Bound With Pearls

by Bristol, Sidney

  “Can I come out yet?” she called from the bedroom.

  “Give me thirty more seconds.” The taper wasn’t finished but he’d gotten the basic shape down. Wrapping it and a few sizable slivers in a clean dish towel, he stored the secret in the freezer and wiped the counter off with a dishrag. “All done. You can come back now.”

  She laughed as she exited the bedroom. “Thanks for giving me permission in my own home.”

  He braced his hands on either side of the sink and watched her. “You’re welcome.”

  She’d changed into skinny jeans and a billowing green shirt in some soft-looking fabric. Her hair was captured in a loose braid and tossed over her shoulder. She had style—the brown silk romper, black dress—even when she was casual.

  “Sorry dinner’s not going yet. I meant to get started earlier but I got home late.” She reached past him for the chicken.

  “It’s okay. What can I do to help?”

  “You don’t have to.”

  “Hey, I invited myself over. I could at least lend a hand.”

  She glanced up at him, weighing his words. She lifted one shoulder and gestured past him. “Okay. Can you fill the pot on the stove with water?”

  He took the large pot and set it in the sink. “What are we making?”

  “Chicken parm. Is that okay with you?”

  His stomach growled. Grinning, he pretended to think about it. “I guess so.”

  She stuck her tongue out at him. “Jerk.”

  “You asked me out,” he fired back, waggling his eyebrows.

  She tilted her head back and laughed. That was the uninhibited woman who drew him. “My bad.”

  “Where’s the pasta?” He set the pot on the stove and looked around.

  “It’s on top of the microwave.” She bumped his hip with hers as she set the frying pan on the stove. In the time he had taken to fill the pot with water, she’d breaded the chicken breasts and was on to searing them.

  He moved out of her way and got the pasta going. “Did you talk to Lucy?”

  She compressed her lips, the joy that had suffused her every movement leeching away. “Yeah, she said she was busy and threw a fit when I told her it would only take me a minute to pick up the necklace.”

  He moved to stand behind her and began kneading her shoulders. “Do you need to talk about it?” To him it was a simple problem with an easy solution, but when a woman was involved he’d learned nothing was ever uncomplicated.

  She sighed and leaned against his chest. It felt right to curl an arm around her waist as she swayed from plate to frying pan.

  “Not really. I mean, it’s the same frustrations I’ve always had with her and talking about it doesn’t change what it is.”

  “No, but talking about it will make you feel better, won’t it?”

  “You don’t want to hear about my sister drama.” She looked over her shoulder at him. “You don’t even like my sister.”

  “It’s not that I don’t like her, I think she’s undisciplined. Still, she’s your sister and if you want to talk about it, I’m here.” He pressed a kiss to her temple and moved back to his post to stir the noodles.

  She was quiet for a moment, her focus on the pan. The fragrance of seasonings and hot grease wrapped around him, encouraging more rumblings from his stomach.

  “Nah.” She tilted her head and looked at him from the corner of her eye. “I don’t want to talk about her. I’d rather talk about you.”

  “Well, what do you want to know? I’m an open book.”

  She pinched her lower lip between her teeth as she turned the chicken breasts over. “Okay,” she said when the procedure had been performed without spraying boiling oil on anything. “How did you get started in the scene?”

  Ah, the basic getting-to-know-you questions. He felt a little guilty for getting all the details out of her and not reciprocating before now. “My parents lived it. It was always a part of their lives. I didn’t know, of course, until I was in college. My parents are very open-minded but didn’t think it was appropriate to share that part of their relationship with us, and honestly it would have weirded me out as a kid.”

  “Wow. How did you find out?” Her eyes widened. “You don’t have to answer that,” she said in a rush. “I shouldn’t have asked.”

  He chuckled. “It’s okay. My parents taught BDSM practitioner classes on the weekend after my sister and I moved out. My dad was concerned because the university I was attending had asked them to talk to the psychology department.”

  “Oh my gosh. That must have been awkward.”

