“Good.” To reclaim a bit of her power, she captured one of his nipples between the sharp nails of her thumb and forefinger, his hiss sending a thrill through her. “We’re going to play a new game. Warmer/colder.”
She set aside the wine and knelt down, careful not to brush his eager cock. He stared down at her, his face a compelling combination of fervid anticipation and genuine dread. Kissing the underside of his shaft, she smiled at him, enjoying the moment greatly. “Two things I want you to show me—the place to lick behind your balls and where to rub the prostate.” Screwing up some courage, she pressed a finger between his cheeks, surprised at the heat.
He positively squirmed, his cock bobbing. “If I may, Miss Emily?”
She nodded permission.
“The nails—it would be better if you used a rounded toy. And lube. If it pleases my mistress.” A hint of his usual cocky grin showed through as she blushed. Dummy.
“Oops. Sorry.”
“No.” He shook his head and tugged a little at the rope. “You’re charming. This is perfect. I can’t wait until you use the nails on me. Just...maybe not while you’re learning.”
“Cad.” Just to put him in his place, she swirled her tongue around the head of his cock, loving how his hips thrust forward and he clenched his jaw, overcome by it. “I could make you come in seconds and then punish you for doing it.”
“Oh, yes.” He breathed out the agreement, laughing a little under it. “Absolutely you could. And I would love every moment. Make no mistake but that I’m totally at your mercy.”
In the bedroom, she surveyed the array of toys and lube. It would have been easier to do all this in there, but she kind of loved the office scenario. Said something about her, no doubt, to have the computer there as a silent witness to their games.
She chose the thin dildo he’d used on her, reasoning that knowing how it felt went a long way, then grabbed some lube and a couple of his sex cloths. Fox surveyed her choices and nodded, a flush high on his cheekbones.
“Can you break free?” She marveled again at how amazingly arousing he looked, tied up for her.
“No.” He tugged a little in demonstration, his chest flexing magnificently.
“Do that again,” she ordered him, captivated by the sight.
He complied, struggling in earnest, breaking into a sweat as she commanded him to try harder. Finally she told him he could stop trying, mostly so she could run her hands over his sweat-slicked chest and straining biceps.”
You’re so beautiful to me,” she told him and something seemed to snap in him, because he kissed her, capturing her mouth and holding her there with the magic of it. She sighed and impulsively straddled his cock, clamping it against her wet pussy and digging her nails into his ass, hot and reddened from the paddling. He made a choking noise and pressed his forehead to hers.
“I’m going to come,” he gritted out. “I won’t be able to help it.”
“Can’t have that, can we?” She made her tone light, that society lilt that seemed to go right through him, and moved away. He stayed still for a few beats, hanging his head, panting as if he’d run a race.
Then he looked at her, desperate, almost mean. “You’re killing me here.”
“I’m delighted to hear it,” she cooed and opened several packages of condoms. “This should help.” She rolled them on, one after the other, watching his face as he struggled not to react to her touch. “Reciting baseball stats?”
His lips twisted with ironic acknowledgement. “NFL Superbowl odds.”
“Nice.” She held up the slim dildo and greased it liberally with lube. “Good enough?”
He shook his head, as if clearing it, his eyes a little glazed. “You have no idea how you look doing that—a naked, kinky Snow White.”
“A dream is a wish your heart makes,” she purred, then dropped to her knees. She had to look, to find the right place, but sliding the dildo in proved easy, especially with his groan of acknowledgement. “Like this?”
“So good, Emily,” he muttered.
She pinched his thigh and he flinched. “Pay attention. Is that exactly the right spot?”
He swore under his breath. It sounded like “Fuck me.”
“I’m trying to.” She made her tone cold, the way he liked it. “Now do as I tell you. Hot or cold?”
“Warmish,” he replied, sounding cautious. “Colder,” he then admitted as she pushed in deeper. Then he cried out in earnest. “Fuck me! Hot! Hothothot.”
She laughed and he scowled at her. Or kind of did, because his face had contorted with an expression of near agony, his cock rising and falling with his urgent breaths. Holding the dildo right there, she cupped his balls and lifted them. “Now tell me where to lick.”
“Emily...” His voice was strained.
“If you tell me, I’ll let you come once I find it.”
He made a sound, but managed to say, “At the base.”
She licked, delicately.
“Slightly farther back, and if you have an ounce of mercy in your cold heart, harder than that kitten-tongue shit.” He growled out the words, truly at the end of his control.
She thrust her tongue against the spot, pressed the dildo into the right place and he went frantic. Shouting her name, he pumped his hips, spouting into the condoms, his body rippling. Keeping up her efforts, she worked the two spots until he went limp.
Knowing she needed to work quickly, lest he stiffen up or get a cramp, she used the kitchen shears to cut the ropes binding his ankle cuffs to the chair, then climbed the stepstool to cut the rope above his head. Fox sat heavily in the chair, clearly spent, still breathing hard, his head thrown back.
She picked up the detritus, a bit at a loss, not having planned what would happen after this.
