She smiled. “You’re awake. That’s a good sign.”
“Head must have been hurt worse than I thought.” He looked around. Three puke-green walls with an ugly floral print curtain for a fourth plus medical equipment told him all he needed to know. He was in a hospital. He vaguely remembered an ambulance ride, but he couldn’t remember actually getting to the place. It was sweet of Kyra to come with him. She was standing next to the bed. The upper half of the bed was tilted up partway. “You don’t need to stay. Really.”
“I know that, silly. I want to.”
A doctor came in, wearing green scrubs the same color as the walls. “Good, you’re awake. Stay down.” That was it for his bedside manner, apparently. He checked Drew’s pulse by hand and nodded with some satisfaction. “We’ll keep you another hour or two, if you can stay awake. More if you don’t. How’re you feeling?”
“Sore.”
“Nerves are working. You’ve got a concussion. What we call ‘moderate’, which is still nothing to sneeze at. Or to sneeze with—it’ll hurt. What do you do for a living?”
“He owns a restaurant.” Kyra said with pride in her voice before he even opened his mouth. He wasn’t used to hearing quite that tone from a woman, and he had to admit it sounded good.
“Well, don’t do your own bouncing for a couple weeks. Play any sports?”
At least Kyra let him answer that one. “Ultimate. Once a week.”
“What the hell is ultimate?” asked the doctor.
“Um, Frisbee football. It’s more low contact than it sounds. No tackling or blocking or anything like that.”
“Don’t do that for a couple weeks either. I’ll be back in an hour or so. You.” The doc looked at Kyra. “If he falls asleep, come get a nurse. We’ll keep him under observation overnight, at least, if that happens.”
Great. He could tell the doctor right now that he was going to stay awake. If there was one thing worse than being kicked in the head, it was staying in a hospital. The smell of antiseptic, the faint undercurrent of whatever the antiseptic smell was covering up, the food. My god, if I have to say overnight they’ll probably make me eat the food.
“I can’t stay here,” he said. It was wasted on the doctor, who had pulled aside the curtain and was on his way. He tried to sit up.
Kyra laughed and pushed on his chest until he was back lying on the bed. “Have another date, big boy?” The smile faded right after she said it, as if it had started a joke but hadn’t ended up that way. It wasn’t a look he wanted to see on her face.
“Yeah, I’m making you breakfast.”
That put the smile back where it belonged. His mission accomplished, he thought maybe he’d close his eyes for a few moments, lie back and relax.
“Oh no, you don’t.” She grabbed his hand and squeezed.
“Oh yeah.” He smiled wanly. “Gotta stay awake.”
“Obviously, you need something to make it worth keeping your eyes open.” Kyra met his gaze as she undid two buttons on her blouse. That left her neckline low enough he could see the lace on her bra, and when she leaned over all the blood rushed to his cock. “Is there anything else my lord requires?”
“You have me elevated to the nobility do you?” He kept looking at her beautiful round breasts, so generously displayed. Yeah, he wasn’t going to have any trouble keeping his eyes open.
“Well, some people call it cleavage, but giving what you’re doing, I think peerage is another good name for it.”
It took him a moment, and then he reached behind himself and threw the pillow at her.
She batted it aside, laughing. “Hey! You’re supposed to be resting! Cut that out.” She picked up the pillow, leaning forward delightfully in the process, and then almost smothered him with her breasts as she pulled his head up and tucked the pillow in behind him.
But what a way to go.
“How are you feeling?” she asked.
“Hard. Horny.” He decided to leave out woozy.
She smirked. “If you want me to do anything about it all you have to do is say the word.”
“We don’t exactly have privacy here,” Drew pointed out. The doctor hadn’t knocked when he came in, and he doubted anyone else would, either.
“That could be awkward,” she conceded. “But still, orders are orders, and my lot is to obey them.” She said the last with a twinkle in her eye. She was daring him.
