by Ashe Barker, Katy Swann, Rosalie Stanton, Lucy Felthouse, Anarie Brady, Rose C. Carole
She did so without hesitation, realizing the second the water hit her tongue that she had been parched.
Well, crying would do that.
She drank the glass dry, then slowly lowered it to her lap. Her very naked lap. “Thank you,” she said.
Walker plucked it out of her grasp and set it on the neighboring nightstand. Then he turned back to her, his gaze as inscrutable as ever, knelt before her and pried her legs open.
Sasha swallowed, her pulse spiking. She opened her mouth to speak but words would not oblige her. Instead, she watched mutely as Walker unscrewed the lid to the jar, dipped a finger in, and came up with a dollop of creamy goop.
“Vaseline,” he said before she could ask, then smeared a helping onto one of her tender nipples. “Just in case.”
She jumped and swallowed a squeak. “Thanks,” she said.
He dipped his head in an abbreviated nod before turning his attention to her other nipple. And for a long beat, the air fell silent save for their shared breaths and her pounding heart. His fingers drifted over her skin, massaging areas she didn’t even realize were raw or sore until he touched them.
He didn’t look at her. Didn’t speak. He was right in front of her, but might as well have been across the continent.
“I’m sorry,” Sasha blurted, then immediately felt her cheeks flame.
Walker paused and arched an eyebrow, still not looking up. “You’re sorry.”
“I shouldn’t have said my safe word.”
“Oh?”
“I was scared. I—”
“If you were scared, then you were right to use your safe word.”
“I was scared it wasn’t true,” she said. “That it… Tonight has been amazing. Or it was, until I fucked everything up.”
Walker grunted and twisted the lid back on the Vaseline jar.
“I’m sorry,” Sasha said again. “I made a mess of everything.”
It was the sort of thing one said with the hope of receiving immediate reassurance. When Walker didn’t disagree with her, when he didn’t say anything, the part of her that had been dancing on nerves lost its balance and fell entirely.
And all she felt was fractured.
“I didn’t mean to,” she whispered. “I didn’t mean to screw things up so much. I just—”
Walker seized her wrists. “You didn’t screw anything up.”
“But—”
“Sash, there are things I’ve needed to tell you. Things I should have told you years ago.” He paused, then finally met her eyes. “But I’m not good at that. I’m good at doing this. I can say things when I’m in that space that…that I have trouble saying when I’m not.”
Sasha swallowed hard. “But you love me?”
He looked at her for a long moment and sighed, his shoulders relaxing. “Everything I’ve told you tonight was true.”
She nodded slowly, but the hard reality behind that confession took a few seconds to set in. From the sweet words he’d whispered against her skin to the darker things he’d told her while she’d been safely behind the blindfold. The ache in her chest intensified, threatening to drag her under a wave of regret so deep she doubted she’d ever resurface.
“You didn’t ask me to love you, Sash. I didn’t tell you because I thought you’d…” He released another deep breath, this time looking all but defeated. “I told you because I couldn’t not tell you. Not after tonight. I can’t go back. I knew I couldn’t yesterday, but I thought I might be able to pretend. But I can’t pretend with you anymore.”
He drew himself to his feet, then, his gaze remaining on her.
“I’ll go get your clothes,” he said, then walked out of the room without another word.
Walker stood in the middle of the playroom, staring blankly at the discarded yoga pants Sasha had kicked down her legs, his mind trying to make sense of the bomb he’d dropped into the middle of their relationship. Yet, as before, he couldn’t see a way around it—the dull throb in his chest would mature into something harder in the days to come, when the regret might drag him under with full force. But having this without having her wasn’t an option.
He’d always wanted her here. Since the moment he’d stopped fearing his cravings and started embracing them, he’d wanted to share them with Sasha. Hell, at that point he’d been so sick in love with her, he would have been willing to conceal and bury that part of himself if he’d thought he might have a chance.
Then she’d discovered his truth, and run from him.
Like she had tonight. The second those words had left his lips she’d started to run. Pulled away and retreated, babbling and apologizing, and it was so much like it had been the last time he nearly felt sick with himself.
Only now, tonight, it was a thousand times worse.
Over the years, Walker had told himself those feelings were behind him. And fuckwad that he was, there had been times when he’d even believed the lie. After all, the more time that separated his past from his present, the more he could trust he wasn’t the same scared kid, rather someone who had grown comfortable in his skin, in his identity. Someone who didn’t hide who he was, had instead built a career celebrating it.
“Walker.”
He stiffened, considered ignoring her, but knew that would just prolong whatever was about to come. He inhaled, then turned.
Sasha stood in the doorway to the bedroom, looking stricken. Her breasts glistened where he had applied the Vaseline, but he did his best to keep his eyes from going there, or to her pussy, or any sliver of naked flesh that he would never get to touch again.
“I can’t pretend with you, either,” she said softly.
“I know.”
“No, what I mean is…” Sasha trailed off, then groaned and rolled her eyes. “Nothing I’m saying is coming out right tonight. I keep trying to find ways to say this and it keeps blowing up in my face.”
