Simply Irresistible

by Deborah Cooke

  “Yes, and it’s amazing how well it’s working.”

  “Changing the tone of things a bit?”

  “In surprising ways. We have a lot of older couples signing up. A new demographic for us, and a profitable one.”

  “Kyle was probably just thinking about the sex.”

  “Don’t be so hard on him. He’s the most honest person I know.”

  “Maybe you should get out more.”

  “Maybe you should give credit where it’s due. Kyle is absolutely up-front about his disinterest in commitment. When it comes to romance, he’s in for a good time but not a long time, and every woman he dates knows it in five minutes.”

  “He’s going to get a disease one of these days.”

  “And when he does, he’ll be direct about that, as well.” Ty frowned and shook his head. Lauren had always been hard on Kyle, and he didn’t understand it. “I’m sorry you two never saw eye to eye.”

  “Since he’s one of your oldest friends.” Lauren smiled. “Who says opposites don’t attract?”

  “He’s brilliant at identifying new trends,” Ty said, then grimaced when his gaze fell on the shibari book again. “But I don’t get this one.”

  “And in true Ty fashion, you’re going to analyze it to the smallest molecule and figure it out.” Lauren’s manner turned thoughtful as she studied the flogger. She sipped her Scotch. “Want to know what I think?”

  “Sure.”

  “It’s probably about different things for different people, but I wonder whether the abdication of responsibility is the appeal for some women.”

  “Excuse me?” There were times when his sister sounded more like a psychologist than a hairdresser, but then, maybe that came with the territory.

  “Think about it. A lot of women solve everything for everybody in their lives. Their own needs come last, if at all.” Lauren waved her glass. “I see it all the time at the shop. They think they’re being self-indulgent by taking half an hour to get a haircut instead of running errands or getting things done for their family.” She lifted her glass, watching the amber liquid swirl in the light. “I wonder sometimes what their sex lives are like.”

  “You don’t.” Ty wasn’t really shocked.

  “I do.” Lauren met his gaze. “I mean, what if it’s all about the mister getting it off? What’s left for her? Is it just wham, bam, and hey, the game’s back on? If a haircut is an indulgence then I can believe an orgasm would be a bigger one.” She leaned forward again, as serious as he’d ever seen her. “What if the fantasy is less about the nuts and bolts of it all, and more about being completely irresponsible and self-absorbed? Of thinking of nothing but their own pleasure? Of having a man determined to ensure their sensual satisfaction at any cost, maybe instead of the one they do have?”

  Ty had to wonder whether she was talking about herself and Mark.

  He had to wonder whether that was the appeal to Amy. She’d taken care of two dying parents and now was trying to keep her house, alone, with a crappy job. How often did she indulge herself?

  He thought of that one hot coffee every Friday at lunch and knew she deserved a lot more.

  Lauren sipped before she continued. “It would be a powerful idea, especially if that kind of indulgence never happened in real life. It explains the need to submit and surrender, too, as part of the compact. The situation is out of the woman’s hands but still under her control, because she’s named the terms. All she has to do is feel.” She sipped again. “And luxuriate. What’s not to love about that?”

  There was a moment of silence between them, the lights of the city twinkling far below. A siren echoed from the street and Lauren cleared her throat. “Every day, I see so many women melt at the smallest sensual pleasure. I watch them close their eyes when I massage the shampoo into their hair. Some of them shiver. Some of them sigh. Most of them capitulate and their bodies show it in ways they don’t realize.” She met Ty’s gaze, her own filled with concern.

  Did she see her own future in her clients?

  Ty made a joke because he needed to see his sister smile. “And the guy has to be a billionaire so he can pay someone else to do all those errands.”

  Lauren laughed. “Staff to pick up his shirts, take his kids to swimming class and soccer games, do the grocery shopping and the cooking. Maybe.” She took another sip. “Or maybe wealth is a fantasy all in itself.” She looked around his apartment with admiration, but her next words surprised him. “Always the neat freak.”

