by Lamont, Tess
“Okay, maybe now’s not a good time. I was just trying to tell you I’m happy for you. He seems like a good guy.”
“I don’t believe this.” She shook her head. “How did Michael leave things with Bry—Mr. Walker?”
“Michael told him it was weird, but said he was glad you won’t be alone when he leaves.”
Oh, God.
“I’m coming over,” she said. “I have to see Michael.”
****
By the end of her day with Michael, Christina had assured herself that her son really was okay, or at least dealing with the trifecta—living with his father, going to boarding school, and knowing his Mom was dating.
Joe had been right. Somehow Mike had acquired maturity beyond his years. She assured Michael he’d always come first, and he’d responded by saying he was growing up and breaking off on his own, and she needed to do the same.
Mr. Walker’s a good guy, Mom.
The whole idea of her son calling Bryce freaked her out, but what was done was done. After their weird distance the other morning, Bryce could have said there wasn’t anything going on, but he hadn’t.
Which meant there was hope.
She brushed her hair back and urged herself for the third time to get her ass out of her car and ring Bryce’s bell.
She sank back into the seat and closed her eyes. She sat listening to her breath and feeling the heat constrict her lungs. A knock on her window disturbed her silence.
She opened her eyes and met Bryce’s unreadable gaze. He opened her door.
“It’s too hot to be sitting in a car,” he said. “Come inside.”
“You don’t have any air conditioning.”
“I fixed the damn thing. Come in. You want to, or you wouldn’t be here.”
“Look who knows so much,” she said, getting out of the car.
He closed her door behind her and braced himself with one arm. She leaned against her trunk, remembering all the post-game chats they’d had in exactly this position.
She’d wanted him all along.
“Hello Mr. Walker,” she said.
“Hello Ms. Welch,” he replied.
His dark v-neck tee clung in all the right places. “You’re right. I want to come in.”
He looked away, but took her hand. Cradling her palm with firm fingers, he led her to his place. He opened the door and straddled his threshold.
“Ladies first,” he said.
She expected a typical I-don’t-put-any-thought-into-my-home bachelor pad. His apartment surprised her by being a warm and soothing grey. His relatively new furniture looked masculine but relaxing. She could be comfortable here.
“Have a seat,” he said. “Drink?”
“No, thanks, but you go ahead.”
He lifted the beer already in his hand and she bit her lower lip. “I was getting myself a drink when I saw your car.”
“Your place is different than I expected,” she said.
He snorted. “Did you expect some sort of BDSM dungeon with rows of caged sex slaves?”
She wrinkled her nose. He deserved at least one zinger.
“On the second thought, I think I’ll take that drink.”
“All I have is porter and energy drinks.”
“Porter’s my favorite beer.”
He made a low groaning noise. “And she likes dark beer, too.”
He opened a bottle and started to reach for a glass.
“Don’t worry about a glass, the bottle’s enough.”
“Even better,” he said.
She ran her fingers across the cold, wet bottle as Bryce sat at her side.
“I saw Michael today.”
He sucked in. “How’s he doing?”
“I could ask you the same question.”
His gaze flitted between her eyes. “He asked me not to tell you we had talked. Look, I’m sorry. He called me for help with tryouts, and then ambushed me. I guess those kids at the ice cream shop were more aware than we thought. Word traveled fast.”
“Well, he was going to find out sooner or later.” She held her breath, but he didn’t speak. “That is, if we are still ‘seeing’ each other.”
Bryce ran his hand through his hair.
“Are we?” she asked.
****
The million-dollar question.
She had said she was scared, and he’d vowed to give her space so she could figure things out. Keeping his distance these past few days had taken every ounce of his strength, his control. Hell, he would have left her in the car if he hadn’t become worried she’d suffer heat stroke.
“How would you like me to answer?” he asked.
“Truthfully.”
“I will always tell you the truth. But, I’m asking for your opinion, not your advice.”
“My opinion? To quote a poet I know, ‘there is together and there is apart. The choice is always made in faith.”’
“And?” he prompted.
“And, I want together.” She closed her eyes and rested her head on his shoulder. “I really want together.”
He could not deny her, or his gut’s primal call. But he could control the pace—slow and steady.
“If we are going to make this work, we have to get as comfortable with each other out of bed as we are in it.”
“I know,” she said.
He set down his beer. It was a shame to waste his drink after only a few sips, but there were more important things than getting hammered. He picked his keys up from the coffee table.
“How about a date, Ms. Welch?”
She looked up as if he were joking. Her cheek dimpled and her skin flushed with what he hoped was happiness.
“You’re asking me out?”
“Definitely.” He took her hand and pulled her to her feet. She stood on her toes and leaned in, hesitantly kissing his cheek.
“Thank you,” she said. “I’d love to go out with you, Mr. Walker.”
He brushed her hair from her face. Those eyes of hers were deep and soulful and turned up to his in hope and fear and trust. He wrapped his arms around her waist.
“Since we’re dating now…” she started.
“Uh-oh.”
She eyed him askance. “My friend Lisa is getting married tomorrow. Would you like to come?”
“A little late for an RSVP, no?”
“She invited you.”
