by JC Harroway
‘You can’t touch me if you’re tied up, Nick. You’ll be forced to watch.’ She bites her lip and slides the leather belt through her hands. ‘Your favourite pastime...’
There’s so much blood headed south that my head spins as I stand. My cock weeps, straining for her along with every other cell in my body. Every scrap of fight departs. I lower myself into the chair, my head full of depraved acts of retribution. She makes quick work of tying my hands together, and then securing them to the back rails of the chair for good measure. Then she steps away, examining her improvised shackles.
I watch with a kick of satisfaction when she shivers. She knows there’ll be payback and, from her restlessness, she’s looking forward to it.
I’m breathing hard as she approaches. She steps between my spread thighs and traces her fingertip up the shaft of my cock, which rests against my taut stomach.
‘I should have had this idea long ago,’ she murmurs, her voice laced with hunger. ‘You look delicious too.’
I try to lunge forward to press my face to her stomach, to make any skin-to-skin contact I can, but she steps out of reach. With a small laugh, she collects my T-shirt from the floor and slides it on, covering all the irresistible nakedness from my greedy stare.
‘Get back here now, Lady, or I promise you’ll regret it.’ I grit my teeth, seeking any remnant of trusty patience. She rests her hands on my thighs and bends forward so I’m gifted a clear view down the neck of the shirt.
‘Like what you see, Mr Rivers?’
I all but swallow my own tongue. Somehow coy flashes of Brooke’s delicious body are twice as gratifying as the sight of her completely naked, if that’s possible. This way is akin to eating a cake one slice at a time rather than face-planting the entire thing in one go. Although, right now, both approaches have merit.
‘I like you better wrapped around me.’ I strain against the belt.
She captures my mouth, kissing me long and hard until it’s unclear which of us is more worked up. Then she straddles one of my thighs, standing over me and tugging my head back by my hair until our eyes connect. I make fists, close to ripping myself from my bonds and fucking her until we both die of exhaustion. Until time stops and we’re trapped here in this hotel room for ever.
Her soft kisses trace my jaw, then move down my neck to my shoulder. Everywhere her lips glide is bliss and torment. Like a branding iron searing my skin.
My body jerks, bucking against the chair and the makeshift restraint. ‘Brooke,’ I warn again, or perhaps it’s a plea. I’m approaching my limit.
It seems to do the trick. With a small smile, she lowers herself to my lap, her slick centre scalding my thighs. She’s so wet for me. She grips my erection and works her hand up and down in slow, taunting sweeps.
Fuck, I’m hers. Completely at her mercy.
She rises up over me, and with a whimper of need bends her knees so the head of my cock slides between her legs. Her wet heat swallows the tip. I grunt out my frustration, feral need gripping me and causing involuntary thrusts of my hips in the chair. I need to get closer, get inside her. Just a few more inches... My balls contract along with every muscle in my body, urging me to fill her. To spill inside her and never, ever stop.
‘I ache inside for you,’ she says, flicking her tongue over my earlobe. Then she pulls away. ‘Don’t go anywhere—I need to find a condom.’ She strips off my shirt so she’s once more naked and I breathe a partial sigh of relief. No more teasing. But any delay fuels the fire in me.
‘Fuck the condom,’ I croak out, my voice strangled. I’m wild, past the point of control. For the first time in seventeen years I’d willingly forgo protection. ‘Untie me.’
She shakes her head, still enjoying her power trip. ‘Not yet. Good things come to those who wait, and I’m enjoying myself.’
At that moment there’s a knock at the suite door.
I freeze. A burst of adrenaline hijacks my pulse.
Brooke glances at the clock. ‘It’s okay—I ordered room service, remember? We never got to have our candlelit dinner yesterday.’ She scoops her robe from the chair, wrapping her beautiful body in thick, fluffy cotton.
‘Untie me, Brooke.’ I’m deadly serious now, tension and dread replacing all the intense desire of seconds ago. I don’t want her answering the door alone.
