Dangerously Bound

by Eden Bradley

  It would be different than last time. He’d do all the things he’d been wanting to do. Tie her up, using his ropes to subdue her. To subdue his own raging need. Control them both. Then he’d use his hands on her—no toys, just his bare hands on her bare flesh. Just touch her. Pinch her. Scrape his nails over her naked skin.

  Plunge his fingers into her.

  He groaned, gripping the hard ridge of his erection through the denim.

  “Fuck it,” he said again before he unzipped and pulled his cock out.

  He leaned his back into the wall, not wanting to take the time to get in the shower or on the bed or even sit down. He was too desperate to get this driving need out of his system.

  He closed his eyes and began to stroke.

  He remembered when he’d taught her to give him head. She’d wanted to—had practically begged for it, which was hot as hell. He remembered her wet mouth, those plush lips swallowing him, her tongue . . .

  “Christ.”

  His hips arched into his fisted hand, pleasure stabbing into him. He stroked faster. And remembered the lush curve of her breast in his hand, the tight, succulent flesh of her nipple as he drew it into his mouth.

  He groaned, gripped his hard shaft tighter as he pumped.

  Allie.

  “Fuck!”

  Pleasure slammed into him like a wall, hard and fast. He came into his fist, hips surging, breath panting, her name echoing in his dazed brain.

  It was several moments before he opened his eyes and turned to stare out the window. The moon was a small crescent in the inky sky. The stars hid behind a drifting veil of clouds. And somewhere out there in New Orleans was Allie.

  My girl.

  He’d never been able to think of her any other way. His girl that he would never—could never—have.

  * * *

  ALLIE’S STOMACH WAS fluttering as if a thousand butterflies were trapped inside as she went to sit down with Jamie at the outdoor table at Pâtissier, the small neighborhood café where they’d set up their meeting with Mick.

  Jamie stood and hugged her briefly before pulling out her chair.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  She sat down and sipped at the sharp-tasting chicory coffee he’d ordered for her. “Sure. Yes. I’m just . . . well, as much as I want to do this, I don’t know how it’ll turn out.”

  “He’s going to be mad as hell.”

  She tried to smile. “That much I knew.”

  Jamie shrugged. “Don’t worry. Mostly he’ll be mad at me. I can handle him.”

  “I’m sure you can. I’m just not sure I can,” she muttered.

  “Too late now, sweetheart.”

  She looked up. And saw him.

  He was as imposing as ever: tall, dark, his goatee making him look every bit the wicked Dom she was sure he was. And his gray eyes went absolutely stormy when he spotted her.

  “Allie? What are you—what the hell, Jamie!”

  “Come on now, Mick. Sit down. You two were going to run into each other sooner or later. Don’t be rude to the lady.”

  Mick nodded, just a brief tilt of his strong chin. She saw that he had a scar down the side of his nose that hadn’t been there before. Which looked . . . rakish. Charming.

  God, had the word rakish just gone through her head?

  There was a tattoo on the inside of his left forearm she hadn’t seen before—something in Latin, the bold script highlighting the corded muscles.

  Yes . . . charming and rakish.

  “Hello, Allie.”

  Her breath stuttered in her throat. That low, smoky voice, a little bit gravel, a little bit velvet. She shivered and cleared her throat.

  “Hi, Mick.”

  He stared at her. She stared back, transfixed by him. She felt stunned. Had he looked this good the last time she’d seen him? The years had made him more rugged. Sexier, if that were even possible. But the warm pit heating to a slow simmer in her body was telling her it was true.

  Mick.

  Finally.

  “Either of you going to tell me what this is about?” Mick demanded.

  “As soon as you sit down, buddy,” Jamie said, carefully keeping his tone even.

  She could see Mick was ready to bolt by the way he held his broad shoulders, by the hard set of his mouth.

  “Please, Mick,” she found herself saying, her voice a breathy whisper.