He quirked a brow. “Did she?”
She swallowed. “I’d like you to meet my friends, though I know weddings suck and I understand if you—”
“If it’s important to you, I will be there.”
She sighed, giving him a look he could live on for weeks.
“My librarian,” he whispered. He captured her lovely sweet lips in a light kiss, warm and right.
Her lip trembled. “I want this to work.”
“Shh,” he said. “We’ve got this.”
She nodded.
“Let’s go eat.” He tucked her hand against his arm.
He locked his door and led her to his car. He opened the passenger door and made sure she was seated. He rounded the car, threw his keys into the air and caught them overhand.
He felt damn fine.
****
Still exhilarated from dancing with Christina’s crazy friends, Bryce closed the door to their hotel room and leaned on the frame.
Seeing Christina against the backdrop of a bed was all he needed for his blood flow to reverse. Even dressed in an atrocious bridesmaid gown, she took away his breath.
She removed a rose from her hair. “Beautiful wedding,” she said, sighing.
“The ceremony was beautiful, but you, my sweet, are wearing the fugliest dress I have ever seen.”
She smirked and held her arms wide.
“Better to yank off, my dear.”
Her wolf-ish tone resonated in his gut, but he pressed on—wanted the answer to a nagging suspicion he’d had all afternoon.
“One thing in the ceremony keeps running through my mind
.”
“Yes?” she said, her voice full of innocence.
“Where did Lisa and Ben get all those quotes about mutual surrender?”
“Maybe they came up with them on their own?”
Her wandering fingers distracted him, but not enough. “I don’t think so...”
“Maybe they did a little research?” She nibbled on his earlobe.
“Maybe they asked a librarian for help?”
“Maybe.” She pressed her forehead into his chest. “We are all very close.”
He suspected as much. “So, do your friends know all about us?”
“Just Lisa and Jil...and maybe Ben, if Lisa spilled.” She pulled back and spoke to him with one eye closed and her head slightly turned toward the side. “Are you mad?”
He was a private sort of person. But, tonight, he’d caught glimpses of the rare closeness she shared with her friends—yet another sign of her deep loyalty.
“No,” he said. “I trust you and who you trust, I trust as well.”
With women, one could never be sure, but Christina rewarded him with a dazzling smile.
God, he loved this woman. He froze. Love?
The emotion sat on his heart like a stubborn fiend, arms-crossed and unmoving. They shared the same passions. They shared the same humor. She responded to his voice like the sub of his dreams.
Shit he was in deep.
What if she decided ‘the life’ was not for her? Could he play vanilla? He exhaled. Changing himself would never work.
“Come.” He took her hand and led her to sit on the bed. He cradled her chin and caressed her bottom lip with his thumb.
“I said I was falling for you. I lied. I’ve fallen. I’m flat. Done.”
“Me, too,” she whispered. “I will try to make this work.”
“Try won’t be enough, Christina. I don’t want you to be something you are not.”
“May I show you something?”
He frowned. “Of course.”
She went to her suitcase and returned with a small, black book. “Take a look, please.”
The first page was titled My Limits. A tension he hadn’t even recognized released. The second page was titled Our Rules.
She inched closer, touching her thigh to his. “The lists are mostly blank, because I don’t know yet.”
He looked up. “Christina, what you’re talking about is more than just a scene.”
“I know. I really want this.” Her cheeks pinked. “When I kneel at your feet, my heart is quiet.”
He wanted her to reveal more, dig deeper. “Quiet?”
She nodded. “Like I belong there. Like I am yours and know you will care for me, cherish me.”
His throat was drying by the minute. She held him with her eyes as if emitting a mystical scent that kept him open, quiet and still.
“I give myself to you,” she continued, “and you, in turn, stretch me, force me to find my courage, my heart. My center exists in the well of your protection.”
He closed the book and set it on the nightstand. Drawing her into a loose embrace, he kissed her crown.
“I will protect you. Stretch you.” He hesitated. “Love you.”
“Yes,” she said. “Love me. Love me as I am coming to love you.”
The last of the weight lifted from his shoulders. He had time. Time to learn her slowly. Time to claim her thoroughly. Time to bind their souls together as tight and sure as he would bind her body. But, instinctively, he understood the time for talk was over.
“Stand and take off your dress.”
She sighed as if he’d spoken the words against her clit. “Yes, sir.”
She stood and turned her back. Click by slow click, she released the zipper of the frilly, lacy concoction that proved either Lisa had very bad taste, or a very good sense of humor. The dress slipped off her shoulders and fell away.
“God damn.”
Christina peaked over her shoulder and grinned. “I looked nasty, but I felt marvelous.”
“I can see that.” He ran his fingers down the hooks of what looked like an extremely expensive gold corset. Elastic straps fastened to the corset’s bottom held up her stockings. Her ass was completely bare.
“Do you approve?”
“Hell, yeah.” He pulled back a garter and let it snap against her thigh.
She gasped. His pulse went from second to fifth gear, skipping all stages between. He traced the boning that cinched her waist.
“Where did you buy this?”
“We saved money by buying dresses from a canceled wedding. We spent said money on lingerie and toys.”
