by Diane Roth
"That still doesn't take care of my kids." Cara was ready to go online and sign up, but wasn't ready to throw in the towel with Etta all full of smug.
"You know good and well Miss Barbara'd love to come take care of those grands. And if she's runnin' off to Houston to see her hottie, then I'll do it. And Maddie can teach your Friday class." She pitched the last piece of junk mail in the garbage and nodded decisively at Cara.
And that seemed to be that. Cara shrugged. "Well, all right then. I'll go."
"See if you can't manage to get in some horizontal exercise while you there, baby. You been so grouchy lately I can't hardly stand your behind," Etta said all nonchalant.
"Grouchy?" she asked, affronted. "Me?"
"Yes, you, Miss I Ain't Seein' Nobody."
Cara narrowed her eyes at Etta. "Girl, you're like a dog with a bone. I swear."
Etta knew. Or at least, she thought she knew that Cara and Greg were seeing one another on the sly. And it ate her lunch that Cara wouldn't admit to it and give her all the juicy details.
"I ain't askin' you nothin'. I'm just sayin' that, should you go, maybe Mr. Nobody might just happen to have some business ... like some college sports business in South Beach at that same time, real convenient like, you know?" She managed to look slightly injured about the shut out, but still smug.
Cara shook her head. "You have a very vivid imagination, my friend."
"Oh, baby ... you have no idea," Etta said, making them both laugh.
Chapter Nine
The week wasn't going all that well to Cara's disappointment. To begin with, she lost her cell phone, which was totally out of character for her. She didn't lose things, was way too good a Girl Scout for that nonsense. But, of course, as Murphy's Law would have it, she'd lost her cell phone at the beginning of the week she needed it the worst. There was little to do but replace it. And she'd about had it with her old cellular provider, so she went with a new one and bought a new phone. Still, she'd lost all her contacts, and it was driving her crazy in the midst of the busyness of the week.
Greg had agreed to come to South Beach for the weekend. It was a minor miracle in reality, being that it was fall and college football was in full swing. She didn't know exactly how he'd managed it, but it didn't really matter. What mattered was that they had two whole days, and more importantly, two whole nights together. It had been so long. Every time Cara thought of being with him a sizzle of heat gave her a sexual buzz.
The Dance Symposium had been good, full of innovative and exciting ideas, but by the end of day two, Cara was fairly saturated with all things dance. The last workshop let out at five p.m. on Friday afternoon, which was going to work out well since Greg's plane had landed at four. They would probably arrive at the hotel at about the same time.
Unfortunately, another convention of some sort let out at exactly the same time, and Cara found it nearly impossible to hail a cab. What should have been a short fifteen minute cab ride turned into an hour and ten minute ordeal. And to make matters worse, it began to rain, so by the time she arrived at the hotel, she was wet and frazzled as a worn shoe lace.
She was never late. To anything, she thought irritably, waiting and waiting for the elevator that seemed to be stopping at every single floor on its way to the lobby. And here she was looking like a drowned rat while Greg waited for her. Lord, could the damned elevator be any slower? Someone was holding it at floor three, she decided, looking around for the stairs. Twelve floors up was a lot to climb, but she was about to do that when the elevator chimed and the door opened. Finally.
She entered and pushed the button for the Twelfth Floor, then checked her phone to see if he'd texted her, but there was nothing. With any luck, he'd be a little late himself, and she might have time to make herself look more presentable.
Luck was not her friend this week though.
She pushed through the door to her room and found him sitting in an upholstered club chair, his back to the window. He must have been there a while. His shoes were off, as was his sports jacket, and his tie was loosened at his neck. He looked up from the newspaper he'd been reading, then, instead of smiling and rising to meet her as she expected, he folded the paper and put it aside.
"You're late," he said pointedly, resting his forearms on the arms of the chair. She could tell he was cool, at the very least, maybe even irritable.
Cara didn't exactly know how to take it. She dropped her purse and things on the credenza near the door, buying herself a moment to gather her wits. Greg rarely showed any irritation or anger, so she didn't have much experience in dealing with him in this situation. Disappointment rippled through her. This was not an auspicious beginning to the weekend she'd been fantasizing about for the past month.
"I know I'm late. And I'm a total mess. I had a horrible time getting a cab and in the rain, nonetheless. I'm sorry you've been waiting. And for a while it looks like."
He nodded, but his expression didn't soften at all. He was angry with her. Good grief. It wasn't like she'd been sitting in a bar somewhere. She'd been trying diligently to get here.
He looked down at his watch. "Caught an earlier flight. I've been here for ... oh, almost two hours waiting on you," he finally said.
She crossed to the chair and squatted down beside him. "Greg, I know. And I'm sorry. There was another convention that released at the same time, and it was insane trying to hail a cab. There was absolutely no organization about it. They need a woman in charge down there. That would help, let me just tell you," she said, growing testy herself.
He listened, silent, letting her spew, but when she realized her tale of woe was not changing his demeanor, she stopped and canted her head at him. "You're angry with me, aren't you?"
