by Lilia Moon
I take a lingering look at my torch as I stand up, because I’d feel a lot better walking into this next round with a weapon, but I’m pretty sure setting Rafe on fire is a bad idea. I’m also not at all sure he’d melt or turn to ashes or any of the things that well-behaved flammable people do. His control is pretty fucking airtight, but I don’t doubt what lies beneath it—and I’m not ready to blast it free.
I take the last two steps to the doorway that leads into the house and sigh, because part of me actually does want to see what happens when he lets himself off the leash, and that’s just me proving that worms for brains isn’t something you grow out of. I yank the door open, which screeches loud enough to warn my neighbors down the road I’m coming, and stomp into the house to find my man. I know he’s in here somewhere, sitting in my inner sanctum and waiting for me to do his bidding.
Which is annoying. And hot. And terrifying.
I stuff my hands into my pockets and go with annoying.
He isn’t hard to find. He’s sitting on the big, squishy loveseat in my kitchen, covered in one of Bee’s woven throws and eating something that looks suspiciously like cinnamon buns. He’s also found my comic collection.
I scowl. “If you get sticky fingers on my comics, I will kill you in your sleep.”
His lips twitch. “Noted.”
I note that his sticky fingers don’t let go of my favorite season of Thorns and Roses. “I didn’t take you for a reader of alt lesbian comics.”
He grins and takes a large bite of what’s left of his cinnamon bun. “It was handy.”
It was not. He had to wade through a whole bunch of crap to find it, which means he’s a snoop as well as a sticky-fingered menace.
He gives me a look I’m not nearly dumb enough to take as casual. One that says that my time is up.
Shit. I’m here, I might as well make it good. I tug on the buttons of my old flannel shirt, wishing they didn’t pop open with quite so much enthusiasm. “You get boobs.”
He grins again and licks off his fingers. “I can see that.”
Watching his tongue at work does strange, quivering things to my insides.
He crooks his finger and points to the ground in front of his feet. “Come stand here.”
It’s so polite it almost might not be an order. Except for the part where he’s a Dom and orders come as naturally as breathing, especially when there’s a half-naked sub around. I move my feet. I’m still pissed off that I needed reminders earlier. My will is mine and it doesn’t need a babysitter.
He raises an eyebrow at what’s probably a pretty solid scowl on my face, but he doesn’t say anything. He just reaches into his pocket and comes out with a handful of something I can’t see—except for the length of chain dribbling out that very much resembles one I made last week.
Way too late, I remember that I gave him permission to raid my studio. I somehow forgot that during the vibrator mudslide he unleashed.
My belly settles. I make nipple jewelry I like to wear. Nothing he found in my studio is going to shake me.
Or so I think—until he traces a single finger down my sternum.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Rafe
Two hours in her studio hasn’t steadied her, which I like. It also hasn’t closed her off, which I like a lot more. It means that something inside India Jennings is fighting for this. Wants this. Will keep punching holes in her armor to help her get this.
She’s offered me a part of her she thinks I can’t wreck. She’s right, but I don’t need to. All I have to do is set her up so that she can wreck herself.
I pull over a small piece of furniture that was a plant stand until a few moments ago. Right now I need it to be a stool. One that lines up my eyes with her beautiful breasts.
I reach for the round teal balls on each side of her nipple barbells and test. They both unscrew, which makes my job really easy. I remove the inner one, keeping careful pressure on the outer, and then pass a chain loop over the bar before I twist the ball back on. A quick repeat on the other side and there’s a pretty loop of teal chain, about two inches long, hanging down below her nipple.
Her eyebrows are still raised, but there’s surprise there now. “You know your way around nipple piercings.”
“Yes.” There’s a story there, and no particular need to hide it, but I want this scene focused on the two of us, not on Rafael Clark’s past hijinks. I add a second length of chain to the other barbell and slide my index fingers inside the two loops I’ve made, clearly sized to permit me to do just that. A very nice design, with both Dom and sub needs in mind.
She lets out a soft sound as I tug gently, testing her tolerance for weight.
I clip on the set of ball bearings I pilfered from her studio. The center ones are teal, flanked by smaller spheres in purple and gray. They’re fantastically easy to use, with ingenious closure mechanisms that require two fingers and almost no effort, but it’s hard to appreciate the finer points of her design when she lets loose a gusty sigh right over the top of my head.
I lean forward and capture a breast in my mouth, letting my tongue roam over nipple and chain. I savor, first the sharp taste of metal, then the light slick of salt that didn’t entirely wash off in the shower, all blended with a tang that’s uniquely India.
Her next sigh is needier. Sweeter.
I switch sides and run my tongue over her other nipple as it tightens. She’s so gorgeously responsive when she’s not fighting her own needs. The barbell gives me more options than I usually have, and I add a neat twist as I suck.
Which nearly makes her knees buckle.
I grin and give her nipple a last lick goodbye. I’ll be back, but the point of this elongated scene I’ve herded us into isn’t to prove I can make her come with my tongue. It’s to leave her sitting in the wildly uncomfortable place where we’re still traveling, but not at the speeds she wants.
Slow flight.