  That seemed to catch his attention. He raised one eyebrow, watching her for several moments while she held her breath. Then he pulled out the chair next to her and slowly settled his big frame into it.

  God, he was close enough that she could smell the earthy scent of leather that was always attached to him, whether he was wearing one of his motorcycle jackets or not. That and the citrus-scented soap he’d always used, which made him feel a little exotic to her. But what was Jamie saying?

  “You look like you got knocked around, Mick. What happened?”

  It was then she noticed the bruise darkening his left cheek.

  Mick shrugged. “Nothing. Fought this morning.”

  “Fought?” She sat up in her chair. “You’re seriously still doing that ridiculous bare-knuckled boxing?”

  He answered slowly, his gaze challenging her. “Yeah, I am.”

  “That’s just . . .” she sputtered, “. . . stupid.”

  “It’s nice to see you, too, Allie.”

  “She’s right and you know it, Mick,” Jamie interrupted. “Although now isn’t really the time for that discussion, Allie,” he said pointedly.

  “Change of subject, both of you. I’m sitting. Jamie, you going to start? Or do I ask her?”

  “Can’t old friends have some coffee together?” Jamie asked, his expression challenging his friend.

  “Theoretically. When that’s all it is.” Mick spoke to Jamie, but his gaze hadn’t left her face.

  He was studying her. Looking for answers, maybe. She shifted in her chair.

  “Mick,” she finally said, forcing the words out, “I’m sure you know I’ve moved back to New Orleans.”

  “I’ve heard.”

  “Don’t you think after all these years it’s about time you and I faced each other? It’s not that big a town. Especially when you consider our common . . . the friends we share.”

  “Maybe so. I still don’t appreciate being ambushed. Or you using Jamie to do it.”

  “Would you have agreed to see me any other way?” she asked, knowing what the answer was. Unable to prevent herself from baiting him just a little. Why did he have to be so stern with her? She hadn’t done anything wrong.

  “Don’t give me those puppy dog eyes, Allie.”

  “Don’t be so damn grumpy with me, Mick. After all this time, is that really necessary?”

  His shoulders dropped a little. “I guess not. No. I’m sorry.”

  His eyes softened as he spoke, and it melted the anger she’d been carrying around. A bit, anyway.

  He turned to Jamie. “Since you set this meeting up, I figure you have an agenda, buddy.”

  Jamie nodded. “Do you want a coffee first?”

  “I want answers first.”

  “Fair enough.”

  “Please don’t be mad at Jamie,” Allie said. “I made him do it.”

  “And I’m sure a delicate thing like you twisted his arm real hard.”

  She reached out to lay her hand over his. “Please. Just listen.”

  He yanked his hand back as if he’d been burned, and she blinked away the hurt she knew would be shining in her eyes.

  “Shit, Mick,” Jamie said quietly. “You don’t have to be such an asshole.”

  Allie heard that faint touch of Scottish accent come through, which usually only happened
when he was angry or drinking, even though he and his family had been in the US since Jamie was seven.

  “Okay. Okay.” Mick raised his hands, palms outward, and leaned back in his chair. “I know I’m being a bit of a bastard. You two go ahead and explain. I’ll try to mind my manners.”

  “About time,” Jamie muttered. “You want to start, Allie, or should I?”

  “I guess I should.” She turned to Mick. It was hard to look at him, to see the stark male beauty of his face, the storm still raging in his eyes. To see him and not touch him.

  “So, Mick . . . look, I’m here, and we were going to see each other sooner or later. Probably sooner. That’s why I pushed for this meeting. Because you and I have a few things to get straight, but we can’t do that until I come totally clean with you.”

  “About what?”

  “About kink.”

  “About what, now? Are you serious?” His voice was pure gravel. “We’re having this conversation right here, right now, with Jamie?”

  “Yes. Because I need his help in explaining a few things to you. Because I think you won’t quite believe me.”