‘No way—I’ll be back in a second and we’ll pick up exactly where we left off—which was a very interesting place indeed.’ She kisses me and then heads for the living area, tugging the robe’s belt tight.
The minute she’s out of sight, panic explodes like shrapnel in my head.
‘Brooke!’ I yell, and then freeze again so I can hear what’s going on in the other room.
It’s not safe. She’s not safe. I’m supposed to keep her safe.
The click of the main door ricochets like a gunshot. I strain to listen, my heartbeat one continuous lurch. Impotence tenses every muscle in my body.
Perhaps I’m overreacting. Perhaps it’s just as she said—room service. Yes. This is an exclusive hotel. It’s hard to get beyond the lobby without a room card. But flames of foreboding lick at my skin. How can I have been so stupid? How can I have allowed her to get so close that I’ve forgotten to do my job? How can I have relaxed so much that I’m tied to a fucking chair in another room from my client?
But she’s not simply a client any more. I’ve let her in. Developed feelings for her. Dangerous feelings. And I’ve grown sloppy. Lost sight of what’s important. I’ve indulged that locked down part of myself, allowed emotion back into my decision-making process.
The last time this happened...
I taste blood where I’m biting my cheek. I hear muffled voices, Brooke’s higher pitched, and the deeper voice of a man. They’re both speaking Italian, so I have no idea what the conversation is about. I’m helpless, reliant on tone of voice alone to interpret what’s being said.
What if he touches her? Hurts her? Bile hits the back of my throat. I struggle with the belt around my wrists, desperate to intervene, to get to her in case she needs me. Needs protecting. No longer because it’s my job, but because I’ll die before I let my stupidity and recklessness put her in danger.
The seconds tick by while I fight with the leather. The tone of their conversation changes. I can’t make out individual words but, whereas Brooke has gone quiet, the man dominates with rapidly spoken Italian, his voice growing in urgency.
He’s not simply delivering room service, or he would have been and gone by now. He could be threatening her, taking her hostage, even assaulting her.
I’ve heard enough.
The need for action pounds through my body. I rise to my feet, bent double where I’m still attached to the chair. Red-hot rage builds, giving me added strength.
I struggle and twist, the belt cutting into my skin. Then, with a final frustrated growl, I swing the chair against the wall, cracking it in two. I disentangle myself from my restraint, toss the tattered chair and grab my jeans. I’m stumbling into them as I head for the other room.
I burst in just as Brooke closes the main door, her nocturnal visitor having departed. In two strides I’m in her face. I grip her shoulders, my stare completing a quick scan of her from head to toe. No obvious injuries.
‘Are you okay? What the fuck? Who was that?’ I want to chase the guy down the corridor, but I’m not ready to let go of her yet. Not until I’m certain that she isn’t hurt, traumatised or scared.
She looks sheepish, pale, shaken. ‘I’m fine. It was room service. The guy...’ She swallows, shakes her head, as if clearing her thoughts.
When I realise I’m so tense my fingertips are digging into her skin, I drop my hands to my sides. ‘Did he hurt you?’
‘No.’ She drags in a shuddering breath. ‘He just wanted to tell me he’s a fan. He was a bit over-excited and wouldn’t stop talking and for a
second or two...’ she swallows, struggling to hide the shock from wide eyes, ‘I couldn’t make him leave...’
‘Fuck,’ I say, scrubbing at my face. I stride back into the bedroom to locate my T-shirt and boots. ‘Did he lay a finger on you?’ I ask, my voice so icy-calm it shocks us both. Rage freezes the blood in my veins so I’m almost disassociated from myself as I dress.
‘No, of course not. I’m fine.’ She sits on the bed. Her hands fidget with the belt of the robe. ‘I’m sorry. I should have untied you.’ Her smile turns watery, as if she’s finally realised it could have been a lot worse. ‘I knew it would be safe. This hotel is lock-tight.’
She sounds as if she needs reassurance. And I want to oblige. I hate the look of fear in her eyes. Hate that I’m responsible for putting it there. Hate that it calls to the wild spinning of my own unstable thoughts.
Anything could have happened to her...