“You don’t need to—”
“Yes, I do. Because you think that I think something I don’t think, and it’s because I don’t know how to say that what you feel…I feel it, too.”
At that, every inch of him stilled. “What?”
“It was never just you.” She stepped into the room, visibly shaking but maintaining eye contact. “It was me, too. Tonight… Hell, maybe even back then, I don’t know. All I know is I’m in it with you.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Sash, I’m not in the mood for—”
“I asked you if you meant it because I wanted you to mean it,” she said quickly. “I wanted the answer to be yes.”
The ground under his feet seemed to fall. Walker stared at her.
“Because I…” Sasha looked to the floor, color flooding her cheeks. “What terrified me was the possibility that it wasn’t.”
“You need to be very clear about what you’re saying.”
“Yes, that has been a problem.”
“Hard to imagine why.”
She pulled a face at him, but it melted into something softer almost at once. “You telling me you loved me was… It was awesome. It was so awesome it scared me shitless that you might not mean it. I guess…that part wasn’t clear.”
“Wasn’t clear? You started crying.”
“Happy tears.”
“They didn’t look very happy.”
“Confused, happy tears.” Sasha redirected her gaze to the floor once more. “I was feeling a lot at the moment.”
“Sasha—”
“And I still am, but my brain is kicking on and catching up with everything and I know now’s the moment, so here it goes.” She expelled a deep breath. “When I say I can’t pretend, it’s that. I can’t pretend I don’t want this. You. That I don’t want more, that I…” She looked up. “I used my safe word because I was afraid it wasn’t real, and I really, really wanted it to be real.”
If she continued talking, he didn’t hear it. He just moved, his large steps eating the ground that separated them until he had her face between his hands, her perfect body pressed to his.
&
nbsp; “Are you trying to tell me you love me?”
“Well…yes.”
Walker stared at her for a long moment, then blinked and barked a laugh. “And you chose to tell me using all possible combination of words except those three?”
“I…”
“Sash…” He lowered his head until his lips brushed hers, enjoying her sharp intake of breath, the way her skin heated under his fingers. “For someone who’s in marketing,” he murmured, “you’re not very good at communication.”
“I never have been. Fake it till you make it.”
“You love me?”
Sasha nodded. “I love you.”
Walker grinned, so wide and full his face nearly hurt. Then he lowered his lips to hers, and the second she sighed into his mouth, the instant she began to melt into him, he felt the thing that had been wailing in his chest for the better part of a decade shut up for good.
He was going to have to teach her how to properly use her safe words.
Not to mention punish her for the past ten minutes.
But as she wrapped her arms around his neck, as the realization settled—what she’d said, and that she meant it, that this was real—all he could summon was a thrill about what was to come.
Because he had so much to show her.
Starting now.
Epilogue
The quiet was something she had yet to fully get used to, so she found she was testing it at every turn.
“I’ve been thinking.”
Sasha couldn’t see him, of course. That was the purpose of the blindfold. But she could feel him, and, right now, she knew he was smirking. He’d done a lot of that—smirk, smile, even laugh around her over the past few days. Every day, when he saw her walk through the door, and even more when he got her alone.
Those were the smiles she liked best. The ones he saved solely for her.
“If I didn’t know better,” he said, “I’d say you enjoy being punished for talking out of turn.”
He was rounding the bed, his steps carrying him nearer to where she wanted him. Her legs, spread wide and tied to either post, stiffened as he paused between them. The tension shot straight through her abdomen and up both arms, which were likewise bound to the bedposts.
“Hey, this is important.”
She heard him sigh, then a buzzing sound filled the air. “Okay,” he said. “Talk.”
Then he lowered the vibrator to her bare pussy, and her train of thought vanished on a moan.
Fuck, the man did not play fair.
“Sash,” Walker said, dragging the vibrator up and down the seam of her sex, not grazing her clit but edging near enough, “I said talk.”
“It’s about this room.”
At that, he pulled the vibrator away. “What about the room?”
Sasha shook her head to clear her muddy mind. Since the first night, the Underground had been reserved for her and Walker alone. It had everything a girl could want—equipment, toys, a bathroom and a brooding piece of irresistible man who was very eager to exorcise over a decade of fantasy. He would wear her out in the playroom, then tend to her in the bedroom. He seemed concerned that she wouldn’t use her safe word now, after that first night. And though his worry was unnecessary, try as she might, she couldn’t dissuade him.
Though, if she was being honest, she didn’t mind the attention, especially since what followed tended toward tickle fights, giggling make-out fests, and honest-to-god cuddling.
Walker was a cuddler. Who would have thought?
“Sasha,” Walker said, inching the vibrator closer to her throbbing clit, “what about the room?”
A jolt of electricity shot down her spine. God, yes, words. Speak. “Well,” she began slowly, “as your marketer…I feel I have to tell you that it’s dumb of you to not make this available to the public.”
“Oh?”
“Totally dumb.”
