by Jenna Elliot
The art on the walls is spectacular, and, in the landscapes, I do finally recognize the Ethan I know in the streaks of paint, the way he blends color, letting one ease into the next like an early sunrise on a summer day.
The man paints landscapes.
And expensive bikes.
And my skin.
“You’re so talented. Have you ever sold any paintings?” My admiration is genuine.
“It’s just a hobby.” He opens the fridge, helps himself to a beer. “Want anything?”
“Water, please. And maybe a sandwich?” My stomach growls. I haven’t felt much like eating since my father called, and after all that sex, I’m starving.
“There’s not much here.” He tosses a loaf of bread onto the counter. “Peanut butter and jelly work?”
“Sold.” God, is this really happening? Peanut butter and jelly? A normal sandwich. A normal house. And, we’re having a normal conversation, too.
Once my surprise wears off, I decide I like this. It’s familiar, comfortable. But as I slide onto the stool and my sore butt twinges, I can’t forget the other side of Ethan.
I must have shivered because he asks, “You cold?”
I shake my head. “Just thinking.”
“About?”
“The future.”
“I have an idea for you.” He fixes our sandwiches and we take the food to his back porch. Shade trees and a fan beat back the heat. The moment he sits down, a very large, very old gray Tabby crawls into his lap.
“This is Stella.” He scratches her behind the ears, and she purrs loudly, then she circles and settles, draping herself across his thighs.
“Hi, Stella.” I reach over and let her sniff my hand then scratch under her chin. When she keeps purring, I smile at Ethan. “What’s your idea?”
“You offered to answer the phone at the shop. I need a receptionist, and you need a job.”
Another surprise. My heart starts to race. Does this mean Ethan wants me around? Somehow, I feel as if he’s crossing a line here. I’m not sure what, but his house is a far cry from his studio at the sex club.
Can I be around him and not get sucked into the kink of his dark side?
“That would certainly solve my biggest problem,” I admit. “But I was toying with the idea of liquidating and getting away to sort things out in my head.”
He nods. If he doesn’t want to see me leave, he doesn’t let on. “Where are you thinking of going?”
“Maybe backpack around Europe. Do something normal before I decide what to do with the rest of my life.”
I might as well have said I was thinking about going shopping. He doesn’t blink. His expression doesn’t change. He just sips his beer. “You can’t liquidate all that fast, and I imagine you’ll need your car back to get ready for a trip like that. Ace and I are going to a wedding down in the islands. You can help out with the phone until I get back. I’ll pay you, of course. You’ll need the money for your trip.”
He just assumes I’ll do it. I feel angry and somehow deflated. It’s stupid, I know. I’m not even sure I’m going to make the trip yet. Just walking away from everything . . . But it’ll be a lot easier to learn to stand on my own without the lure of running home to my parents whenever things get rough. Maybe I need a clean break.
From Ethan, and his dangerous sex, too.
I push the remains of my sandwich away, not hungry anymore. I don’t know what I need, but he is trying to help me out. And he is right. It’s not like I can leave tomorrow anyway. I have the apartment to deal with, liquidating my meager assets. Giving the Jeep back to my parents.
“When are you leaving and when are you coming back?” I ask.
“Ace’s jet takes off in the morning. I’ll be back the evening after.”
Two days won’t hold me up at all. And I don’t mind the idea of filling in at the shop, being around Ethan’s life. I feel so comfortable in his home. With him.
At least, right now, I do. Maybe that’s what’s unnerving about him. One moment I feel comfortable and the next, I’m on edge. He encourages the crazy in me. And maybe that’s exactly what I need to keep me from giving in to my father. But the sex . . . I’d be insane if I wasn’t disturbed. We’ve gone from nipple clamps and a spanking to eating peanut butter and jelly and talking like two normal people.
He’s your going-away present.
I can hear Emme in memory. I’m freaking myself out here. I don’t need to think beyond the next two days, and they’ve taken care of themselves already.