  “What?”

  “Your room was always organized and tidy. Military precision when you made your bed. Mom was always so proud that your room wasn’t a pit, like Katelyn’s.” Lauren pursed her lips. “I always figured you had a secret. I imagined some pretty good ones over the years. You might have been secretly gay.”

  Ty gave her a mock scowl. “Seriously?”

  “If so, you did a really good job of hiding it. I’ve never met anyone so obviously heterosexual.”

  “Is that a crime?”

  “No. It’s reassuring.” She brandished the flogger. “But this goes well beyond anything I suspected in the secret department. And unless I miss my bet, you’re curious for a different reason than you say, big bro. There’s a woman feeding your curiosity, and I’m already dying to meet her.” She finished her Scotch with a flourish, looking much happier than when she’d arrived.

  She stood up and put down the glass on the coffee table. “In fact, I wonder if I already have,” she said and tossed the flogger at him.

  Ty caught it and shoved it under the couch. “You want me to come down and get you a cab?” he asked, his tone businesslike.

  Lauren laughed again. “Which is another way of saying don’t let the door hit you in the ass. I’m going, Ty, and I’ll get my own cab, thanks.” She walked back to the door, humming Love is All Around, then paused to wave from the threshold. “Thanks for the drink and the conversation. It was exactly what I needed.” Her smile turned mischievous. “Maybe you’re a natural for the all-knowing dom who sees the secret desires of his beloved and makes them come true.”

  “I didn’t give you that much Scotch,” Ty grumbled and his sister laughed.

  He did go down to the lobby with Lauren and he did flag her a cab. He paid for it as well, waving off her thanks. Then he stood on the curb, the city swirling around him, and watched the cab’s tail lights as it headed uptown. Lauren waved from the back window, then the cab merged into the traffic and he lost track of it in the throng.

  He’d never told her as much, but he really didn’t like Mark. Never had. Never would. If their marriage was falling apart, Ty wouldn’t cry. In fact, if their marriage was falling apart because Mark didn’t treasure Lauren, then the bastard didn’t deserve her. Ty’s mom would see things differently, but divorce might be good for Lauren.

  It might give her a chance at real happiness, and he wanted that for her, and all of his sisters, as much as he wanted it for himself.

  Ty strode back to his apartment, reviewing their conversation, seeking clues as to what was really bothering Lauren. What resonated in his thoughts instead was her speculation about the appeal of bondage.

  The abdication of responsibility.

  Was that part of the allure for Amy? Ty thought of her references to her cousin’s wedding plans, and her role in making that particular dream come true. It had already seemed to him like she was the one running that show, not the cousin or the aunt. He thought of her leaving college to take care of her parents, and never having the chance to go back. He thought of the woman from her office interrupting Amy’s lunch so she could fix the copier, a job that surely could have waited or one that somebody else would have solved. He thought of Mr. Forsythe, going for lunch when his flight was canceled in Dallas and letting Amy sort it out for him, instead of walking up to the service desk and solving it himself.

  Was Amy the one who fixed everything for everyone else?

  Did Amy’s dreams and desires come last?


  Did they have to?

  If this private lesson at the club was her attempt to put her own desires first for a change, Ty was going to make sure she got exactly what she wanted. He would give her a taste of pleasure that would haunt her, maybe even compel her to put herself first.

  He cracked open the shibari book and chose a pose that required a harness. He was sure they had these in the shop.

  Ty could do this.

  He had to do this, for Amy.

  And he would do it, because the one thing Tyler McKay did best of all was to succeed.

  * * *

  It was crazy.

  It was thrilling.

  It was probably the most daring thing Amy had ever done in her life. It was certainly the most daring thing she’d done in years, and her adrenaline was pumping. Amy reminded herself that it was also safe. She was at F5, one of the biggest and most successful deluxe fitness clubs in Manhattan. Nothing bad would happen to her.

  She might just learn something.

