by Cox, Chloe
“Ford?” Cate asked. It was a perfunctory question. Of course it was Ford. The look on Adra’s face whenever she caught sight of him made it clear that for Adra, it was always Ford. The man was sitting at the bar now, totally unaware of the woman who watched him with that sad look on her face.
“We’re not anything,” Adra said, too quickly.
“Oh, please.” Cate smiled.
Adra sighed.
“You know how when people who are experienced at something team up and sometimes they make beginner mistakes?”
Cate thought of all the lawyers she knew that had ended up in lockup by getting belligerent over speeding tickets, and smiled.
“Overconfidence,” she said.
“Or wishful thinking,” Adra said.
Cate shook her head. That phrase—that was the phrase she herself had used. Her wishful thinking about Soren.
“Anyway,” Adra said. “We did that. Once. Didn’t talk about it beforehand, didn’t do anything right, just…gave in. And now we’re both idiots.”
“Why didn’t you?” Cate said. “Talk about it, I mean?”
Adra looked wistful. “I think because it was hard. You know what they say—you have to be vulnerable to be strong, and neither of us was strong.”
Cate laughed. “No one says that.”
“Yeah, I know, I just made it up, so humor me again,” Adra said, smiling that sunny smile again. Yeah, Cate liked her. She was good people. It felt good to know she had a friend here, or at least the beginnings of one.
Ok. Ford won this round. Adra was a keeper.
Unfortunately that didn’t do anything to fix what was going wrong inside Cate. Because at that moment, Cate looked up and saw Soren.
“Incoming,” Adra whispered. “We’ll talk later.”
Cate barely heard her, barely registered Adra’s exit. Barely registered the fact that she herself had stood up and then stopped, like she didn’t know what to do next.
He was all the way on the other side of the club. Striding toward her.
Eyes locked.
And it all came flooding back. Cate had done so much research in the intervening days; she’d done all the reading, had worked her investigators twenty-four-seven, had driven her assistants insane. She knew everything there was to know, publicly, about Soren Andersson and Savage Heart, and the truth was, she’d never had a cleaner client. Not one of Soren’s sexual partners had anything bad to say about him; in fact, all of them had professed shock and outrage. And all of them had fallen for him, in their own ways, even though they weren’t supposed to.
It seemed like an inevitability that women fall for him. Like a trap. Like what Cate had felt, like the way he’d made her feel, maybe it hadn’t been special. And maybe it was dangerous.
Cate didn’t know if she was like most women. Was she more vulnerable, because of all these wounds, these scars? Or less, for the same reasons? She had no idea. But she knew risking so much was insane, and as she watched Soren close in on her, she could feel those thoughts intrude. Could feel the doubts, the uncertainties, the panic, could feel them all rise up in response to the absolute insane desire she felt flare inside her every time she looked at the man.
He really was a Norse god. Blond hair, scruffy jaw, blue eyes, muscles roiling under ripped jeans. Jesus.
Cate watched him, felt the warmth pool between her legs, felt her heart hammer inside her chest, and felt the core of her being start to retreat deep inside herself. Felt the internal war start all over again. Felt herself begin to drift away, and hated it. She wanted to be strong enough to let herself go after what she wanted.
And what she wanted was Soren.
He put his hand under her chin and stared down at her.
“Stop thinking so much,” he ordered. “And get your ass upstairs. Now.”
chapter 7
Cate could get her ass upstairs as quickly as Soren wanted, but to stop thinking?
Yeah, that wasn’t going to happen.
Especially when she could literally feel his eyes on her ass the whole way up. It made her feel warm, and wanted, and wet.
Which was a problem, because she had a job to do. She had a job she had to do right now, a job that couldn’t wait. She couldn’t afford to let Mark Cheedham own a news cycle with his press conference and all the allegations he’d made; she had to craft a response and she had to go on television and hit back, and the sooner she did it, the better. For Soren’s saantke.
And for that she needed Soren to answer some questions. That was what this meeting was for, his debriefing. That’s all this meeting was for.
Keep telling yourself that, Kennedy.
“Faster,” Soren growled behind her. “Or I will pick you up and carry you.”
Cate blinked. He wouldn’t.
No, he probably would.
She practically ran up the remaining steps.
“Hey,” she said, turning around to face him at the top of the stairs. “We should probably work out some rules, or boundaries, you know, when we’re doing professional stuff, and when we’re doing…other stuff.”
Soren pointed at a closed door. “In there. Now.”
There was a silence. Cate didn’t move except to tighten her hand on the railing. She was sure he could hear her heartbeat; it was that loud. It was deafening. Soren stood in front of her, towering and unyielding, and looking every inch the Dom. Like, she suddenly realized, he always did. Soren didn’t turn this stuff on and off the way that Cate did, he didn’t compartmentalize. He was always just him.
And he was the one making the rules.
Slowly, Cate let go of the railing. She could already feel her pulse throbbing between her legs, could already feel her skin start to tingle in that particular way.
She met his brilliant blue eyes for one meaningful moment and then turned around, walked toward the room he’d chosen, and opened the door.