  He’d gone eerily still. “What wouldn’t I believe?”

  “I’m in the lifestyle, Mick. I have been for years. And I know you don’t want to hear those words come out of my mouth.”

  She could see from the shock on his face she was right.

  “Mick, Allie’s been to BDSM clubs all over the world,” Jamie put in, filling up the tense silence. “She’s an experienced bottom. She’s been under a collar of protection to a well-known Dom in San Francisco for three years. She knows about you and me, our involvement in the lifestyle. She’s done her homework. And I checked out her story—she’s told me the truth.”

  She turned to Jamie in surprise. “You checked me out? I already told you everything. Jesus, Jamie—”

  Their friend didn’t flinch. “I had to make sure, Allie. It’s my responsibility, given that you asked me to speak on your behalf. I had to know you were as experienced as you claimed to be before agreeing to do all this. Before bringing you into The Bastille.”

  “Now wait one damn minute,” Mick exploded. “You are not taking Allie to The Bastille! Over my dead and bloody stump of a body. Are you out of your fucking mind?”

  “I’m going with or without your approval,” Allie said, her tone low but firm.

  Mick turned on her. “I don’t know what game you think you’re playing at, Allesandra, but this is not happening.”

  “Oh, but it is.” Anger simmered, flooding her veins. “I live in this city again, too, Mick. And you can’t deny me access to the kink community that I have as much a right to as you do. That I need. Why would you want to make me feel isolated in my own hometown?”

  “If your family ever found out what you were doing—”

  “They’d be just as shocked as most of yours would. By the way, I know your brother Neal knows about you. Marie Dawn told me. She knows all about me, of course. I don’t think she’s told your brother . . .”

  “Jesus Christ.” Mick huffed out a breath, ran both hands through his dark, moppy curls. “That’s what I get for letting my brother marry your best friend,” Mick huffed, dropping his hands into his lap. “Okay. I guess you’re right, damn it. We just have to find a way to deal with this. Schedules or something, so I don’t have to . . . see you there. Fuck,” he muttered.

  “That’s why we’re here, buddy,” Jamie chimed in. “Allie has a solution, and I think it’s a good one or I wouldn’t be here supporting it.”

  “Why do I have a feeling I’m not going to like this?” Mick asked.

  “Probably because you’re not,” Jamie said, his tone almost cheerful.

  Allie had to suppress a smile. He really was a little bit of a sadist.

  “All right. Give it to me.”

  Jamie leaned forward, his expression sobering. “Mick, I’m here not only as your friend and Allie’s, but to act as formal mediator.”

  “Formal . . . for what?”

  Allie put her hand on his arm. He didn’t pull away this time. His skin was warm, just the way she remembered. She suppressed a shudder as the heat zinged through her system. “For negotiations, Mick. Jamie is going to help you and I negotiate play.”

  His pupils widened, his nostrils flared. Then his jaw ground so tight she could see the tick in his cheek. He rose to his feet so fast his chair tipped over behind him.

  “Fuck no.”

  CHAPTER

  Two

  IT HAD BEEN thrown at him so fast he could hardly wrap his heads around the words. Him play Allie? The one person in the world he’d sworn to protect from that side of himself? Insane. Beyond insane.

  “Mick.” He heard a small threat in Jamie’s tone. He didn’t give a damn. Rage was simmering in his system. Rage and a wild, fierce protectiveness when it came to Allie he couldn’t find a damn place for in this mess.

  “I was right the first time—you are out of your fucking minds. Both of you.”

  Jamie stood, not quite as tall as Mick was, but he had his Dom on. “Mick, sit down and shut up for a minute.”

  “Not a chance.”

  “Let her have her say.”

  “You’ve both said more than enough.”

  Jamie stared him down. “I don’t think so.”

  “Goddamn it, Jamie—”

  Allie shot to her feet. “You two stop it. You’re making a scene. And Mick, I’m telling you right now, if you don’t have this conversation with me, I’ll have it with someone else.”