It was tempting. He could practically feel her wet lips sliding over his shaft just thinking about it. But he’d take better care of her than that. Someone walking in would be virtually assured, and he didn’t want to see her humiliated. A little exhibitionist embarrassment in a club around like-minded people, maybe. Not in front of random strangers. But her willingness was sexy as hell. He wasn’t any stranger to willing, but with Kyra it was somehow different. Maybe it was because he’d seen the way she tackled a much bigger man to try to keep him away from Drew when he looked defenseless. Maybe it was because she stuck by him in a hospital. Or maybe it’s because I’ve suffered a blow to the head.
But that wasn’t it. He could find women who would do almost anything at a party, but he didn’t want to be with just any woman. He wanted to show Kyra what sort of things could be done in the world of Dominance and submission. He wanted to hear her scream her pleasure. He wanted to show her she could ignore everyone around and focus on him in the middle of a party and yet still watch the flush of pink in her cheeks when she realized people were watching. He wanted to show her all sorts of erotic toys, to find out whether she liked the feel of ropes or the clank of chains better. And he didn’t want another man putting his hands on her. Not ever.
Feeling possessive was new emotional territory for him, and he wasn’t sure what to do with it.
“I’ll take a rain check,” he said.
“Darn.”
If he’d looked at her eyes, he might have thought she was truly chagrined. But he noticed the way her shoulders relaxed against the pink vinyl padding of the back of the little steel chair she was sitting in and he heard the way she let out the breath she’d been holding. He smiled.
He’d always cared about making his partners happy, that was nothing new. But he hadn’t turned many offers like hers down. He wasn’t sure why he was so pleased with himself now. Because I love her. He wrinkled his nose up. Yeah, right. Like that was ever going to happen to him. He was being a good protective Dom, that was all it was. Besides, she was a pushy sub—calling him Master when he’d told her not to, daring him to order her to do something her body said she didn’t even want to do. She didn’t even know what she wanted, how was he supposed to know?
She sat watching him and smiling. When he met her gaze, she asked him, “What are you thinking?”
He paused, trying to decide whether to tell her or not. Deep down, he was sure he wasn’t the best man for her. Or for anyone. He was a pervert, after all. Just exactly what she thought when she’d first walked in the door of Carpe Noctem. He’d assured a whole sequence of women that their desires were okay, that submission was just another way some people loved, and yet his need to be the Dominant—that was something entirely different. Wasn’t it? “You don’t even know what you want, how am I supposed to know?” There. He’d said it.
To his surprise, she didn’t budge from the chair. He expected her to run at the harshness of his tone, at the accusation in his words. “I don’t know. But so far, you’ve always guessed right.”
“Guessed.” He lay back against the bed again. He closed his eyes for a second before opening them again, not wanting her to think he was falling asleep.
“More than guessed, I think. But if topping me is too hard…” She let the words linger, as if waiting for him to deny it.
Topping you isn’t hard. It’s too easy. Too exactly what I want to do. He didn’t say a thing. Let her believe it and maybe she’d run away. Because for the first time he’d met someone he couldn’t order to go.
“Then I suppose I could try topping you.�
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He stared at her. No fucking way. Is that what she really wants? Her chin jutted out in challenge, the same way it had when she was trying to tempt him into ordering her to go down on him. No, he decided. It’s not what she really wants. But she’s willing to go to that length. Could he say the same? Would he go as far?
I can’t.
The silence grew longer. Uncomfortably long. Maybe she did want that.
But if I could do that, I’d be worthy of her. His heart hammered in his chest. He opened his mouth. The little innocent submissive had overturned everything he knew about D/s. He opened his mouth to speak. To say yes. He knew he couldn’t do it for long, but maybe if he could do it for a while…
“But I think we both know we prefer it the other way around,” she said. “It’s what we were made for, you and I, and you’ve been able to show me that. I never thought a man like you could truly love, and yet you do. You care for me when I’m willing to do crazy things. Even with a concussion you faced down a crazy man who thought I was his wife. And you make me tingle in all the right places. So here I sit, waiting, ready to do whatever you command. And to give you as many rain checks as your poor head requires.”