“I haven’t slept for a while,” Ethan says. “Why don’t we nap then I’ll take you out to dinner for some real food?”
“I’d like that.”
He feeds the last bite of his sandwich to Stella, clears the dishes, and leads me upstairs. There are two bedrooms, a Jack and Jill bath between.
“You can take that room.” He gestures to one room and then surprises me by heading to the other. He glances back over his shoulder before he closes the door and says, “There are T-shirts and running shorts in the dresser. Help yourself.”
Then he vanishes into the room without closing the door.
Separate beds?
I have no clue what to make of this. The man has become intimately acquainted with every part of my body, has taken liberties with me that skirt the edges of consensual, but he doesn’t want to take a nap together?
He doesn’t make any sense. And my reaction doesn’t make any sense, either. I’m disappointed, worried that I annoyed him by not jumping on his offer. Was I looking forward to wrapping around him in bed and falling asleep? Some more normal?
What’s wrong with me? Normal and Ethan do not go together like pizza and beer. This much I know already.
Spinning on my heel, I head inside my newly-appointed room. I open a chest drawer and grab a long T-shirt. Under the shirt is a framed picture of Ethan with the same girl. She’s pretty. Two dog tags are wrapped around the frame, entwined. Ethan’s and Callie Concord’s.
A lump rises in my throat. Had he loved Callie? Was he so closed off because of this woman? Had she hurt him? Did he still have feelings for her?
But I also have a sliver of hope. If he had loved her, that showed he was capable of love.
That perhaps he can love again . . .
Very gently, I put the picture back in the drawer.
After changing, I head to the bathroom to rinse out my thong and erase whatever evidence of my behavior I can. Then I hang it on a rod, hoping it’ll dry quickly in the heat.
I return and flounce on the bed, still trying to sort out his odd behavior. But I’m in his shirt, surrounded by his scent, so I fall asleep almost as soon as my head hits the pillow.
Even my subconscious is filled with him. Kissing me. Touching me. Painting me. Spanking me. Shouting at me. Raging at me . . . Roaring . . . As if I’ve done something terrible and he’s incensed . . . or scared?
It’s the fear, a sound of terror like I’ve never heard before, that startles me from sleep.
I wake to my pounding heart and the sound of Ethan’s shouts.
Not a dream.
22
Ethan
THE PAINT BOOTH explodes. Flames engulf the building. I hear screams of agony. They’re burning, burning alive. People I know. People I love.
I’m screaming as I try to reach them, try to get my legs back underneath me. But another explosion rocks the ground and knocks me backward. I paddle my arms at the scorching air, trying to cling to nothing as I’m thrown even farther away.
Then the roar fades to a violent spew of hellish flames. And silence . . .
I wake up in a sweat, panting, my screams echoing in my ears, over the harsh pounding of blood in my ears.
Then I hear my name as if from a distance. The door opens.
Mia.
Swinging my legs around, I reach for the scotch I keep beside my bed. I try to take a swig, but my hands shake so badly, I only clink the bottle painfully against my teeth. I set it down
and grasp my hands together, try to still the shaking, so I can try again without knocking out a tooth.
She comes over to me, sits, takes the bottle and raises it to my lips. “Here you go.”
I swallow hard and let the liquor burn down the last of the horror. Then there’s silence. So heavy.
She doesn’t say a word, only rests her cheek against my shoulder, consoling me. I don’t want to go here. I should’ve known better. I shouldn’t have brought her here. I opened a door to someplace I don’t want to go.
Or maybe I do.
“I have nightmares,” I say. “I thrash around. That’s why I didn’t want you to sleep in here. I didn’t want to hurt you.”
She wraps her arms around me, keeps her face pressed against me and says, “Shh. When I got stuck in the ditch, you came back to make sure I was okay. At the club, you shielded me from other guys with your body. Didn’t let anyone come close. You’re always trying to protect me.”