He angled his own head a bit, considering, his eyes narrowing. "Angry isn't it. Impatient, is more like it," he finally said. "I've been very impatient for you to get here," he added, his look stern and unbending.
She stood up, finally fed up with all the irritations and disappointments of the day ... the week.
"Fine. Pout then. I'm getting in the shower," she said and turned to walk to the bathroom.
"Stop," he said. It was quietly spoken, but said with an authority that took her completely by surprise.
She turned around to look at him, trying to understand exactly what was going on in his mind.
"Good girl," he said. "I like a woman who knows how to obey."
Cara's brows rose in surprise, and she laughed a little. "Excuse me?"
"Not yet," he said, working the knot to further loosen his necktie, then pulling it off over his head. "You'll be excused when I say you are. Right now, though, what you're going to do is get undressed."
He said it so matter-of-factly that Cara had to take a moment to process it. She shook her head slightly, still disbelieving the afternoon was unfolding in this way. "Um, no. I'm getting in the shower," she repeated, as if he might be a little dense.
He cocked one eyebrow at her in a way she'd never seen him do, and for a moment, she could imagine the sort of dressing down Ryan got on their road trip to Norman those months ago. It was an intimidating sight to behold, and she was a woman, full grown.
"Take your clothes off, Cara. I'm not going to say it again." He folded the necktie in half, then in half again, and laid it neatly on the arm of the chair, waiting patiently for her to obey.
A tingling thrill went through her as the dawning came, but something else battled with it at the same time. An unaccustomed feeling of shyness rose up in her that he wanted to break out the kinky finally.
"Greg ... " she began, cajoling.
He looked at her across the room, his jaw set, and he shrugged ever so slightly. "You want to do this the hard way?"
"I don't know," she said, completely in new territory with him. It seemed like a game, but his voice was so serious and daunting. "I don't know what you want me to do, Greg."
"Really? Because I think I've been very clear." If he was playing a part, Hollyw
ood should be calling his ass, because he was completely believable.
She stood there, her heart beating in her throat, and had the absurd feeling of being a child in the Principal's office ... a naughty girl who was about to get her just deserts in a very sexy way.
"Last chance, Cara. Take your clothes off," he said, his tone insistent.
She kicked her shoes off and, with trembling hands, began to unbutton her blouse. "Is this better?" she asked, a defiant streak in her tone as she balled her shirt up and threw it on the bed. She didn't know quite how to feel about being dominated. It called up a host of feelings in her that were unfamiliar, but not altogether unpleasant. She had the distinct feeling it would all be to her advantage somehow, and that brought heat to life in parts of her she hadn't had time to think about this disastrous afternoon. "Is this what you want?" she asked, still sounding rebellious.
"It's an improvement, but you've got a ways to go there, girl. Now the pants," he said, nodding at her lower half.
Submission seemed to win the battle with her urge to defy. She dropped the pants around her ankles and glared at him. "Happy?" she asked, sarcasm getting the better of her.
"Not yet," he said, as cool as he could possibly be. "And with that attitude, it may take some doing to make me happy, Cara. I suggest you control your tongue."
Again, the defiance grew. "And if I don't?"
"Take off your bra," he said, and there was absolutely no amusement in his tone, only a smolder in those green eyes that hinted at his game.
Cara noted the erection pressing against the front of his slacks as she pondered her next step. "You've got an issue there, I see," she said, nodding at his lap.
"And have had for about a week. Because all I could think about was fucking you senseless in this hotel room all weekend long. And I arrive, expecting to find you here waiting just as impatiently, but no. You're not here," he said, as if talking to a recalcitrant child.
Her temperature soared at his profanity, just thinking about him thinking about fucking her senseless excited her. "I told you I tried, Greg. It wasn't like I just decided to make you wait," she said. She walked back to the chair and knelt down on her knees before him.
He traced the backs of his fingers along her collar bone, then pulled her hand to his erection. "Feel how hard that is."
Her hand surrounded him and she gave him a gentle squeeze. "Oh, my. That is very firm," she said, a felt something electric skitter along her nerves.
"And uncomfortable," he said. "I've waited a long time in this condition."
"I've been a very bad girl, haven't I?" She moved her hand up and down the length of his shaft through his slacks, feeling his heat and strength, and wanted badly to undress him as well.
"You have. And you continue to disobey me." He watched her hands work on his cock, and Cara half-expected him to push her to her back on the carpet and have his way with her any minute now. Instead, he leaned his head against the back of the chair and quietly directed her again. "Take off the rest, Cara." His steadfast and authoritative mien unnerved her, and though she wavered for a moment, she eventually stood and did as he told her.
"Good," he said, once she stood before him nude, and he finally ... finally rewarded her with a smile. "That's better." He leaned forward, pulling her to stand between his knees. Caroline felt oddly at war within herself for control of the situation, wanting to undress him, caress him, but his mood didn't seem to invite it. His hands grabbed her by the ass, pulling her forward, and he buried his face in the softness of her belly. Cara gasped at the open mouthed kisses he pressed into her stomach, her hands delving into his hair, and she watched, mesmerized as his lips and tongue and teeth brought her desire raging to life. His kisses felt like he wanted to devour her, were just short of painful, and she moaned as he moved back and forth between her hipbones and naval, his hands kneading and caressing her bottom roughly. Without warning, he pulled her down into the chair with him to sit straddle his lap.