It was dark. She fumbled for the light switch on the wall until she felt Soren’s massive bulk behind her, and then she gasped.
His huge hand on her stomach, spanning it.
His mouth on her neck.
She heard a woman moan, and realized it was her. She felt her knees go weak, felt herself collapse into him, felt the hardness behind her.
“Oh, what the hell do you to do to me?” she murmured.
In answer he spun her around, into the room, against another wall in the dark. She heard a switch flip, saw the soft lighting, the comfortable furniture, the bed, padded benches, things she didn’t recognize.
This was not a room for a debriefing.
“Soren—”
“Quise ="+1">et,” he said, and lifted both her hands above her head, pinning her with one huge paw.
Soren’s size blocked out everything else.
No sound. Just the two of them breathing, in synch. She could feel the heat on her cheek. In her belly. Between her thighs.
“You’ve been avoiding me,” Soren said.
“I was busy,” she said. She looked straight ahead, at the little dip in his collarbone, and tried to keep her voice even. “I was doing research for the case.”
“That’s an excuse,” he said.
His free hand found her hip and stroked it, caressed it, felt the material of her skirt. Stopped when it found the zipper.
“It’s true,” she said.
“No, it’s only part of the truth,” Soren said, his fingers toying with the zipper on her skirt. “The rest of the truth is that you’re afraid.”
“Maybe.”
“Definitely.”
“Fine. Definitely.”
In the dim light he smiled. Then he bent down and kissed her.
Not gentle this time. Heated. Hard. Hot. The kind of onslaught she could only surrender to, helpless to do anything but yield, anything but let it wash over her, until something caught fire in her. Cate almost felt like she was watching from outside herself as the hunger in her grew, as she kissed him back with equal ferocity, equal breathlessne
ss.
She’d never wanted anyone so badly in her entire life.
She’d never been so mindless.
Soren tore away from her with a growl, panting. Cate almost wailed; it felt like she actually needed him, physically, like she needed contact, as much of it as possible.
“No,” Soren said. “I’m going to be careful with you.”
“Please don’t be,” Cate said.
His hands tightened on her hip, on her wrists. He exhaled slowly. “You’ll get what you need, Cate. Not what you want.”
“How the hell do you think you know—”
“I know,” Soren said, the word rough in his mouth. “I know you’re afraid to be yourself, and I won’t let that go on for long. I know that’s why you’re afraid of me, because you can’t hide from me. Look at me.”
Cateuldze="+1" swallowed, and forced herself to look up. He was beautiful, and intense, and frightening, because, goddammit, he was right.
“I think we’re more similar than you know,” Soren said slowly. “And I’m going to take that fear and turn it into something more interesting.”
Cate licked her lips. That…
Oh God, that sounded…
“I’m here for a debriefing,” she heard herself say, like some kind of career-obsessed zombie. Worse, the words had an effect on her. They reminded her of reality. “For the case. I have to go on television, and I have to do it soon, for your case. You have no idea how important—”
“The club safeword is ‘red,’” Soren interrupted. “And it’s your safeword too. I dare you to use it. If you want this to stop,” he said, “use it.”
“Don’t screw around with safewords, Soren.”
“Who’s screwing around?”
“It would be irresponsible of me! You need me as a lawyer, right now, Soren, not—”
Soren gently kicked her legs apart and pressed his body against hers, the full length of him, his mouth only inches from hers. She could barely breathe. She could barely think. Every nerve screamed for more.
“And you need to not have any more excuses to get inside your own head,” he said softly. “Don’t let it go, Cate. Don’t let this chance go. I don’t give a shit about the case, not with you in front of me.”
“We have to do this briefing,” she panted.
He grinned.
“You submit,” he said, “and then I answer questions. That’s how it works. My rules, my way.”
“Jesus.”
“You remember my one rule?”
She swallowed. “Yes.”
“It means you don’t get to hide.”
Cate felt light-headed. He was too close, she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think.
“How,” she said. “How can you be so…open?”
“What’s so difficult about it?”
“How can you be sure you won’t be hurt?”
“I’m not.”
She felt winded, like she’d just run a 10k, her body straining against him. Craving. She looked up again, into his eyes, pissed off now that sletf now the was being held in this aching limbo. Couldn’t he just take her? Why did he need to get inside her head, too?
“How can you even be so sure you want me? Really want me, who I am? Not just a fuck,” she said, spitting the word out. “You said there’s something you need to bring out of me. How do you know?”
Those words, those words she’d said so quickly, almost angrily: they were the most honest she’d been with anyone in her entire life.
Soren breathed in deeply, his massive chest expanding against her, and his hand came awake on her hip. She felt a quiet tug and then the sound of a zipper slowly, slowly coming undone.
“I don’t know how I know, Cate,” he whispered. “But I fucking know. I know the way you shake when I touch you. I know the way I feel when I’m with you. I know that you get what I say without my needing to explain myself, and I know that I see more in you than you see yourself. I know that I see the signs that someone’s spent a lot of time hurting you. I know I can show you how wrong he was. And I know I want you more than I want my next fucking breath.”
