by Ivy Nelson
She sighed. “Stop calling me that please. It means too much.”
That cut him deep, and he tamped down the frustrated growl that was bubbling up again. “I’m sorry. I’ll try to stop, but that’s what you are to me, Adara. I might slip up from time to time.”
A tear slid down her cheek and he reached out to brush it away.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you cry.”
She shook her head. “It’s fine. This is just even harder than I thought it would be. Can you leave me alone for a little bit please?”
That was the last thing he wanted to do, but he agreed and left the bedroom, closing the door behind him. He paced the floor for a few minutes as his frustration grew. Finally, he walked to the mini bar and selected the tiny bottle of whiskey sitting inside. Halfway through his drink his phone rang. It was Peter letting him know his house was secure. He would come and get them soon.
It took some time, but they finally got Hamilton, his bed, and both their bags into Peter’s SUV. Once they got to Michael’s place, Peter helped them inside and gave them a rundown of security protocols. Adara retreated to the guest bedroom as soon as he left.
Michael sat in the living room and poured himself another drink while he watched Hamilton roam the house sniffing everything. He’d never gotten a dog because he worked odd hours, but it had crossed his mind a time or two. He liked Hamilton. The dog was overly protective of Adara, just like he was. He chuckled as he thought back to the first time he had gone to Adara’s house to spend the night. The dog had not been happy about losing his place in Adara’s bed. The thought of not experiencing things like that with Adara again saddened him and he swallowed the rest of his bourbon. He hoped like crazy for the miracle he knew they needed. Without it, there would be no keeping Adara in the United States.
He crossed the room and stared out his living room window. He had built a nice life in his little D.C. home. But he was no longer content. The years he had spent playing with single submissives at Exposure had been enjoyable. It was fun to be able to make a woman scream from that line between pleasure and pain. Lately though, Adara was the only one he wanted to play that way with. Which was odd. Until her, he wasn’t known for playing with the same woman repeatedly. A lot of the single subs at Exposure liked to bounce around and play with lots of different Doms. He didn’t blame them. They got to experience more that way. The thought of another Dom topping Adara caused him to clench his fist. She was closed off enough that the likelihood of that was slim, but the very thought of it made him angry.
He poured another drink and went to his bedroom where he tried to watch TV. The football game he put on couldn’t hold his interest, and the drink wasn’t what he wanted either. Finally, he tugged on his running shoes and stepped out of his house, locking the door behind him. He would burn off the energy he wanted to pour into Adara with a five-mile run. There was a lot of energy though, better go for ten.
12
♥♥♥
The rumbling of an empty stomach prodded Adara to venture out of Michael’s guest bedroom despite the fact that she didn’t really want to run into him. When she passed his open bedroom door, she could nearly smell him. It didn’t appear he was in there though, and he wasn’t in the living room either. Expecting to find him in the kitchen, she braced herself as she entered. But he wasn’t there either, so she set about making herself a sandwich.
She stood at the kitchen island smearing mustard onto a slice of bread when she saw him moving down the sidewalk. Her instant reaction to the sight of him all hot and sweaty surprised her. His feet were pounding into the pavement as if he were running from something. Maybe he was. She knew it couldn’t be easy for him to give her the space she was asking for, but it was necessary. A broken heart was the last thing she needed in the midst of the chaos she found herself in.
“You mind making me one of those?”
The sound of his voice sent her whirling in his direction. She had been so lost in thought she hadn’t seen him make the turn to come into the house. Sweat dripped from the ends of his hair as he stood in the kitchen doorway with a towel draped around his neck. She wanted nothing more than to shove his already low-slung shorts off his hips and beg him to make love to her right here in his kitchen. He would do it too. Instead though, she cleared her throat and said, “Sure. What do you want on it?”
“Anything is fine. I’m not picky.”
With shaky hands she pulled two more slices of bread from the bag. Thankfully, he turned and headed down the hall to his bedroom. Him leaving didn’t help get rid of the images of him sweaty and naked on the kitchen floor though. A sting shot through her finger and red fluid pooled onto the cutting board.
“Damn it,” she swore just as Michael came back in wearing dry clothes.
“What did you do, Angel? Sorry. Adara,” he corrected gruffly as he grabbed her hand to inspect the cut.
“Just wasn’t paying close enough attention while I was cutting the tomatoes,” she said softly while he ran her finger under cold water. When the blood stopped flowing, he lifted her finger closer to his face and inspected it thoroughly.
“Doesn’t look too deep.” He pressed paper towels around the injured finger. “Hold these tight. I’ll go get a band-aid.”
She squeezed the wad of paper towels tight and watched as a small dot of blood soaked through.
Michael appeared again, band-aid in hand, and took her finger again. He rinsed it one more time, dried it gently and dabbed some ointment on it.
“Stop staring at me like that,” he said with a growl as he wrapped the band-aid around her finger.
“How would you like me to stare at you?” Adara asked before she thought about how it might sound.
“Damn it, Adara. I have a hard-enough time controlling my urges around you without your smart mouth.”