He blinked at her. He’d sort of absorbed all of what she said, but somehow the word “wife” was reverberating in his brain the most. “I am so fucked,” he said at last.
She laughed. “Well, you could be. But maybe you’d be better off resting for a bit.”
“Yeah. Yeah, maybe I would, at that.” He reached out his hand for her and she held his until he spoke again. “Go find a doctor and get me out of this place, will ya?”
She met his gaze. It was a moment before he realized she wasn’t staring him down, she was checking out his eyes. But she smiled, satisfied, and stood. “Your wish is my command.” She let go of his hand, performed the sincerest and most awkward-looking curtsey he’d ever witnessed, and turned to go.
He watched her ass until the curtain got in the way. Well, I may be hooked, but at least I’ve got that to look forward to.
Chapter Ten
Kyra knocked lightly and no one answered. In his e-mail he’d told her to come in without waiting for the door to be opened, but that felt really odd. But he’d been quite precise in his instructions. She was to arrive promptly at eight o’clock, let herself in, and look around. What could he have that she needed to look at? She’d been in his apartment a few times since the concussion for some hot play sessions and physically satisfying sex. She’d had to beg off the last time he’d invited her because of a deadline, but she didn’t have it looming over her anymore. Drew had been very understanding. Now she only had to wonder what her editor had to say about Garrett Chandler’s new taste for kinky.
She opened the door, cautiously. She could hear something sizzling in the kitchen. Well, that answered her question, which was where was he that he wasn’t answering the door. Was he alone? He’d said something about a party coming up the last time they’d talked, and she couldn’t make out any voices. She almost headed off in that direction when she saw a white piece of paper with writing on it stuck with tape to the coat rack. Look around, he’d said. She read the note.
“Take all of your clothes off, and leave them at the door, then go sit naked at your place at the dining room table.”
Well, that settles it. He’s alone. She smiled and had lifted her blue jersey dress halfway over her head when she heard a voice, again from the direction of the kitchen. She froze. Or maybe it doesn’t. The party.
For several seconds she stood there with her dress awkwardly half off, and then she gritted her teeth. I can do this. And sometimes the things he wants me to do that I think are going to be horrible are a lot of fun. She rather doubted she would enjoy the party anyway, but she decided he’d earned the benefit of the doubt.
She took her dress off. Staying in her underwear was tempting, but sadly the last part of the instructions had been clear. Naked. She kicked off her shoes, took off her bra, and slipped out of her panties. He never seemed to mind stockings, so she left those on and walked forward. She almost immediately breathed a sigh of relief. The voice was a familiar one, but not someone she’d met; it was the anchorman for an evening news show on the radio. She didn’t know he liked to listen to it. Something else we have in common. She padded quietly across the floor.
The dining room area was dim, lit only by the flickering flame from two tall red candles. There were two places set. One was at the end, the other next to it, on the side. The leather cushion on the side seat had a lovely little seat cover on it, in soft blue cotton, reinforcing her sense that it was her place. She never would have thought a Dom would be concerned about sparing his sub the momentary stickiness of leather on a bare bum, but it was a quintessentially Drew-like gesture that brought a smile to her face.
There were two goblets at each place, one empty, one full of water. A bottle of wine sat chilling in a bucket full of ice. Silverware, napkins, all were arranged with precision, but no plates. She sipped her water and waited. Her heart was pounding. He obviously had quite an agenda, but what did it all mean?
Drew came to join her a few moments later, bearing two plates. He set one in front of her. Three bamboo skewers, each with different kinds of meat and vegetables dripping with juice, sat on top of a pilaf of basmati rice and orzo. It wasn’t the only thing that looked good enough to eat. He was wearing tight jeans that accentuated the muscles of his thighs, and a white open-necked shirt that tied up in the front rather than buttoned, with billowy sleeves. It may have been a few centuries out of fashion, but it looked damn good on him.
“You look lovely,” he told her.