I look away. Breathe. Try to hold on to my stomach. Reproof after reproof dies on my tongue. I’m struck dumb with self-hatred. A blessing, because I need time to calm down.
Her wide eyes slash into me. I should stay and make sure she’s okay after the shock. But I need to punch something. A wall. Myself. At the very least I need to ensure that this never happens again. Not in this hotel and not on my watch.
‘Where are you going?’ she asks, her voice timid.
‘Downstairs to speak to security.’ I grab my phone from the bed and spin on her. ‘Please do not leave this room.’ I bite out each word, my face so tense I feel like I’m wearing a steel mask.
She shakes her head. ‘I won’t. I promise.’ Then she reaches for me, her hand falling to her lap when I step back. ‘I’m fine, Nick. I really am.’
Chills flood my body. I can’t accept her touch right now. I’m strung too tight. And her touch makes me weak. Forgetful. Careless. The type of man I never wanted to be again...
‘I’m glad one of us is fine,’ I say and then leave to ensure history can never repeat itself.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Brooke
IT’S MIDNIGHT BY the time he returns to the suite. He shrugs out of his jacket, his face ruddy, as if he’s been outdoors. He’s wearing his withdrawn mask, his big, beautiful body carrying tension from head to toe.
I’ve been staring at the inky sky, the shadowy mountains and the sparkling town, waiting for answers.
‘What happened?’ I ask, a fist of fear squeezing my throat at the idea I’ve caused him trouble with my naivety. My stupidity.
‘I texted you that I’d dealt with the situation.’ His voice is flat. ‘The staff member has been sacked.’
I wince, hating that I’m responsible for someone losing their job. But establishments like this one cannot afford to have starry-eyed staff on the payroll. I’m not the most famous or high-profile person ever to stay at this hotel. And we pay a high price-tag for discretion. For anonymity.
My mouth feels dry as I speak. ‘I’m sorry about that. I feel...terrible.’
‘Don’t,’ says Nick. ‘He broke the hotel’s policy. It’s his own fault.’ I shudder at the cold distance in his voice.
He won’t look at me. He’s holding back, as if he has more news to deliver.
I want to go to him with my touch. To rediscover all that lovely trust and deep connection we shared today—a magical, sparkling day where anything seemed possible. Did I imagine it? Perhaps it was as fragile as ice crystals, now melted away.
Instead I twist my fingers together with dread. ‘You’ve been gone ages.’ Long enough for me to pace and pine and stare out at the night, examining just how far we’ve travelled together this week, and how much I’ve come to care. No, it’s more than that. I’m stupidly in love with him.
I’ve fallen for a man who understandably wants nothing to do with emotions. A man who’s locked himself down for seventeen years. A man who warned me that he wasn’t interested in commitment and couldn’t make me happy.
Nick nods, his eyes darting away to the view from my window. ‘I posted the hotel’s security guard outside your door. I needed some time to think, so I took a cable-car ride.’
I wait, pressure building inside me at the silence, awkwardness and my own foolishness. Just because I trust him, just because our five-night getaway has taught me so much more about this man... I should have taken extra care to stop my own feelings. Because they too are fragile, forged from the ashes of my past betrayal. What if Nick can never love me back and I’m hurt all over again?
I swallow down the panic. I’ll bide my time. Keep my feelings a secret until he’s ready to hear the truth.
Nick has better stamina than me, because I cave first. ‘Nick, I’m sorry. You were right.’ I blurt out things I’ve wanted to say for the past three hours. ‘It was stupid to answer the door without you. I should have untied you first. I just got carried away with our little game, and—’
‘No. It was my fault.’ His voice is calm, his control returned. He clasps his hands at his back. His broad chest, a place where I know every contour, is rigid. ‘I take full responsibility. I know better than to behave so...carelessly.’
I go to him, crossing the chasm of fraught distance.
‘Can we put tonight behind us?’ I ask, my heart thumping out a countdown of doom at the blank look on his face.
He doesn’t answer directly. ‘I should never have let down my guard.’ Cagey, resigned, taking the blame.