I am? Holy crap. I never care if people stare at my pets. But right from the start, Mia was different.
We sit there quietly, until my heart stops racing, her arms encircling me lightly, her hands stroking me gently, her touch so light. My every breath fills with the scent of her, and she smells so good.
The beast finally crawls back to its hiding place.
“Are the nightmares about her?” she asks, gently.
“Her?”
“The girl in the photo with you.”
I say nothing. It’s too soon. Right after the nightmares, the pain is too vivid. Hell, it’s fucking agony to remember, never mind speak. Mia must sense that I’m getting restless, because just as I’m about to extricate myself and suggest dinner, she lays back and pulls me with her. She snuggles close, hikes her thigh over mine, and hooks her ankle around me, too.
Like she’s planning to stay for a while.
I should send her away—just in case I fall back to sleep. But she soothes me. The feel of her. The smell of her. Mia is as passionate in her kindness as she is in arousal.
She just holds me. The memory of the screams finally vanishes completely, absorbed by the quiet, broken only by the soft sounds of our breathing. My restlessness fades, too, and I feel calmer. We lie there, but neither of us goes back to sleep. I don’t trust the beast won’t rear up again, that I won’t hurt her if I sleep.
I know I scared her. Shit. This isn’t what I want. It’s one thing to put her on edge when I’m in control, another when I’m thrashing around like a maniac in a nightmare.
I should either get up or send her away.
I kiss her neck.
And my dick goes hard.
Now I’m back on familiar ground. She rolls over, shoves me onto my back, seals her mouth to mine, kisses me, and demands my tongue. I trace my hands over her back, her waist, her hips, her saucy ass.
“You sore?” I ask.
“Mmm.” She nips my neck, works her kisses over my collarbone, my nipples, my navel. She feels so good. I didn’t know I could relax and still be so tense. I let her have her way. I’m tired of fighting right now, so tired.
Her hair trails along my dick, and I jump to her tune. Sweet, sweet, Mia. She knows what I need.
She straddles me, but instead of taking me where I want to go, she slides her slick pussy over my dick. Slowly.
I grind my teeth. She feels delicious.
Tipping her hips, she angles her body so that I slide back and forth, teasing her clit. A dance of motion.
Her tits sway near my face. I take a nipple into my mouth and she moans. I’m as gentle with her as she is with me. Licking her nipples with such care, gauging my touch by her breathing. She’s worn those clamps today and has to be sensitive. I only want to give her pleasure.
When she moans softly, my balls tighten. God, this woman is something. I don’t know when anyone has turned me on this way. She puts the tip of me inside her. Just the tip. I swell, every drop of blood going right to my cock until I pulse, throb.
It takes all my control not to thrust into her wetness. She’s so ready for me. Her breath comes in gasps. Her chest heaves. Her breasts swell into my hands.
And finally, finally, she sucks me in deep. She doesn’t take a moment to adjust. She rides me hard. She’s so tight, so determined. God, she feels so fucking good.
I place my hands on her hips. And we move together, faster and faster. Her ass slaps me, her pussy squeezes, pumping, swallowing all of me.
Smalls coos of pleasure come from deep in her throat.
I gather her close, until I can feel her tits crush my chest, her skin seal to mine, every part of her pressed against me, leveraging me even deeper inside. “Cum with me, Mia.”
And she does, panting my name on her lips.
Even as I shoot my load, hearing my name on her lips melts me. I can’t recall the last time I’ve felt so sated.
So good.
She topples onto my chest, our legs entwined, and we pass out.
I must sleep because when I open my eyes again, I’m disoriented, drugged stupid as if someone knocked me out. It takes a few minutes to figure out what the hell’s going on.
Why is it pitch black? And who is wrapped around me?
The memory of Mia fucking me hard comes back first. I glance at the glow of the digital clock and am amazed to see that we not only slept through dinner, but through half the night. It’s almost two in the morning.