“You sweet talk all your clients?”
“Just the ones I’m sleeping with.”
He tickled her foot, which she could do exactly nothing about. And since it was probably his form of punishment, she didn’t protest.
Sasha inhaled deeply. “It’s a professional dilemma. See, this place is amazing, and the marketer in me says people should know that. But the girlfriend in me wants it all to myself.”
There was a long beat.
“Is that it?”
“That’s it.”
“Sasha…” He sounded hoarse now, and she felt the vibrator nudge her clit. “If that’s what passes for important, then you definitely deserve to be punished.”
“I thought you should know.”
“Noted.”
“That and I love you.”
Another pause, and this time, she knew she felt his grin.
“I love you, too,” he said. “Which is why I’m going to make you scream.”
About the Author
Rosalie Stanton is an award winning erotic romance author in the paranormal and contemporary genres. A lifelong enthusiast of larger than life characters, Rosalie enjoys building worlds filled with strong heroes and heroines of all backgrounds.
Rosalie lives in Missouri with her husband. At an early age, she discovered a talent for creating worlds, which evolved into a love of words and storytelling. Rosalie graduated with a degree in English. As the granddaughter of an evangelical minister, Rosalie applied herself equally in school in the creative writing and religious studies departments, which had an interesting impact on her writing. When her attention is not engaged by writing or editing, she enjoys spending time with close friends and family.
Email: [email protected]
Rosalie loves to hear from readers. You can find her contact information, website and author biography at http://www.totallybound.com.
Also by Rosalie Stanton
Sinners and Saints: Lost Wages of Sin
Sinners and Saints: Sex, Sin and Scandal
Sinners and Saints: Flip Side of Sin
Sinners and Saints: Sins of Yesterday
Sinners and Saints: Deliverance from Sin
Wild Angels: Witness
UNCONVENTIONAL
Lucy Felthouse
Dedication
To everyone reading this, thank you so much for picking up this book. I hope you enjoy it.
To my fellow Brit Babes, thank you for continuing to be a constant source of inspiration, support and fun.
Last, but not least, thank you to the Brit Babes Street Team for all your support and the giggles. You keep me going when things get tough.
Trademarks Acknowledgement
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:
Edward Scissorhands: Twentieth Century Fox Film Corporation
Fifty Shades of Grey: E.L. James
Teletubbies: DHX Worldwide Limited Corporation
Betty Boop: Hearst Holdings, Inc.
Chapter One
From the very second I laid eyes on him, it was clear he was unconventional. If I’m being truthful, I thought he looked like a complete nutter—someone I’d probably cross the road to avoid. Even in the daytime. He was tall and skinny, with a shock of black hair—still apparent under his hairnet—and pale skin. Kind of like Edward Scissorhands. Only—mercifully—without the scissors for hands part. A vine-looking tattoo began at his left wrist, worked its way up his arm, then snaked beneath the sleeve of his T-shirt…to who knew where?
Oddly, even though I mentally kicked myself for thinking it, I found myself wanting to find out. Did it stop at his upper arm, his shoulder? Did it continue over his back, his chest, twine its way around a pectoral, sneaking in toward the nipple? Or even farther south, perhaps?
Even if you took Mr. Unusual out of the equation, there was nothing normal about the situation I found myself in. After all, what recent graduate of law school finds themselves volunteering in a soup kitchen? A recent graduate who lost her head—and heart�
�over a bad boy, that’s who.
Most people seem to think that those who study law are smart. Super smart, actually. There’s a reason for that—folks who study law are smart. If they pass all the exams, that is. And I did—with distinction. Which makes me clever on paper, I suppose, but apparently lacking in common sense, or perhaps I just have severely poor judgment. Or both.
However you want to look at it, I fucked up. Big time. I fell for the wrong guy, trusted him, and ended up caught up in something that got me arrested.
It could have been the end of my law career. Before it had even started, and after all those years of education—not to mention a rather large chunk of my parents’ cash. Fortunately, they’ve got plenty of it, due to my daddy’s successful career. He works in law, too, which, luckily for me, means he’s got friends in high places.
So it was less voluntary work, more community service. Otherwise known as do-this-or-you’ll-get-a-criminal-record-and-kiss-your-career-goodbye.
Fixing my potential glittering career in my mind, I took a deep breath and crossed the industrial-looking kitchen, heading toward him. He looked utterly at home chopping carrots—he was like one of those chefs you see on the telly, his hand and the knife he gripped moving so fast they were almost a blur. I cringed at the thought of trying such a thing. Never mind the end of my career, it’d be the end of my fingers.
Approaching cautiously—I didn’t want to startle him and cause a horrific accident—I waited until he’d finished his carrot before speaking. “Um, hi.”
Turning quickly, still with his knife in his hand, he smiled. “Ah, hello. You must be Penny.”
For a moment, I was so caught up in his eyes that I couldn’t reply. Fortunately, I managed to get a grip before I was the one who was a nutter. “Um, yes, that’s right. I’m here to help out.”