He winces. ‘You could have been—’
‘No, Nick. It’s not your fault.’ I shift my weight from one foot to the other, needing to move but too scared to step closer in case it forces his hand. I need time to salvage this. ‘This is my life. I’m used to things like this happening. Over-eager fans. It’s just part of the fame thing.’
He snorts. ‘If you believe that’s all that happened here tonight, you’re more naive than I thought, Lady Madden.’
I wither a little inside. After everything I’ve confided, him calling me out, reminding me of the power I gave Dave, stings like a slap. But we can repair this. I can make it right.
‘Perhaps we blurred the boundaries a little too much,’ I concede. ‘Perhaps the after-hours demarcation wasn’t enough. The next time I need personal protection, I’ll employ another firm. Perhaps you can recommend someone?’ That way he won’t need to feel conflicted. When we’re together we can focus on us. He can relax.
‘I think that’s for the best.’ He offers a stiff nod.
Silence falls once more. My mind fills with all the things I want to say. I feel him withdrawing. Beating a retreat. He looks as though he’s preparing to walk out and never look back.
The true depth of my feelings for him explode and expand.
Panic trembles through my body.
‘Maybe we can start afresh...back in London?’ I feel him stiffen. See the answer written over his grim face. I expected his hesitance. But surely he can’t just walk away from what we’ve shared this week? I haven’t imagined our connection or the lowering of both his barriers and mine.
‘I don’t think that’s a good idea.’ He looks at me finally, and I feel like a collapsed paper bag. His dark eyes are chilly. I’m losing him. ‘I haven’t dated in seventeen years. Tonight has proved that I still can’t trust my emotions. This was...a mistake.’
My jaw is weighted with shock. How can we have gone so off-track so quickly? Perhaps for him, what we shared was nothing special. Perhaps he sees me as some naïve, privileged socialite who’s once more given all her trust to the wrong man.
I move closer, hating our physical distance. ‘Look, I accept we played with fire, mixing business and pleasure. But I don’t have to employ you any more. We can just see how this goes when we’re just a woman and a man who met through work. When we’re back in London and there’s no power imbalance between us. No need for you to worry about protecting me.’
; ‘That’s not the issue.’
He’s unmoved, so I plough on, needing him to understand that the kind of trust we’ve shared doesn’t come along every day for everyone. It’s special.
‘Are you worried that my life is too complicated because of the constant scrutiny? Because I’ll do everything in my power to keep our relationship out of the media, to protect you from gossip and speculation, if that’s your concern.’
‘It’s not, but you raise an excellent point. If it ever got out that I sleep with my clients and forget to protect them, it could be disastrous for my business.’
‘I understand that, and I’ll do everything I can to prevent that.’
He shakes his head. ‘It’s irrelevant. That’s not why we’re a bad idea. I think it’s best if we part tomorrow and leave it at that.’
I gasp, helplessness leaving me light-headed. ‘I don’t want that—I thought we’d overcome this distance. I care about you, Nick. I’m falling for you. I want to see you again. I thought you felt the same way. Don’t kid yourself that you’ll be doing me a favour by running away from this.’
Horror slashes his tight expression before he reins it in. ‘This is for the best, Brooke. I’m too close. Can’t you see that? I made a mistake tonight because I relaxed too much. I let go of my control.’
‘So what? You can’t control feelings, Nick. You can’t control love. All you can do is acknowledge it and be kind to yourself. Supressing emotion is just another way of invalidating what it is that makes us human. So you relaxed, opened up to me––that’s supposed to happen when people connect like this. I did the same with you. That’s what’s real and honest and special about us—we can do that with each other. Just be ourselves...’
‘No. I don’t want it. I don’t want to feel out of control.’ He bites the words out past his clenched jaw. ‘I failed to do my job tonight.’ His hands curl into fists at his sides. ‘I saw red.’ He stares at me now, his eyes anguished with all his internalised pain. ‘I wanted to damage another human being just for placing you at risk. If I hadn’t been tied to that chair, I would have.’