“What urges would those be?” She was revving him up on purpose now and she had no idea why. He backed her against the island in the middle of the kitchen and planted his hands on either side of her, looking her dead in the eye.
“You know damn well what urges, Angel and if you want me to keep controlling them, you should stop pushing me. However, if you want to continue our agreement, I would be more than happy to turn your ass red. I’m sure I’ve got a wooden spoon around here somewhere.”
Adara’s breathing hitched. Fuck. What was he doing to her? Before she could stop herself, she reached her arm around his and opened the drawer she knew contained cooking utensils. Sure enough, a wooden spoon that now looked rather menacing lay on top.
Michael stood back and glared at her. “Last warning. Don’t push me, Angel.”
“Maybe I want to,” Adara said never breaking eye contact with him. It was as if someone else was controlling her body when she lifted the spoon from the drawer. It looked scarier the closer she brought it to herself, but she was stubborn and had started this. There was no way she was going to back down now. So, she laid the spoon casually on the counter next to her and crossed her arms glaring at Michael with defiance and a challenge in her eyes.
It took him less than a second to press himself back against her. With his body firmly against hers, he tilted his head down and touched his forehead to hers before picking up the spoon.
“You’ve got exactly one chance to back out. If you choose to, take your sandwich and disappear. If you don’t, I expect to see you naked and bent over this counter in ten seconds.”
It felt like Adara’s heart skipped a beat as his eyes bored into her. Nope. Not backing out. Damn her stubborn streak, she thought as she lifted the hem of her dress.
“Five seconds or I take it off for you.” He wasn’t playing around.
Adara’s hands flew over her head taking the dress with her, leaving her in her bra and panties. She started to unhook the bra, but he stopped her, turning her to face the island and forcefully pushing her over it so her butt was sticking out.
“Why are you doing this, Angel?” he asked as his hand sl
id up her back and into her hair. "Why are you pushing me when just today you said you didn’t want any of this anymore?”
Adara flew up and turned around to face him. “That’s not what I said, damn it.”
“No? What did you say then?”
“I said I didn’t think it was a good idea. Fuck, Michael. I want this more than anything. I just don’t want to get my heart broken when they throw me out of the country.”
Hearing herself say the words knocked some sense into her. What was she doing? She grabbed her sandwich and her dress and darted out of the kitchen and down the hall to her bedroom. Why was she such an idiot? Michael didn’t follow her, but she could hear him cursing in the kitchen. It was wrong to have led him on that way and she knew it.
She ate the now dried out sandwich and wished she’d thought to grab something to drink. As she listened to Michael stomping around the house, she felt guilty. Not for saying no to him. Not that she’d actually said no, but for giving him false hope. For giving herself false hope.
A knock sounded on her door as she swallowed the last of her barely edible sandwich.
“Come in,” she said softly. Michael pushed the door open and leaned in the doorway. He was holding a can of her favorite soda. It was something he’d taken to keeping in his fridge when she started spending the night more regularly.
“Thought you could use this.” He crossed the room to where she sat and handed her the cold can.
“Thank you,” she murmured before lifting the tab. The pop and hiss sounded deafening in the awkward silence.
“I’m sorry,” they both said in unison.
He heaved a sigh and dropped into the chair that sat across from the bed.
“I shouldn’t have taken things that far in the kitchen.” He raked a hand through his hair.
“I was kind of pushing you, wouldn’t you say?” she questioned, setting her soda on the nightstand.
“You were,” he agreed, leaning forward on his elbows. “That was pretty bold of you, Angel. What prompted it?”
“I honestly have no idea. Maybe you bring it out in me. If you haven’t noticed though, I have a bit of a stubborn streak. You hit a damn competitive button in me, and I couldn’t back down once we got started.”
He nodded and eyed her carefully. “I want to ask you something.”
“I’m listening.”
“Did you mean it when you said you wanted this more than anything?”
She took a deep breath and blew it out again. “Yes.” It was the truth, and there was no point denying that.
“So why aren’t you bent over my kitchen island with a red ass right now?”
She shook her head. “I just think it’s a terrible idea. We’re going to get hurt.”
He stood then and moved to sit next to her on the bed where he picked up her hands and looked her in the eye. She hated to see the turmoil on his face.
“Two things. First, we don’t know what the outcome of your deportation hearing is going to be. Second, we’re hurting each other by not doing this, so why not be happy while we can?”
It sounded reasonable, but she knew it wasn’t. “Because, the more we get attached to each other the more it’s going to hurt if this doesn’t go the way we want it to.”
A frown marred his handsome features. “So, in an effort to save yourself pain down the road, you’re causing yourself just as much pain right now by denying yourself the thing you want? That doesn’t make sense to me.”
“When you put it that way…” she muttered. He chuckled and squeezed her hands.
“Let me make this easier on you. We both want this, so let’s agree to just have fun for however long we have. No strings. I’m not going to collar you or anything. I’m just going to give you as much of a fun ride as I can.”
She pulled her hands from his and leaned back, resting on her elbows. “Do you expect me to obey you?”
“Of course. That’s kind of part of the game. Not to mention, you’re technically still in my custody and you legally have to listen to me.” His finger grazed her knee and he winked which caused her to roll her eyes and stick out her tongue.