  “Actually, it wasn’t so bad. I’m adopted for one, so I look nothing like my parents.”

  Chris darted a glance at him. “I saw your family pictures.”

  “Why do you look guilty?”

  “I feel like I was snooping.”

  “Where were the pictures?”

  “On the wall.”

  He chuckled. “If they’re on the wall, I don’t care.”

  “How old were you when you were adopted?”

  “Pretty little, two or three, maybe? I don’t remember anything before my family.” That didn’t mean he was without his hang-ups. He liked physical contact as reassurance. He’d been guilty of being the clingy one in relationships. It was as though some part of his subconscious was still afraid of being left behind, despite knowing better.

  “Can I ask why your parents adopted?”

  “Infertility.”

  She nodded, the corners of her mouth turning down. “Do you know who your parents are? I mean, not your parents, but the people who had you?”

  He chuckled at her stumbling over her words. “My birth family? No. I’m not interested in knowing who they are or why they gave me up. I know some people need to know but I don’t. I really don’t want anything to do with them. They left me. Those aren’t people I want in my life.” He knew there were a lot of circumstances that would make someone give up their kid, many of them with the child’s well-being in mind. But he’d been left, abandoned in a park with a fucking note. Not given up for adoption.

  He released his death grip on the spoon and glanced at Chris, who was studying him. So he’d wrestled with abandonment issues. Who didn’t have a few stumbling blocks in their life?

  “I’m asking all sorts of really personal questions, I’m sorry.”

  He reached over and tweaked her braid. “Don’t be. You shared with me.”

  “Yeah, but I have this disease of the mouth where I just can’t stop talking when I get started.”

  Daniel stepped into her personal space, delighted when she didn’t back away but tipped her head up. He dropped a kiss on her lips, lingering as she moved against him, swiping her tongue across his mouth. Behind him the grease in the frying pan popped, demanding attention. He backed out of her way and let her tend to the chicken breasts.

  Spatula in hand, she continued to push the filets around until they were arranged in some mystical order only she knew. “I’m sorry, I totally derailed what we were talking about.”

  “No problem. What were we talking about?” He slipped behind her and stirred the noodles.

  “Getting involved in the scene.”

  “Oh yeah.” He shrugged. “Mom and Dad at the college, right? They came and did their presentation and I actually went to it. I didn’t care because outside of that setting I wasn’t going to run into the doctoral students. It made my parents’ relationship make sense. My dad was in charge 24/7, which was the big problem when I was a teenager. He didn’t have an off switch and I couldn’t understand how my mom could put up with him. When I realized that was what she wanted and how they showed they loved one another, it clicked.”

  He adjusted the temperature on the burner and turned to face her. “It works for my parents, but that’s not me. My dad sat me down and gave me the rundown. We talked about their lifestyle and what he saw in me. With their blessing, I dipped my toes in and learned that I’m not a 24/7 kind of guy but I have stro
ng dominant tendencies.”

  Her brows rose. “Good. I like that you have an off switch. Can you pass the glass pan?”

  Just like that they snapped into an easy state of being. He helped her cut the cheese and get the chicken into the oven and she left him to finish the pasta. She told him about her decision to change jobs due to stress from working with her sister, and he talked more about what drew him to Atlanta.

  “I have some wine,” she said as she set the table. The apartment smelled like an Italian kitchen and his stomach was gnawing on his spleen.

  “No wine.” He turned to his bag and pulled out a bottle of sparkling cider.

  Her eyes dropped to the bottle, dipped lower and jumped to his face. He was convinced if her cheeks weren’t already pink from the heat of the stove, they would be pink now.

  “Oh.”

  It was a club rule—no one played and imbibed. It was a personal rule he followed outside the club.

  Christine’s spine didn’t straighten and her expression remained relaxed, though she did glance at him more often than she had been. There was no tension, just an acceptance between them. Tonight was easy. In fact, he was enjoying himself more than he’d expected. If he only ate and went home, it would still be an evening worth remembering.