He’d liked her friends before. He loved them now. “What kind of toys?”
“May I show you?”
He lifted his brows. “You not only may, you will.”
She bounced on her toes. “Hold on.”
She pulled a riding crop out of her suitcase. Bold as burnt coffee, she sashayed over and dropped the implement at his feet.
“Oops,” she said.
As she leaned down to pick it up, she swished her ass. He chucked under his breath.
“Would you like to use it, sir?”
Um, yes. “That depends. Have you been thinking about this all day?”
Her eyes sparkled once again with mischief. “Maybe, maybe not.”
“Do you know what happens to insolent little librarians?”
She turned around and bent over, swishing suggestively. “What do you think?”
****
“I think you should turn around and look at me.”
Bryce’s slow drawl made Christina’s heart beat fast, as if she’d been running. I will protect you. Stretch you. Love you. She turned.
Suits were her aphrodisiac, and he filled his to perfection. Slowly he removed his tie and undid the first three buttons of his shirt. He curled his strong fingers around the riding crop’s handle. His adorable lips twisted into just a hint of a conspiratorial smile. He winked as he flicked his wrist. The crop hit the bed with wisp and a thud.
If she’d been wearing panties, she’d have drenched them nasty.
“You’ve been a very bad librarian,” he murmured.
She cast down her gaze. “Yes, sir, I have.”
“Turn around and bend over.”
His order set her senses humming. She loved to bend over for him—nothing else had ever made her more quiet, focused and present. Her nipples rubbed against her corset’s confining comfort and her garters stretched tight. She closed her eyes and waited breathlessly for the contact of leather-on-skin.
The crop whooshed, cutting through the air and into the flesh of her cheeks. Her eyes shot open. The slap sent a shudder through her hips to her shoulders. She relaxed past the twinge and into the smolder.
Swish-slap. The pliant rod stung in a long, thin channel on her cheek’s fleshiest pillow.
Swish-slap. Pain danced in her skin, sliding down a cord of a bruise. Wetness rushed to lubricate her pussy.
She braced for another blow. Instead, he tapped the pliant edge of leather all around her ass—warming, loosening, and driving her deliciously crazed with need.
Swish-slap. Ah. Heaven.
“Look up, little one.”
The still center of her heart glowed. She was his little one. He was her man.
In the mirror, she met his glittering eyes. He turned up the whip and rested the implement on his shoulder. Hot as he’d been in a tee, he smoked in the clean, black lines of his fitted suit. With his free hand, he ran his thumb along her warm and tingling flesh and dipped his fingers in her juice.
He stretched forward, sticking that finger in her mouth. “Show me how you’d work my cock.”
Greedily, she sucked one finger—then two, then three. She started to drool. Her cheeks heated and a small quiver of panic rose in her throat.
“You’re beautiful, no matter what.”
She closed her eyes and settled her nerves. The urge to gag passed. She relaxed her tongue and sucked him d
eeper.
He removed his fingers, grasped her face and lifted. He fit her against his chest and splayed his hand across her belly.
Against her ear, he whispered, “I love how you take what I give, even when you’re scared.”
His praise set her blood rushing. He kneaded her breasts until her nipples wept for his tongue.
He pulled her wrists together at her belly and secured them with his tie. He stepped back and pushed. She fell against the bed and lifted her bound hands above her head, watching in the mirror as he undid his buckle, and dropped his pants.
“Roll over, sweet.”
With shirttails hanging, he stepped between her legs. He lifted a foot and kissed her arch. “Put your feet on my shoulders.”
Thank you.
His hair tickled the toes as she rested her arches on his muscle.
He bent forward, stretching her to her physical limit. The now-familiar slide of his cock spread her hot and ready slit. Fullness made her whole.
He caught her chin between thumb and forefinger and plundered her mouth as he pounded her pussy. Nothing existed but Bryce: his breath, his thrusts, his force.
“Clench hard and come for me, pet.”
Her muscles hugged him. Twisting tension spiraled up her spine. Orgasm’s dark water spilled, hot like her surging blood, hot like his burning skin, hot like the words I love you—spoken in dominant reverence against her throat’s skin.
He spilled his seed into her body and she hooked her bound hands around his neck, fully surrendered.
“I love you, too,” she said.
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ALSO AVAILABLE FROM TESS LAMONT:
Novella 1: Bound to Be Mine, 51 pages
Novella 2: Bound to Surrender, 72 pages
Novella 3: Bound to Ignite, 55 pages
EXCERPTS & BLURBS
Bound to Be Mine
Lisa Emery had everything: a lucrative job and the perfect man at home—her master. Together, they were exploring the darker side of passion and both seemed to bloom with the knowledge. She had never understood why he suddenly disappeared just when things were going so well. And she didn’t understand why he was back.
Ben Johnson knew the “life” he and Lisa had been living was wrong...just knew it. Something that felt that good couldn’t be right. According to the help he’d sought, “only by atoning for your wrongs could you really grow and change as a person.” So, he was back to atone. Why then, after so many months apart, did he still need to dominate Lisa, to bend her to his will and give in to his baser instincts? And why, after all this time, did she want him to?