  And she would see Matteo again. That alone made her body hum.

  She was early, which wasn’t surprising given how fired up she was. She looked at all the merchandise in the shop and her heart skipped in anticipation. She flipped through the shibari book again and felt faint at the prospect of trying it herself. Finally, she went to the desk and got directions, then found the change room on the sixth floor. She located the assigned room and knocked.

  There was no answer so she opened the door.

  The room was a good size, probably as big as the living room in her house. The light was indirect and the walls were padded. They were also black, covered with something that felt a lot like leather. Maybe it even was leather. When she shut the door behind herself, she couldn’t hear any of the sounds from the gym or the elevators anymore.

  There was a box in the middle of the room, upholstered in the same black material, and about waist-high. There were steel loops embedded in it, below each corner and more just above the floor. Amy hooked her finger through one and gave it a tug. It didn’t budge.

  She shivered. On the far side of the room was a shelf, with an array of gear displayed. There were several hanks of the same shiny rope that they’d used the previous Saturday, and it was blue. There was a velvet hood like the one she’d tried on, and a blindfold. She fingered a leather harness with a ball gag, and a length of thick hemp rope like that used in the shibari book. There was tape, about three inches wide and the kind that doesn’t stick to skin. There were a pair of ankle shackles and a spreader bar. She swallowed and continued along the shelf.

  She stopped cold in front of the nipple clamps. They shone silver, looking small and wicked and so thrilling that her hand shook when she reached out to touch one of them.

  There was a rap on the door and she jumped, then spun to face the door.

  Matteo opened it, appearing to be larger and more dangerous than he had in the classroom. He was wearing a sweatshirt that was zipped so she couldn’t see his tattoo, just a bit of his bare chest. He wore the black hood, just like before, and a pair of black jeans and black boots. “Good evening, Angel,” he said in that scrumptious voice, then stepped into the room.

  “Good evening, Matteo,” she whispered.

  He shut the door behind himself and turned the lock with a decisive click. “No one will hear us in this room.” He ran a hand along the wall as he walked toward her. “It is designed for complete privacy.”

  “Like a dungeon,” Amy said softly.

  “Exactly like one,” he agreed. “And once you are bound, you will be trapped here with me, until I choose to let you leave.”

  Amy’s heart fluttered. “Yes,” she managed to say.

  “Tell me that this is your desire, Angel.”

  “It is,” she said, finding her voice. “I want to be a captive sex slave. Your captive sex slave.”

  The air sizzled between them, then Matteo took another step toward her. He was bigger than she remembered. Taller and broader and infinitely more intense in private quarters.

  Perfect.

  “Turn around,” he commanded and Amy did as instructed. “Take off your glasses.”

  Amy did. She folded them and put them on the shelf, then removed her earrings as well and put them beside her glasses. They were a favorite pair that she’d worn for luck. There was a trembling in her belly. Had she ever been so excited? Things were a bit blurry but she saw Matteo pick up the velvet hood.

  “You came back for more,” he murmured. “Are you a naughty Angel, then?”

  “I think so,” Amy admitted.

  He chuckled and the sound made the hair rise on the back of her neck. “So, shall I teach you to be more naughty? Or should I punish you for your wickedness?”

  “Maybe both,” Amy said, then the velvet hood slid over her head. She melted when Matteo wrapped his hands around her head and smoothed the cloth down to her neck. He tugged the laces at the back, securing the hood, and gave her a little jerk before he fastened the lace. Amy stumbled a bit, but his hands landed on her shoulders.

  They were strong and warm, and he lifted her to her toes, drawing her back against him. His chest was as hard as a rock. “Such a naughty angel,” he murmured in her ear. “My favorite kind.” He wrapped one arm around her there and it was like a steel band trapping her upper arms against her sides. His other hand rose to touch her chin, then his thumb moved across her lips. It was a caress but an emphatic one, one that pulled her mouth and left her feeling a little disheveled. “Such a mouth is made for kissing, Angel,” he whispered, then tipped her head back so that her cheek was against his chest. He brushed his lips over hers.