  Chapter Eight

  Pushing back from the table, Christine put a hand over her stomach. “I’m so full.” Part of her couldn’t believe she’d eaten as much as she had. Having dinner with any man she was interested in reduced her to nervous pecking, which meant she spent more time pushing her food around her plate and thinking about how she was putting food in her mouth than actually eating.

  “I’m stuffed.” Daniel leaned back and stretched.

  She sluggishly got to her feet and reached for his plate, but he stopped her by wrapping his hand around her wrist.

  “Let me. You did most of the cooking.”

  He took the plates from her and proceeded to push her out of the kitchen. Her kitchen. She watched him scrape the excess sauce off into the trash can and place the dishes in the skink. Her fingers itched to take them from him and finish cleanup herself. She was of the opinion that it wasn’t good manners to let guests clean up.

  She opened her mouth to protest when he began running water into the sink and squirting out soap, but his gaze slashing toward her silenced the complaint. Instead, she slid onto one of the stools across the bar from the sink and waited.

  Daniel glanced up at her, one side of his mouth screwed up. “Why don’t you find us a movie to watch or something?”

  “Okay. Are you sure you don’t want me to do that?”

  He sighed and passed a plate under the tap, sluicing off little white bubbles. “Chris, I’m doing something nice for you. Appreciate it, you brat.” He grinned and flicked water droplets at her to underscore his point.

  “Fine, thank you.” She glared at him without any heat and wiped the moisture from her cheek, then turned her attention to the living room.

  Truth be told, a movie sounded perfect. She hadn’t planned out their evening very well. Such a heavy meal made her sleepy, not energized and ready for whatever he had in mind.

  She grabbed the remote from the bar and flipped on the TV. She clicked through the channels. Saturday night she normally watched back-to-back kitchen contest shows, if she watched TV at all. Choosing a popular sitcom instead, she settled on the couch where she could see both the TV and Daniel. He made her kitchen seem tiny. In comparison to his loft, her modest apartment was miniscule, but she liked it.

  Daniel opened drawers and cabinets, navigating her space as though he’d been there a million times. He was utterly at home here, despite her feminine flourishes. She smiled to herself as he figured out the exact angle necessary to fit the pot in the sink. Cooking with him and sharing the ordinary things had felt like crossing into another level of intimacy. Her toes curled into the cushions.

  Despite her feelings, Daniel hadn’t articulated his thoughts about them as a couple, or if he wanted something besides friendship and Domination. It was a sobering reminder that they’d gone with the flow. While she held no qualms about speaking her mind, she was biting her tongue on asking him to define what they were. He was worldly and wealthy, clearly accustomed to a lifestyle far above her own, and self-made to boot. It was intimidating.

  Listening to him talk about making life decisions based on things he was passionate about, like crafting jewelry, made her job seem dull. Realistically there was nothing wrong with her job. She was good at it, there was a certain level of creativity and strategic thinking involved and it paid well. But talking about ad campaigns didn’t light her with the same fire as did Daniel. She didn’t know what she would do if she changed jobs. And why should she? She was happy, after all.

  He glanced up and caught her watching him. He smiled, transforming his face to something warmer, kinder. She didn’t think it was intentional, but Daniel had a tendency to scowl a little. The smile eased those lines and brought the inner light in his gaze up a few notches to stunning. He did things to her insides. Last time he’d looked devastating in the suit, tonight he rocked jeans and a t-shirt and still managed to be sexy. He ducked below the counter for a moment and the hum of the dishwasher beat a steady background to the noise from the TV.

  Christine feigned interest in the actors on the screen though she could sense Daniel approaching from the kitchen. She had only the sofa, so she knew where he was going to sit but her stomach still fluttered. Or it tried to. Even her nerves were too sluggish from such a big meal.

  “Oh, this is a funny show.” Daniel sank down on the couch next to her, his arms sprawled across the back.

  “I don’t watch it often. Only when Ginny’s over.”