“Watch it. The spoon is still on the counter.”
“I haven’t agreed to anything yet, mister. Don’t threaten me. Let me think about it.” When he scowled, she sat up and took his hand again. “I hear you. I do. I’m just confused still.”
“Take all the time you want. Just know I’m here and ready whenever you are.” He stood and walked to the door. Before he left, he turned and said, “You’re not leaving this country, Adara. Not if I have anything to do with it.”
She wanted to believe him, she really did. But things were not looking so good for her right now. They were looking downright dire. Her trial was in just two weeks.
Staring at him, she took the last swallow of her soda. “I’m grateful for your optimism, because I don’t have any of my own right now.”
“Trust the system. I know we’ve both seen it fail. But we’ve also seen it work. Let’s have some faith that things will work out how they’re supposed to.”
“I’ll try. I think I’m going to take another nap if you don’t mind. I’m feeling drained.”
His smile was tender and understanding. “Of course. I’ll be in my office for a little while if you need me.”
Adara stared at the door for a long time after he closed it, trying her best to imagine a world where he was right, and everything worked out. It was a nice fantasy.
• • •
It had been a week of pure torture for Michael. Living with Adara and not being able to touch her was pure hell. In the last seven days he’d caught glimpses of her in various states of undress, going to and from the bathroom for showers and such. One day he’d come home from work early to find her in the kitchen in her bra and panties rummaging around in the fridge. He’d simply muttered a curse and escaped to his bedroom and private bathroom for a shower. He was doing his best to give her space and let her think, but it wasn’t easy. To say he wanted her was an understatement. It was reaching the point of need. There had never been a woman he wanted the way he wanted Adara. Work was a welcome respite from the torture of being in close proximity with the angel he couldn’t have.
Now, he sat at the table in his kitchen watching her chop vegetables at the counter. She’d insisted on cooking for him and he wasn’t going to say no to a home-cooked meal. Before Darci had met Bradley, she had been his go-to for food that wasn’t takeout. Adara grabbed a spoon out of the drawer to stir something on the stove. That God damned wooden spoon. Michael shifted, his pants suddenly becoming uncomfortable. Christ, he had it bad. They hadn’t exactly been walking on eggshells since the spoon incident, but they also hadn’t been chummy.
Adara spent most evenings in her room with the TV on, and he worked late or went for a lot of runs. There had been one meeting with her attorney but there wasn’t much to do before the trial other than solidify their strategy to prove that Adara is American by way of the parents who raised her. Hopefully they could convince the judge her birth parents shouldn’t matter since she’d never had contact with them. It was a solid strategy but not guaranteed to work. Judge Carr was fair but also believed in following the letter of the law in most cases. The letter of the law, in this case, said Adara doesn’t legally have a right to citizenship.
“Have you heard from Carrie this week?” Adara asked as she added the vegetables to the pan.
“Not yet. I touched base with Peter. He said she’s lost down a research hole and he didn’t want to bother her until she came up for air or another energy drink.” Adara laughed at his recollection of the conversation with Peter. He wasn’t exaggerating though. According to what she knew, when Carrie got on the trail of a story, she lived on little to no sleep and a case of energy drinks. Food was an afterthought often forced upon her by her dominant husband.
Fifteen minutes later Adara was dishing a steaming veggie and chicken dish into bowls. She produced an unopened bo
ttle of white wine he didn’t even know he had and poured them both a glass. Silence filled the space as she sat at the table and they both dug in. He watched her toy with her food. Something was on her mind. He wanted to urge her to talk to him, but he also didn’t want to push her away. He took a large bite of the dish and nearly moaned. So much better than takeout.
“God, that’s good,” he said when he finished chewing. She smiled thinly.
“Thanks. Just something I made up with what you had.” Back to toying with her food. He was about to ask her what was on her mind when she picked up her wine glass and started drinking—more like chugging. She took large gulps of the fruity white liquid and didn’t stop until the nearly full glass was empty. He stared at her, amused and bewildered.
Then, she set the glass back on the table with more force than necessary, squared her shoulders, and spoke. “How does this no strings thing work with something so complicated?” The fact that she was making direct eye contact was a good sign.
He set his fork down and wiped his mouth with a napkin, taking a moment to study her. “What do you mean complicated?”
She shrugged. “Just, this whole kink thing doesn’t seem like a no strings kind of interaction.”
“Not to sound like a dick, but I’ve been doing the no strings thing since the day I joined Exposure.”
“I know. But we have feelings and complicated things between us. Seems like we’re asking for trouble.”
“I understand your concern, Angel. I think the point of no-strings, is to not have any expectations. We just do what we like and fuck the rest of it. There wouldn’t be any pressure to plan for the future or anything like that. Collars and contracts and the heavy shit isn’t necessary for BDSM and power exchange to be fun.” He paused and took a drink of his wine. She was still locking eyes with him, so he continued. “I like control. I like sensation. I love making you squirm. You like being on the receiving end of those things and we happen to like each other. What’s complicated about that?”