I reach into my pocket for the other object I need. It’s not actually a vibe, although a lot of its lookalikes are. It’s heavy though. Pure, polished stone, modeled after the famous jade eggs, but this one is a fierce, swirling red. I thought my artist might like it.
Her fingers reach for it before she remembers and yanks them back.
I lean forward and kiss her eyebrow and its twitching rings. “You can touch.”
She frowns. “This wasn’t on the bed.”
It wasn’t. “I made a switch. Dom’s prerogative.”
She shoots me an entirely suspicious look, but her fingers are sneaking back toward the red stone. “I gave you my boobs to play with.”
“This is a scene, Bright Eyes. I can play with any part of you I want.” I grin as fire hits her eyes. “But I’m perfectly happy to slide this in with your pants still on.”
She scowls and mutters something caustic and inaudible.
I ignore the surface thorns. I turn her around, snugging her against my chest as I lean against the stool. That gives me a very nice view of the flush that runs up the bare skin of her chest as I slide my hand down her pants. I hold the stone on her belly a moment, warming it up. “Am I going to need lube for this?”
The sound she makes is a ten on the Richter scale of annoyed.
I know the answer already, but I need to know if she’s ready to own it. “Yes or no, sweetheart. It’s an easy question. Are you wet for me?”
She growls, but her spine relaxes into me. “Yes.”
I know why she has her thorns. They protect something rare and sweet that dances within her fire. I nuzzle into her neck as I slide the red rock lower. “Thank you.”
She sighs quietly as I slip the stone into a channel so wet she’s going to be challenged to keep it in. I give it one last push to settle it exactly where I want it and extract my hand. It takes more willpower than it should not to play with her pussy on the way out.
I keep her cuddled against my chest as I do up the buttons of her shirt. “Want a snack before we go see a lady about a
house?”
She squirms around far enough to look at me. “What?”
I kiss her ear lobe, oddly naked of any artsy bits of metal. “I have an appointment to go check out a rental. It’s about a mile down the road. Nice day for a walk.”
She shoots me a confused look—and then a dirty one as she puts mile-long walks and jade eggs together.
Which conveniently keeps her mind off the part about me looking for a place to live.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
India
It doesn’t hit me until we turn off the road just past the cute, hand-painted mailbox that we’re here to look at a rental.
I blame the freaking rock stuffed up inside me. The one that means I can’t stomp, I can’t kick a certain someone’s ass, and if my steps are anything other than ladylike and delicate, I risk laying an egg in the middle of the road. Which would be awkward, even if nobody sees it but the trees and the jerk who tried to impregnate me with a stone.
I glare at the back of his head, since apparently we’ve paused to ogle the cute cottage. “Why are you looking at rentals?”
He turns his head to study me. “Because I’ll need a place to live if I’m working with Matteo.”
I scowl at him. “You have a plane. And a condo in Vancouver. And you’d get bored here in approximately ten minutes.”
His grin makes the freaking rock inside me quiver. “So far it’s been pretty exciting.”
I refrain from stomping my feet. Barely. “I didn’t know Judy was looking for a tenant.” Which is an inane response, but I usually know everything happening in Crawford Bay. It’s not a long list.
“Something about a grandchild who’s going to Paris to study for a semester, so Judy thinks she might be developing a sudden craving for croissants.”
Judy craves all the food from all the countries. She also has a boatload of friends who happily housesit for her in exchange for her lake view. “I didn’t hear about her renting the place out.”
Rafe pulls a key out from under a flowerpot, which I could tell him he doesn’t need. Judy never locks up anything. “My mom knows her.”
I grimace. I don’t like it when my world suddenly gets small and cozy.
He turns the door handle, shrugs wryly, and puts the key back under the flowerpot. I watch his face as the door opens. Judy’s cottage fits her down to the ground, which means it’s going to be a revelation for the guy standing in the entry hall.
He gapes, which makes me unreasonably happy. “Let me guess. Her favorite color is purple.”
Every single shade. “You fly a banana-yellow plane.”
He shoots me an amused look. “That wasn’t a criticism, Bright Eyes. It’s kind of awesome, actually.”
Damn him for being so freaking adaptable. “Even the bathroom is purple. And the bed sheets.”
His lips quirk. “Are you hoping I’ll be scared off by the bed linens?”
Absolutely. I fold my arms over my chest, which does evil things to the weights making my breasts feel three times their normal size. “I’m not trying to scare you. I just don’t see you fitting in around here.”
He looks at me again, and it’s absolutely serious this time. “You did.”
Fuck. Way to deliver a really nice compliment and a well-deserved slap down all at the same time. I huff out a sigh. “I’m sorry. I’m being a jerk again. I’ll just stand here quietly while you contemplate whether you want to spend a couple of months living in an ode to purple.”
His hand reaches for mine. “No. You’ll come in with me, since you clearly know your way around. You can tell me why you’re scared of me living down the road while you give me a tour.”
I would give so much money for death-ray eyes. “I don’t remember agreeing to any out-of-bed kink. Which means that right now, you’re just a guy and my two hours aren’t up, so cut the Dom crap.”
His hand hangs in mid-air between us.
I growl and shove my fingers in his. “Didn’t your mom teach you to say please?”