  “Come here.” He closed his hand around the back of her neck.

  It wasn’t a hardship to curl up against his side, her arm wrapped around his middle and her head pillowed on his shoulder. She didn’t care about the show. She wanted to curl up and catnap. She was a card-carrying cuddler. On several occasions, previous boyfriends had complained to the point she went out of her way not to cuddle. Daniel seemed to be even more into skin-to-skin contact than she was. It was one of the things she liked most about him. Closing her eyes, she concentrated on those feelings of contentment that being in his arms conjured.

  He leaned back against the armrest, pulling her with him so she lay against his chest. He was all hard muscle and firm lines.

  “Thank you for doing the dishes,” she mumbled into his shirt.

  His hand coasted up and down her back. “You’re welcome. Thank you for cooking dinner. I’ve never had homemade parmesan.”

  “Ginny and I took cooking classes before she got married.” She curled her legs up on the cushions and snuggled in closer.

  “Does she cook half as good as you do?”

  “What are you talking about? Ginny’s version of cooking is sticking it in the microwave.” She peered up at him through her lashes. His head was tipped back and his eyes were closed. It seemed that she wasn’t the only one who was a fan of naps.

  * * * * *

  Christine started awake from a dream. She glanced around her living room, disoriented. Why was she asleep on the couch? She blinked back sleep crud and realized that she wasn’t just lying on the couch alone. There was another person.

  Daniel. Inwardly she groaned and chastised herself. Naps were great for Sunday afternoons but they weren’t exactly prime date activities.

  “Sorry.” Daniel’s voice was sleep-gruff next to her ear. He helped pry her off his chest. Her body ached from having been in one position for a long time. “Gotta pee.”

  She rubbed her face. “Crap. I’m sorry for falling asleep.”

  He chuckled and tucked a stray curl behind her ear before rising. “We both did.”

  She watched him shuffle to the bathroom in his stocking feet. There was something adorable about a man in those moments just after wakefulness. She flopped back on the couch and stretc
hed out her arms and legs when he stepped out of sight. Glancing at the clock, she was disappointed to see they’d slept into the early morning hours. She’d been excited when he’d alluded to playing after dinner. Now the sensible thing to do would be to say good night and turn in since she had the charity run in the morning. That was if she could sleep after the unplanned nap.

  The sound of the toilet flushing alerted her bladder to her needs. Jumping off the couch, she was there when he opened the door.

  “Excuse me,” she said, dancing from foot to foot.

  He stepped out of her way with a flourish of his hand. “All yours.” His chuckle was cut off by the hard slam of the door.

  After relieving herself and taking a moment to freshen up, she resigned herself to getting a goodnight kiss and going to bed. She was happy they’d spent time together. They could enjoy each other without the kink. But damn, she wanted sex of the naughty kind. Straps and a cane or rope and whatever else he came up with, that was her perfect ending to the evening.

  She opened the bathroom door and paused. The apartment was swathed in darkness.

  “Take your clothes off, Chris.”

  The Dom voice. She shivered and her pussy creamed. She could survive the run on a quick nap, couldn’t she?

  “Chris.” The warning in his voice was a lick of a whip at the base of her spine. “I can see you. You aren’t obeying me.”

  “S-sorry, Sir.”

  To cover her ass, she slapped the bathroom light off. She shed her clothes and tossed them through the doorway of her bedroom into the hamper. Her skin prickled and her nipples tightened. Cool air kissed the apex of her thighs where she was damp and she shivered.

  Naked, she padded into the living room with her arms wrapped around her chest and paused. Though she’d first thought the apartment was dark, the TV was still on but muted and cast a faint glow. Daniel stood at one end of the couch, his shirt discarded, watching her.

  “Come here.”

  He bent and started doing something at the coffee table she couldn’t see. Curious, she tiptoed across to the couch as he lit a match and set it to the candle she’d had on the dining table. The coffee table was cleared off and several other candles were waiting, as well as a covered plate.