She blushed. She occasionally, not often, got compliments when she picked the right kind of clothes, but undressed he could only be talking about her. “I just look naked, Sir,” she retorted, trying not to blush. She was probably failing, but fortunately there wasn’t a mirror in sight and the reflection off the wine bucket wasn’t at all clear. She hadn’t called him Master since the night in the hospital. He hadn’t invited it, and she didn’t want to push him somewhere he didn’t want to be.
“Same difference.” He grinned at her.
She stuck out her tongue.
He kept grinning. “We’ll put that to use later.” He sat down and filled their goblets with white wine.
“What do you call this, Sir?” She was eager to get the attention off her and the food was convenient. Besides, it looked delicious.
He laughed. “I don’t have a name for it yet, and that’s what keeps it off the menu at the restaurant. The kabobs are a fairly traditional Afghani seekh kabob, although the marinade includes some Western ingredients. The orzo definitely isn’t traditional.”
“You never do anything quite by the recipe, do you, Sir?” She smiled. They hadn’t had missionary position sex once yet. Cooking wasn’t the only thing he didn’t do the traditional way.
“Not unless it’s my recipe. Objections?”
“Never. I’m a good girl, I am.” She fluttered her eyelashes at him.
He laughed. “I didn’t think so. Try it! Tell me what you think.”
She did. It was scrumptious, and she told him so, even though she was sure he already knew it and it would feed his already healthy ego. He watched her eat as if it was the most fascinating thing he’d ever seen, barely touching his own food. That wasn’t like him. He usually wanted to savor every bite, but this time he seemed distracted. She wasn’t exactly focused herself, even though the succulent meats—lamb, beef, chicken and something else she could only guess at—were perfect. She was all too aware of how naked she was, and she wasn’t used to him being nervous. He was always so in control, except for that one little glimpse of vulnerability he’d given her at the hospital.
The plate, she noticed as she uncovered more of it, didn’t have a scratch on it. Either it was invulnerable or he had never used the china before.
“Save room for dessert.” His voice was the one of command, the one
she loved to obey.
“Dessert? Oh, I shouldn’t, Sir.” She wasn’t sure why she could let him tell her to strip and be bound, but dessert she objected to. She’d been turning down the sweets for a long time.
“You should.” You will, she read in his eyes, but he didn’t say it. She wasn’t sure what held him back. “Special occasion.”
“I’ll get fat.”
“Your weight is perfectly healthy. And you’re attractive to me the way you are. Probably to most of the rest of the straight male and lesbian population, but they can go fuck themselves, for all I care, because you’re mine. One dessert won’t change you that much. Even if it is to die for.”
She was surprised at the vehemence in his voice. His. “The kabobs are to die for,” she told him.
“The dessert is even better.” He grinned. “And mind your manners.”
“Dessert could get to be a bad habit, Sir.”
“Then you’ll have to trust me not to let you develop it, won’t you? It’s part of my job to catch you if you fall, but part of the point of that is to let you fly.”
She looked down at her plate, avoiding his gaze, and smiled. “Yes Sir.” She picked up a bamboo skewer and got a mischievous idea. She looked back up at him and put it into her mouth until her teeth could barely get a chunk of juicy lamb. The point of the kabob was almost ticking the back of her throat, but the effect on Drew was worth it. His eyes bulged as she slowly withdrew the skewer. Lamb juice ran down her chin. She lifted a leg and felt his groin with her toes, fully satisfied at the hard ridge she found there.
“Wench.”
“As you wish, Milord.” She realized she was wet herself. With her leg lifted, she could feel a cool breath of air from the air-conditioning on her pussy.
“Time for dessert,” he said abruptly, picking up her plate and whisking it off to the kitchen. She watched him, her gaze first on the package in front, then on the nicely sculpted ass he presented when he passed her.
He brought out one plate. There was a little round pie on it, the size of a single slice of a normal-sized pie, with bits of curled dark chocolate on top of what looked like whipped cream. Definitely fattening. She wasn’t sure her willpower could have held out even if she hadn’t been ordered to eat it.
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