  She grabbed his arm again, and her touch scorched his skin. He had to grit his teeth not to pull away. Not to grab her and pull her in for a long, hard kiss. She moved in closer.

  Yep. She still smelled like summer. Damn it.

  He started to shake his head.

  “Mick, sit down. You, too, Jamie,” she demanded, dropping down into her chair.

  He looked down at her. She was so beautiful it almost broke his heart to see the urgency in her big brown eyes. Jamie sat but Mick stayed on his feet, leaning on the edge of the table.

  “This is the Goddamn craziest thing I’ve ever heard.”

  “This is reality, buddy,” Jamie put in. “Oh, go ahead and shoot me that dirty look. But you’re going to hear us out.”

  “I don’t know how the hell you did it, but it looks like I don’t have much choice.”

  “Sure you do. You can walk away knowing Allie means it—if you aren’t the one to bring her into the club, there’ll be a dozen men lined up for the privilege, and we both know it. She can handle the trolls, I’m pretty damn certain. I just wasn’t sure she could handle you on her own. And I wouldn’t have let her. She came to me about this, which makes her my responsibility.”

  “Christ, Jamie.”

  “You know I’m right. That’s part of the code we live by. She’s under my protection now. Until someone else takes over that role. It could be you. Or it could be some other Dom.”

  Mick straightened up and rubbed both hands over his face, dropped them. “Never.” He heard the danger in his own voice. “And that’s what you were counting on, wasn’t it?”

  “I was counting on you,” Allie said, her voice soft.

  His laugh was ragged. “I don’t know why. You’ve never been able to before.”

  “That’s true. And maybe it’s crazy, but I want to give you one last chance to redeem yourself.”

  So did he. That was all he’d ever wanted. For what he’d done to her. For what he’d done to his life by being an idiot at eighteen with that damn motorcycle.

  A flash of that day—the flashes he had too Goddamn often. The green and gray of the trees shading the wide street whirring by, becoming a watercolor blur as the bike started to go down. The strain in his
muscles as he struggled to right himself. Then the world exploding as he hit . . .

  Fuck.

  But that wasn’t the only reason he needed redemption.

  He’d done without Allie—and the motorcycle—since he’d screwed up so badly. Screwed up his life, his future. He’d given up Allie before the accident even happened, but that had been the nail in the coffin of the life he’d once wanted with her. He still felt with utter certainty he’d done the right thing.

  But he had to focus on what was happening right now. Such serious expressions on both their faces—his best friend and the woman he’d loved since he was seventeen. Both of them offering him something he’d always wanted. Tempting him with things he could never have.

  They had to be fucking kidding. Except they weren’t.

  He could not play Allie at The Bastille—or anywhere.

  “Jamie, I can’t believe you’d be a party to this . . . this insanity.”

  “Someone had to facilitate a conversation between you two.”

  “Not this conversation,” Mick ground out.

  “Yeah, exactly this conversation. Because you know damn well, if you just calm your ass down and think for a minute, that our Allie is not going to give up kink just because the great Mick Reid is too stubborn to play her. She could have her pick. Hell, I’m her friend—I’d fucking play her. At least then I’d know she’d be in good hands.”

  Mick’s hands curled into fists. “You fucking will not.”

  Allie tugged on his hand, then released it and crossed her arms over her chest. “All right, I may be the submissive at the table, but you are not going to tell me what I can and cannot do, Mick. I’ve had enough of that to last me a lifetime.”

  He couldn’t help the grin that crooked the corner of his mouth. There was definitely evil intent behind it. “Isn’t that exactly what you’re asking me to do, sweetheart?”

  She huffed out a breath. “You’re impossible. You know what I mean.”

  He shook his head. He liked to see her all riled up, her cheeks pink, her eyes blazing. He couldn’t help himself. But he was damn well not going to play her. Even if the idea made him hard all over.

  Control.