His seriously intent gaze held hers while he fit her firmly, squarely on his erection, flexing his hips against her, then his mouth returned, and he pulled her left nipple into his hot mouth for more devouring, sucking hard. Cara nearly cried out, so great was the sensation, riding a razor's edge between pleasure and pain.
She'd thought of this a thousand times in the past two weeks, day dreaming about all the ways they would make love this weekend, but her fevered imagination couldn't come close to creating the pleasure she felt with his hot erection pressing against her wet core, his hot mouth on her breasts. Her hands rose to hold the sides of his face, but he pulled them away, forcing them down to her sides, pulling away from her breast just long enough to pin a look of rebuke on her.
But she found it impossible to keep her hands off him, and in a moment they rose to tangle into his hair. His mouth incited a near riot of her senses as he bathed her nipple with lavish warmth, then tugged on it with his teeth until she did cry out, but he sucked the sting away quickly. She tried to pull his face up to kiss him, but he reached for her hands once more and removed them to the arms of the chair.
"Leave them there or I'll bind them," he said bluntly.
"Greg, I want to touch you," she said, sounding needy and wheedling, even to herself. "I want to kiss you."
He pressed her hands firmly on the arms of the chair. "You'll have to earn that pleasure," he told her, employing that same stern, authoritative expression that had so unsettled her earlier.
"I can't touch you?" she asked, incredulous and intrigued at once.
"Not unless I tell you so," he said, then applied his wondrous mouth to her neck with a like result. She had to force her hands to be still, digging her nails into the nubby fabric of the chair arms and moaning deeply in her throat as he kissed and sucked and lightly bit her along her collar bone, then moved to the sensitive area beneath her ear. It inflamed her, made her press her hips against the burning length of his erection, seeking relief from the throbbing need he was creating in her.
But his hands stilled her, holding her bottom firmly. "Be still," he demanded, then smoothly returned to kissing her neck and breasts.
She dropped her head back in frustration. "I can't be still," she cried. "Greg, you're killing me."
He raised his head to look at her, but it was clear her whining did nothing to soften him. "Since you seem unable, I will help you obey, Cara," he said, taking both her hands off the chair arm and placing them on his chest. He dragged his necktie from between his thigh and the chair cushion where it had fallen, and before she knew what he was about, had it wound twice around her wrists, binding them together snugly. His burning green gaze found hers, unflinching and intense as he tied her wrists together.
A pure sexual genesis bloomed in Cara's mind, and her breath became shaky, her heart thundering in response to feeling dominated and controlled in a way she had never experienced, never dreamed she might desire. Quickly, efficiently, Greg lifted her off his lap and placed her in the chair, then lifted her bound hands up over her head. Dropping them up over the back of the chair, he warned her, "Leave them there."
Cara obeyed, watching him warily as he unbuttoned his shirt cuffs, all the while practically branding her naked skin with his fiery gaze. The muscles of his chest changed shape, bulging and rippling as he removed his shirt, and Cara longed to put her mouth on him just as he had done to her, biting and sucking and touching him all over. It was pure torture not to be able to touch him. She flexed her hands, testing the strength of his knot skills, and found herself well and truly trussed. It did something incendiary to her desire to know that she might not be able to free herself from the ties.
He knelt before the chair and pushed her knees apart, surprising Cara, then shoved his hands beneath her and pulled her bottom to the front edge of the chair. Feeling utterly vulnerable and exposed, Cara nonetheless left her hands where he had put them, bound and dangling over the back of the chair obediently.
"That's a good girl," he said, a know
ing smile easing the hard lines of his mouth. His palm swept down her body from shoulder to hip to knee, lighting fire in its wake, and Cara felt herself trembling with need. "Good girls are rewarded, Cara. Remember that," he said, then raised her left leg and hooked her knee up over the arm of the chair. He did the same with her right leg, and Cara whimpered slightly, discovering what it meant to submit to this man's power over her and the feelings produced by being completely vulnerable.
He looked at her then, opened completely to his regard. "You are so fucking hot," he said shamelessly, then kissed her throbbing center much as he had her breasts, lavishly, purposefully and potently driving her to the brink of madness, then stopping just short of allowing her to finish. It was absolutely all Cara could do to keep her hands above her head as he waited for her to lose her edge, watching her closely.
"Greg, please ... " she moaned, begging for the release he withheld from her.
He raised his head slightly to look up at her. "It's hard to wait, isn't it?"
"Yes," she said sharply. "It's horrible ... and you're making me crazy. Please, Greg," she pleaded.
He pushed a finger into her pulsing warmth, making her moan, and kissed her again in that thoroughly maddening way, all tongue and heat and the perfect amount of pressure in the perfect place. She writhed against his hand and mouth, finding a rhythm that wouldn't allow release to escape her this time, her breath coming out in sharp little exclamations. She was far beyond caring what she sounded like, looked like, or who might hear them.