Cate had no words.
None.
She gasped. Cut it short because she thought she might make a sound, some primal, revealing sound.
“Is that a yes?” He smiled. “Or a safeword?”
“Yes,” she whispered.
“Good,” he said. The zipper clicked slowly on. “From now on, you do as I say. You obey my orders. You let me in. You take the goddamn leap, Cate. You owe me nothing. No strings, no entanglements. You’re free to do whatever you want, but if you sleep with anyone else, you disclose it.”
“And you do the same?”
She hated how small her voice sounded. She hated even more that she asked the question. Soren smiled slightly.
“Of course.”
She should feel relieved. She did—she felt relieved. If he’d said anything else she would have felt trapped, panicked, sure the whole thing would end up like it had with Jason, even though she knew Soren was a different man.
But she also felt like she’d lost something.
“Of course, I’m not going to have much time for that,” Soren said into her neck. “I could die an old man before I’ve done all the things I want to do to you.”
Cate shivered. There. There it was. It was the way he wanted her. She’d never felt anything like that, never allowed herself to expect anything like that. After Jason, after the things he would say about her, to her…
She wasn’t sure she knew how tpane knew o be wanted. But Soren wanted her.
And Soren was taking off her skirt.
“Step out of it,” he said.
This time, she didn’t hesitate.
“Keep the heels on,” he said. He was smiling. He was looking down at her, in her black lace panties and her black and white heels and her bare legs, and he was smiling. “Damn.”
Suddenly he thrust his hand between her legs, gripping her there, driving his fingers into her folds through the fabric. She had soaked through her underwear sometime around the time he’d pinned her to the wall, and she heard him grunt when he felt it.
“What are you doing?” she choked out.
“Take it all off,” he said. “All of it.”
He let her hands go for the first time since they’d entered the room and Cate felt weirdly adrift. She liked being pinned by him. Being held down. She missed it.
“Oh God,” she whispered.
“Strip,” he said.
The voice.
Soren took a step back, as though to get a better view, and Cate felt an unfamiliar pang of self-consciousness. Her self-esteem had been so thoroughly wrecked by Jason that she’d lost the ability to envision herself as sexy, as desirable. “Strip” was one of those words that turned her on like crazy, but that she didn’t quite know how to apply to herself.
It was ridiculous. It was…it was definitely ridiculous. She was standing in front of this man who’d had supermodels in her underwear, Louboutins, and a barely-there top, and she was doing it because he obviously, obviously wanted her, and she was unsure of herself?
Goddammit.
“Cate,” he warned.
Cate looked at him. She took a deep breath. She counted to three. And then she looked down.
Oh my, was he hard. Those jeans didn’t hide anything. He was hard, and he was huge, and holy shit.
“Yes, sir,” she said. And she let her top drop off one shoulder, then the other.
Soren’s eyes glinted in the low light.
“Keep going,” he said.
Shaking, Cate felt behind her for her bra clasp, thankful that for once she didn’t struggle with it. Another few seconds and it was off. She was naked.
She was one-hundred-percent nersed-percaked.
“Christ,” Soren said.
Cate almost moved to cover up, just out of instinct, but Soren caught her hands. She forced herself to look at his face, and what she saw there took her breath
away. Again.
He looked hungry. Starving. His eyes roamed up and down her body, drinking her in, appraising, appreciating.
“Come here,” he said softly and pulled her out from the wall, into the center of the room. Into the light. “Stay.”
Every moment like this, naked and on display, every moment with his eyes on her, pushed Cate further. She didn’t know toward what, exactly; that was what made it so frightening. The unknown. Her heart was beating a mile a minute, and she was sure she was close to hyperventilating, and she felt overheated, even in this cool room, and hypersensitive, like every sensation she had was on high alert, every nerve ending reaching out, demanding to be touched.
Her whole body craved it. And every moment she didn’t get it drove her even further.
“Soren,” she said. It came out a strangled sound.
“I like to see what’s mine,” he said from behind her, his lips close to her ear. “Goddamn I am a lucky man.”
“Soren, what are we doing?” she said, her words hurried. Needy. “Please, just…”
“You are doing what I tell you,” he said. “And I am doing what I want. And what you need.”
Cate closed her eyes. Right. This was the deal. She could do this. She wanted this. She wanted to learn how to balance on this tightrope, wanted to learn how to stop being afraid of falling. Of being exposed.
“Open your eyes,” he said, and put his hands on her hips. She jerked her eyes open, the sudden stimulation of his touch lancing through her, and took in the room as he turned her around.
“Do you recognize any of this?” he asked.
She did. Wide-eyed and staring, she did. It was a room full of equipment. Comfortable, padded, and stylish, but still equipment. She only recognized some of it, and only from online sites and stories. There was what looked like a spanking bench, and some sort of table with restraints on it, and what definitely looked like a fucking machine, and at the back there was a St. Andrew’s Cross. Plus all of the stuff hanging from the ceiling.
And a swing.
“Holy crap,” she said. “Soren, I can’t…I mean, not all of this…”
“Shh,” he said. “Just want to see what you react to.”
