age, but this was not a violent space. There were flowers printed on the quilt-roof and more blankets to cover the inside walls. We both squeezed onto the narrow mattress. I was a clumsy, ill-fitting intruder but she accommodated me as best she could.

Once we’d situated ourselves, she reached above her head to a small shelf behind the pillow. She clicked on one of those LED lights made to look like a candle. It flickered and everything. I could see the glow of it in her eyes. Then I noticed the photos of Rubio pinned to the sides of the blankets.

“Oh, no,” I said. “Some devils got in.”

She reached out to touch one of the pictures. “I used to really like him.”

“Do you still like him? If you say yes, I’ll lose a little respect for you. Just keeping it real.”

“I don’t, I guess. He almost made me cry today at the theater.”

My teasing mood darkened. “What did he do to you?”

“He ignored me. He’s always ignored me but…” She let out a long, shuddering breath. “Today it made me feel pretty bad.”

“Down they come.” I started yanking them loose, being careful not to mess up the blankets. “You have a pen or a marker? We could draw faces on them.”

She laughed, even though it was a miserable laugh. She took a scrapbook from under her pillow and pulled a pen out of it. The scrapbook was bursting with clippings and photos of Rubio.

I forgot all about drawing faces and stared. I could tell the scrapbook had been put together with care and looked at a lot. I’d sensed last night that she was sad about Ruby, disillusioned, maybe even heartbroken, but in that scrapbook I saw the physical manifestation of all she had lost. “I’m taking this book,” I said gently. “Throwing it on a bonfire or something. Because I know him, and he doesn’t deserve this. No.”

“But he’s a legend. He inspired me.” She gave me a pleading look. “Where am I going to get my inspiration now?”

I tapped her chest. “How about here? You have a thousand times more heart than him. I bet you could dance a thousand times better than him if you tried.”

I could tell she thought I was talking shit. Maybe I was. I hunched over and flung the photos and scrapbook out the doorway of the fort. I didn’t want anything of Ruby’s in there while I was finessing my way between her thighs. I lay back down and looked around the soft walls. “This place is growing on me, Ashleigh. It’s very cool.”

She smiled, a sweet, shy smile that made my cock jump. “Your house is cooler.”

“It is not.” I touched the tip of the fake candle. “I like your retro lighting.”

“I used to have real retro lighting, real candles, but fleece isn’t as fire retardant as you’d think.”

“Oh God.”

“No, there wasn’t a fire. Well, just a small one.”

I put a finger to her lips. “Hush. I’ll have nightmares. I’ll have to buy you a real bed for my peace of mind.”

She rolled a little away from me. “I wouldn’t sleep in it.”

“You just need to find a bed that feels as safe as this place,” I said, pulling her back toward me. “They make them, you know. Beds with curtains and canopies.”

I was surprised how much I wanted her to feel safe. I didn’t kiss her anymore but I left my hand where it was, cradled near her waist.

“Tell me about you and Rubio,” I said. “What happened onstage to make him so angry with you?”

She shook her head. “Every bad thing happened. Everything that could possibly go wrong.”

“I didn’t notice anything bad from the theater seats. You should have told him to fuck himself.”

She stared at me like I was speaking a foreign language. “I’m not allowed to talk to him. I’m not supposed to make eye contact with him. None of us are.”

“You’re kidding.”

“No, I’m not.”

I took her hand and brushed my fingertips against her palm. “I thought he was only an asshole at my parties. I didn’t realize he was an asshole at work too.”

“It’s hard to believe, isn’t it? When his dancing is so inspired?”

I ran my fingers up her arm, pulling her closer. She stiffened but she didn’t do anything to stop me. “Sometimes it seems that talent is given indiscriminately,” I said. “Money too. Sometimes it seems that the least deserving people have it.” I fell squarely into that group. I curled a bit of her black hair around my thumb. I wanted this girl, entitled asshole that I was, but I didn’t deserve her. “For the record, I think your dancing is inspired.”

She turned her head to avoid my gaze, and her hair pulled around my finger. I might have released it then but I didn’t. Our bodies were so close, her slender one aligned to my solid frame. I was ridiculously erect. I’d never raped a woman and I never would, but if I could have, I would have ripped off her tight little sweatpants and buried myself to the hilt inside her.

In the midst of my lurid fantasies, she reached back and switched off the flickering candle. We were plunged into blanket-covered darkness. Was it an invitation? I let go of her hair and glanced around, and then I saw the stars above us. Not stars—flowers. The flowers of Ashleigh’s quilt were luminescent, irregular dots of light over our heads. She was so close beside me. I felt warm and amorous, and utterly detached from the world. It was just me and Ashleigh in our dark universe with flowers for stars hanging over our heads.

“Can I ask you something?” she said.

“Anything.”

“At your party, when you said you wanted to play with me…”

I went very still.
Don’t ask. Don’t ask what I wanted to do to you.
Ashleigh’s delicate nature spurred my vilest fantasies. Force and restraint, torment and invasion. I wanted to fix her to a rack and flog her until she was sobbing, and then pillage every one of her holes until she begged me to stop. Then I wanted to lock her away where no one could touch her, where I wouldn’t even let her touch herself. I wanted to take away her safety and make her long for her mats and blankets. I wanted to clamp her and plug her and chain her and train her to grovel at my feet. When she was completely broken, when her will and soul were mine, then I’d give her mats and blankets back. That’s what I wanted.

I didn’t know how we got to that place from this little enclave of flower-stars. It didn’t even seem worth it to try.

“If I played with you,” I said instead, “what would you want me to do? It’s dark,” I added when she didn’t answer right away. “That means you can say whatever you want. What are your fantasies?”

“I don’t…” She sounded breathless. “I don’t have any.”

“Tell me. I won’t judge you.”

She turned toward me in the darkness. I could barely make out her features. “You’re the dominant, aren’t you? Why don’t you tell me?”

“Tell you what to fantasize about? That’s pretty hardcore submission, but we can start there if you like.” My fingers threaded through hers. “Now, what kind of fantasies should I force on you? It can’t be anything too scary. You’re new at this.”

“You’re making fun of me.”

“I’m playing with you,” I corrected her. “Forced fantasies. Very hot. But if you’re not into that, let’s try again. What would you like me to do?”

“I don’t know. Maybe…make me do things. Tie me up?” She sounded uncertain, like she needed me to judge her answer.

“Okay.” My fingers slipped from hers to circle her wrist. “That first ‘B’ in BDSM stands for bondage. Being tied up or restrained is a common kinky fantasy. Do you think you’d like that?”

“I don’t know. I thought the dominant decided everything in BDSM. I didn’t think you’d give me so many choices.”

“Does that appeal to you? Not having choices?”

She shook her head. “No. Yes. I don’t know.”

“Let’s try it out and see.” It only took me a second to grab both her hands and trap them over her head. “Struggle for me. Try to get away.”

She pulled with her arms first. For a small woman she had surprising strength, but she was no match for a guy my size. When she couldn’t escape my hands she used her body to try to wrench away. Before she started using her legs I cinched them under one of mine. She really started fighting then and while I let her squirm around a little, she couldn’t get very far. The more she struggled, the harder I got. “Okay, enough,” I said when I reached critical mass. “Be still.”