  A jolt of lightning shot through Amy at his touch, electrifying her and heating her blood. She heard herself gasp and Matteo chuckled again.

  “So naughty,” he whispered. “I look forward to teaching you to behave.”

  Amy’s heart was thundering.

  His hands slid down her arms, then he bracketed her waist in his strong grip and held her against him. “And so you looked at the toys,” he mused. “That is good. We will choose favorites.”

  Favorites. More than one.

  Amy swallowed.

  “Which rope, Angel? Or do you prefer the tape?”

  “The blue rope first,” she said, hearing how breathless her voice was. “Although I’m curious about the tape, as well. And, well, the jute, too.”

  “So very wicked,” he whispered. “Any special requests? Or do you abandon yourself to me?”

  Amy shivered at that. Then she thought of her book. “I’d like to be stretched taut and captive,” she said, hardly daring to believe she’d said the words aloud.

  “Your wish, Angel, is my command.” He left her standing there and moved away. She thought she heard something fall and wonder if he’d taken off his sweatshirt. She wished she could see him.

  He reached around her from behind to knot her wrists together in front of her and Amy felt like she was standing in his embrace. It felt like he was using the heavy jute rope, which made her think about that book. She felt his bare skin against her back and dared to lean against him.

  “No hair,” she whispered, without meaning to do as much.

  “I shaved for you, Angel,” he said quietly.

  “You shouldn’t have. I like when men have hair, if it’s not too much.”

  “This is good to know.” He moved slowly and steadily as they talked, wrapping the rope around her wrists over and over again. When they were securely bound together with at least a dozen wraps of the rope, he lifted them over her head and stepped back. Her wrists were behind her head. He must have knotted the rope again, because he wrapped it around her ribs, just below her bust, knotting it again at the front so it wrapped around her.

  “Like this?”

  Amy wriggled and the realization that she couldn’t free herself made her breath hitch. “Yes,” she managed to say. “Is this shibari?”

  “Not yet.” Matteo wrapped the rope around her, knot
ting each loop at the back and encasing her down to her waist. It surrounded her like a corset, but one made of rope. He worked steadily and slowly, his deliberation making her aware that she was being bound, and that she was letting it happen.

  No, she’d asked for it to happen.

  She’d paid for it to happen.

  Her heart was galloping, but she didn’t move away.

  “And this is a good time to talk of our safe word,” Matteo said quietly. “What is your choice.”

  “Red light is good,” Amy said, her voice a little higher than it had been.

  “And right now?”

  “Green light,” she said, trying to fill her voice with authority.

  “Good,” Matteo purred, then tied the last knot more tightly. “I think you like this, Angel.” He ran his hands over her, his touch proprietary and firm. “You are not quite helpless.”

  “I could run.”

  “But you will not.”

  “I could scream.”

  Once again he rubbed his fingers over her mouth in that proprietary gesture. “But you will not, Angel.”

  No, she wouldn’t.

  She wouldn’t do anything that might make him stop.

  His lips must have been against her ear when he whispered again. “What else?”

  “The nipple clamps,” Amy said before she lost her nerve.

  Matteo paused for a heartbeat, then moved behind her. “Well, well,” he whispered in her ear, then cupped her breasts, one in each hand. He pinched the nipples and drew her to her toes. Amy squirmed in delight. She could feel the hardness and the heat of his body behind her and something against her butt that could only be his erection. If he was enjoying this half as much as she was, then maybe they were made for each other.

  Then Matteo rolled each nipple between one finger and one thumb, pinching them with the perfect exquisite amount of pressure, and she thought she might melt with the pleasure.

  And that was before he made the torment complete by fastening on the clamps.

  * * *

  Ty would never forget his first glimpse of Amy in that room, or the way she jumped a little when he opened the door. There was a moment when he was afraid she would recognize him, but she didn’t.