“Can I trouble you for more of that wine?” Fox asked. His eyes stayed closed, but he sounded more his usual self. She brought it to him and he raised his head, gazing at her from under heavy-lidded eyes. “Have a seat.” He patted his naked thigh and took the wine.
She sat and he snaked an arm around her waist, holding her there while he downed several gulps, then set the glass on the desk. Tracing a finger under her jaw, he urged her closer and kissed her, tenderly, the taste of sweat on his lips.
“You gutted me, you know that, right?”
Feeling oddly shy, she nodded. Then couldn’t help the smile. “I kinda noticed.”
He mock frowned at her. “You and that damned apron.”
She had to repress the laugh. “You looked seriously hot in it. No lie.”
“Just wait until tomorrow night and see what I make you wear.”
A little thrill of nerves rippled through her, along with uncoiling heat. “I can always refuse.”
“But you won’t, will you.” He kissed her again, hand rising to cup her breast. “You’re having too much fun.”
Far from sated, the desire rose in her and she pressed herself into his hand. “Maybe,” she breathed.
He chuckled and stood, depositing her in the chair, then kneeling between her thighs. “Let me convince you.” Pushing her knees wide and scooting her hips up to the edge of the chair, he moved his hands from leather to her skin and back again, giving her a sly look. “These boots are diabolical.”
“I’m glad you like them. I...” She forgot what she’d been about to say when he lowered his head and licked her.
He glanced up with an inquiring, friendly expression. “You were saying?”
“I have no idea.”
“Good. Let me please you, Miss Emily.”
He bent to his task with enthusiasm and she dropped her head back as he had done, letting the pleasure roll through her in waves.
* * *
Afterward, he donned the apron, just to make her giggle, and made th
em something to eat. She borrowed a pair of his sweats and tried not to notice how much they smelled like him.
Or that she already knew so well the scent of his skin. The fire felt good and she curled up in the corner of the couch with a glass of wine, his truly excellent crab and cheese pasta, full of that wide awake yet totally relaxed sense of completion he seemed to instill. With her permission—asked with a wink—Fox donned a pair of old sweats, too, and settled on the other end of the couch.
It felt oddly comfortable, sitting together. Cozy. A counterpoint to the intensely pitched sexual encounters that had characterized their relationship thus far.
“Did Anansi behave last night?” Fox asked, casually, floating the question to her in a tone that made it clear he knew questions were against the rules, but that this should be an easy social conversation to have. He never let up for long. But this she could handle. Besides, after he’d made himself more vulnerable to her than any guy ever had, how could she refuse a conversation about her dog?
“Not hardly.” She wrinkled her nose at the memory. Chewed-up shoes, barfed back up. “He hates being left alone and finds ways to punish me for it. God knows what he’s up to as we speak.”
“You can’t leave him outside?”
“He barks. There aren’t many neighbors, but two of the year-rounders have fits over it.”
“Hard to be at war with people in this small of a community.”
“Something I’ve never been good at anyway.” She hadn’t even tried to fight the trolls. Too undermined. Too afraid to face them.
He made a mock astonished face. “Did you just voluntarily share personal information?”
“Oh stop. I’ve told you things. Personal things.” Not all true, of course.
“Only some of them true,” he echoed her thought, then raised his brows, daring her to refute the point.
“Well, I truthfully answered your very intrusive question. You can read it after I leave.” She pointed at the sealed envelope she’d left on the coffee table.
“I want to read it now.”
“Then I’ll go.”
“Let’s go get Anansi and bring him here, so you can spend the night.”
She’d figured that was where he was going with this. And she was tempted all right. More tempted than she liked. She hadn’t slept all night with someone else since Henry. Toward the end, their bed had been very cold, indeed. Experiencing skin-to-skin contact again with Fox had shaken her to the core, brutally reminding her of how isolated she’d been. Cuddling, sharing a bed...she shook her head. “Gladys Kapsuck is allergic. I couldn’t do that to her.”
“Then let me sleep at your house.”
Could she? So fraught. “This is working. Let’s not mess with it.”
“A few nights doesn’t count as ‘working,’ Emily. We’re still in initial stages here.”
“Or we’ve gone from zero to ninety, peaked and we’re close to being done with each other.” She set her bowl aside, no longer hungry for the rest, nerves tightening. “Don’t try to kid me, Fox. You’ve clearly been around the block a whole bunch of times. I’m fine with being your lover while you’re here—more than fine, as you well know—but let’s not pretend this is more than that.”
“Hey, this is how ‘more than that’ starts.” He sounded genuinely offended. “Sure, some people go to bars looking for the one-night hookup, but most of them are hoping that they’ll meet The One. That love will result from one of those chance meetings.”
Her stomach dropped at the mention of love. Not what she’d expected at all. “Do not tell me you’re a romantic.”
He gave her an astonished look that must be meant to mirror her own. “What? I can’t believe in love? People fall in love and live their lives together. Isn’t that the ideal? That’s what everybody wants.”
“And less than half the people get. Look at the divorce rate. That’s just for the people who manage to get married, or who legally can. It probably comes out to something like an eighth.”