He grins. “I’ll let you ask her that.”
I try to yank my hand away, but he’s about as escapable as a prison cell on a submarine. “I’m not helping you pick a house or talking to your mom or bringing you your slippers when you get home at night. This is kinky fuck buddies. If it works out, you can come visit me sometimes when you drop by to do the bigwig-consultant thing with Matteo. That’s it. That’s all.” I inhale until I’m ready to pop, because goddamn do we need some boundaries, and I finally managed to get them out there.
He looks down at our joined hands. “That’s what you think this is? Kinky fuck buddies?”
“Yes. You wanted my submission, not my soul. What do you call it?”
He eyes come up slowly to my face. “A beginning.”
This time I get my hand free. I back up hard, right until I crash into one of Judy’s flaming purple walls. “A beginning of what?”
Chapter Forty
Rafe
Honesty is everything to me—but right now, with that look in her eyes, she doesn’t want to hear mine. And nothing will rip this scene apart faster than me laying my vulnerability on the table where she can see it.
So I won’t. Yet.
I flash her a grin instead. “I haven’t figured that out yet. I’ve never been a garden gnome before.”
It takes a moment for that to break through the panic, but it does. Mostly.
I keep my hands firmly at my sides, because I know part of what set her off was being restrained. “It’s basically housesitting. Don’t read too much into it. One of my cousins will be really happy to live the high life in my condo for a few months while I water Judy’s plants and try to get her to take my rent money.”
Her lips twitch, even though she clearly wishes they wouldn’t. “Good luck with that.”
My mother said the same thing. That’s okay. I know Judy’s granddaughter. I’m pretty sure I can arrange to pay my rent in flaky Parisian croissants. I take a couple of steps further into the den of purple iniquity. My eyes might never work the same again if I live here. “What sunglasses do I have to wear to turn this all back to some kind of reasonable color?”
India slides by me, seeking more space. I grin as she winces. Wriggling around like that is probably wreaking havoc with the nipple weights.
She shoots me a dirty look. “Evil Dom.”
A feisty sub beats a panicky one any day of the week. “Hungry Dom. Is there anything else I need to see here? She said the bedroom’s downstairs.” The bathroom doesn’t matter. I can shower with my eyes closed.
India huffs out a breath. “Yeah. She’s got an amazing view. Those of us in town can’t see the water, but she’s got one of the few places where you get both a view of the lake and an easy walk to all of Crawford Bay’s many amenities.”
I’m a guy with a borrowed scooter who doesn’t need many amenities, but I never turn down a pretty view. I follow India though the sliding glass doors, eyes on her ass, to make sure I get one.
She hooks her arms over the railing, which causes more wincing. I tap her butt to give the jade egg a good jiggle too. She just shakes her head, but that slender reed of amusement is back. The one that says she’s not running scared in this breath, or probably the next one either.
She looks over at me as I gaze out on Judy’s excellent view. “That’s how I got myself into your bed. I told myself it was only fuck buddies. I know it’s not true, but I’m not ready to let go of that. It’s helping me keep my shit together.”
Her honesty reverberates through my insides. I wrap an arm around her shoulders. “Thanks for telling me.”
She nods. “I get that you don’t need to put things in really tight boxes before you can handle them, but I do.”
I’ve been box shaped exactly never. “You know it’s my job to fuck with that, right?”
She makes a face, but she doesn’t tense up under my arms. “Yeah.”
Good enough. I take one last look at the view. “Come on. Let’
s walk back to your place and I’ll make you some of my world famous spaghetti arrabbiata.”
She snorts. “Is that a fancy word for sauce out of a can?”
I laugh. My mother would kill me dead for trying to romance a lady with anything out of a can. “No, although I can start with that if you don’t have any frozen tomatoes handy.” I saw the gardening remnants in her greenhouse, neatly tucked away for the winter. I’m pretty sure she can save me from such a fate.
She shrugs my arm off her shoulders and heads for the sliding door. “I might have some. What else do you need?”
“Onion. Basil. Garlic. Dried chili peppers.” That last one might be a stretch.
She eyes me. “Judy has some we can steal. She likes food that sets your mouth on fire.”
I don’t ask whether Judy will mind. I come from a big extended family where kitchen ingredients are fluid and communal. It sits well with me that Crawford Bay operates on those rules too. “I can leave her some of my aunt’s sun-dried jalapeños in exchange.” Not strictly necessary, but I want India to know these are rules I understand.
She smiles at me. A little shy. A little uncertain.
And not throwing barbs. Which calls to what lives in my most vulnerable places.
Then she blinks and the moment is gone. She heads over to the kitchen and abruptly stops, crossing her arms protectively over her chest. “No way, buster. You do the reaching-over-your-head part. Cupboard to the left of the stove, third shelf up.”
I swat her ass again on the way by. “You might want to start walking home. You have thirty minutes before time’s up, and I’m guessing you don’t want it to happen on the side of the road.”
She rolls her eyes—but she heads for the door. “Fine. I’ll see you whenever you show up to make angry pasta.”
My eyes shoot her way. That’s the literal translation for the dish I’m making. “You speak Italian?”