Seven hours. Takes me another minute to wrap my brain around that. This is the longest I’ve slept in six years. No nightmare. The beast slept, too.
Right then and there, in a fast second, absolutely everything in my life changes. I know what I want.
Mia.
23
Mia
I PRETEND TO sleep, but I’m wide awake. Ethan gets up, hits the bathroom, and comes back to bed. He gathers me close and ever so slowly, his breathing evens out and he falls back asleep. I know he’s exhausted. In more ways than I understand.
This man has consumed my life since we met on the side of the road. He has kidnapped me, put me to work, fixed my car, and spanked me. He’s brought me into his home, shared a woman from his past. I’m sleeping in his shirt, in his bed.
He let me make love to him.
He’s opening up. A little, at least. I’m stunned by all the insights, by how I just want to lie here and soothe him and be his safe place while he sleeps.
By how much I want him.
I’ve never felt this way before. Never with Dylan. Not with anyone.
Only Ethan.
I can’t think clearly when he’s arousing me with his kinky sex. All I can do is feel. But now . . . Well, I like when he’s peaceful. I like his tenderness, his protectiveness, his warmth. I want him to keep opening up and sharing himself with me. Let me see all the dark places he keeps so tightly controlled.
Because, as I lie in his arms, I suspect his need for control is more about controlling what’s going on inside of him, than controlling me. Or any of his pets.
Staring into the darkness, I hang onto him as if I never want to let go.
What happened to turn a man who sees beauty on every car, canvas, and body, into ‘sir’?
I try to string together the fragments. That picture in his office, by his front door, the one in the chest with the his-and-her dog tags entwined. How he doesn’t want to talk about his past.
He mentioned the woman who left in the briefest of ways. Did he buy this house with her? Did he let down his walls with her? A woman he wanted a homey future with, a future filled with shared dinners, rocking chairs, purring fat cats?
Did she cheat on him, leave him, die?
Is she the reason he screams himself awake? Did his penchant for dark sex send her running in the opposite direction? Or did she lose herself in the search for extravagant pleasure, and now he’s tortured with guilt because he was responsible?
“She’s gone,” was all he said.
What if it was the sex? Will he admit it when he’s obviou
sly entrenched in the quest for pleasure himself?
The thought frightens me. If sex can turn Ethan from an artist into ‘sir,’ will I lose myself, too?
How can I possibly withstand the erotic pull of his world when I don’t even know who I am? I can’t decide whether or not I should break free of my life and head off on an adventure, or stay put and rebuild a life I want to live here. I only know I want to feel as if I’m living it. Alive.
The way I feel with Ethan inside me.
But if I can’t stand up to my father’s bullying, how can I ever hope to stand up to the lure of this man and his darkness?
I’m afraid to go, afraid to stay.
As if Ethan senses my conflict, he moves, and the hot length of his erection sears my skin. With a soft grunt, he hikes his leg over mine, and arches against me as if easing the ache. With a sigh, I snuggle close, hope to ease his ache, so he sleeps.
With an unexpected burst of motion, he rolls on top of me. I gasp, but his mouth is on mine. He kisses me deeply, expertly. He goes from zero to sixty, and he takes me with him.
For this one blissful moment, sensation crowds out my conflict. I don’t want to think anymore. I only want to feel. Throwing my arms around his neck, I urge him on with my lips and hands and hips. He settles between my thighs, lifts my legs up and over his shoulders. And then he takes me with a fierce growl of possessiveness.
Oh, God, I just melt around him. There’s nothing but Ethan and me and the way our bodies come together. All I can do is grab his hard ass and urge him on. Because his darkness brings out something in me. Something desperately needy.
Stupid reason keeps breaking through my pleasure. I can’t need this man. He doesn’t want a partner, he wants a pet.
And I’m never so aware of that as now. Each forceful thrust brings my bottom against his thighs. I’m still so sensitive there, and I realize he must have lifted my legs to keep the pressure off my bottom—where he spanked me.