“Aha. But then look at how many of them get married again. Or fight for legal marriage. That shows they still believe in the dream. That it’s possible.”
“Or it shows they’re idiots who don’t learn from experience.”
“Is that you? Have you learned from experience?”
“You don’t have to go through a divorce to witness the way it destroys people.” She’d taken too big of a bite and had to swallow it down uncomfortably.
“Very interesting non-answer,” he mused, winding pasta around his fork.
“I suppose you come from a family where everyone is happily married with big parties for their golden anniversaries.”
“Nope. My mom and dad divorced when I was eighteen. Haven’t spoken to him since.”
“Geez, Fox. I’m sorry. What—”
“Uh-uh.” He pointed the fork at her. “You do not get to divert to my personal shit while holding back on your own.”
“Fine.” She snatched up the envelope and held it out to him. “Read it.”
With a gleeful smile, he snapped it from her hand, setting his bowl aside, giving her the definite feeling that she’d been played. As usual. Point to Fox.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Emily looked disgruntled, in a totally delectable way. With her knees drawn up and her hair falling around her like a cloud of moss, eyes huge in her delicate face, she was lovelier than ever. So help him, he loved pushing her. In every way possible. Each barrier that fell—sexual, emotional, mental—revealed a new, luscious flavor of her.
She might put on a cynical attitude, but under that prickly shell lurked a soft heart. It had to be true. People with callous hearts didn’t have to defend them so hard. Fox knew that for a fact. He’d met plenty of people like that, whether by birth or because they’d been so damaged that the scar tissue kept them from ever feeling empathy again. Emily, with her perfect radar for driving him out of his mind sexually, possessed plenty of empathy. No, she possessed a heart so sensitive and full of love that she’d had to wall it off. His own unerring intuition told him that.
Also, hardened people weren’t nervous to this extreme. As if she wanted to grab the letter back, no matter how she cupped her wineglass in both hands, trying to seem nonchalant and failing utterly.
He scanned the page. “Three lines?”
“Was there a length requirement? You didn’t mention.”
Minx. He shook his head at her, then made a show of reading. She pointedly looked away, staring into the fire.
I had a very bad experience with a stalker some years ago, to the point that my life was threatened. So I changed my name and moved. I’m told I should be safe, but I’m still very careful. I’m sure you understand and will respect this.
Interesting. It jibed. Mostly. “A stalker, huh?”
She nearly jumped out of her skin. “We don’t need to discuss it.” She’d lowered her voice, reflexively, and her anxiety had ramped up. Whoever the asshole was, he’d scared her plenty.
“He can’t hear us, here in the Kapsucks’ living room, on an island in the middle of the San Juans.” He tried to say it gently, to soothe her, but she fixed him with a hard stare.
“Why do you assume it’s a him?”
“Most are.” He shrugged. But she had a point. A bad habit of his, assuming the guys were always the nasties. “Did you know who the person was?”
“We never did. It was...over the internet mainly.”
“Tell me more about it.”
“No.” She set down her wine and rubbed her hands on her pants. Sweaty palms? “And, this is why I didn’t want to have you read it until I left. Look—I trusted you with this information. Don’t make me sorry I told you.”
“It might help to talk about it.”
Her head whipped a
round, a wisp of hair sticking to her lip that she didn’t have the presence of mind to brush away. “Talk about it?”
Fascinated, he watched the dark emotions well up in her, half expecting her head to spin around or her hair to coil into serpents.
She stood and gathered her hair into a knot at her neck. Then, with nothing to tie it back, she dropped it again and grabbed her wineglass. At least she wasn’t walking out. Yet.
“Believe me, Fox—” she hissed his name in an uncomplimentary way, “—I talked about it. I talked myself blue, purple and black. At first people don’t believe you, even when the evidence is right in front of their fucking faces. Then they can’t believe it—that such a thing could even occur in our nice, neat, happy world. After that, they accept the basic reality, but they search for reasons to explain it, why it’s actually your fault.”
She laughed. A new kind of laugh this time, bitter and edged with grief, with rage. “I promise you, talking about it is the last thing I ever want to do so long as I live. You need to understand that.”
“Asshole ex-husband?” He hazarded his theory. This might be his one opportunity, so he might as well bet his entire pot.
That got her. She froze, nearly midstep, and leveled him with the coldest look she’d yet produced. “How do you know about him?”
“Come on, Emily.” He went to her but didn’t touch her, much as he wanted to. She reminded him of the glass fairies his mother had collected. The ones that broke if you picked them up, even when you were trying to be careful. “It’s written all over you. You have to be either divorced or the child of a divorce. You wouldn’t feel so strongly otherwise.”
“Two for two, Mister Insightful Writer.” She tossed back her wine and went to pour more. It allowed her to put distance between them, sure, but at least more wine meant she’d stay longer. Also a little drunkenness never hurt when confessions of the soul were involved. He should know.
“Tell me about him then.” Surprising stab of jealousy for this faceless guy who’d clearly had much more of Emily than he seemed likely to catch a glimpse of. But hey, look who had her now. Dumbshit.
Going Under Page 20
