When it was over, he loosened that hold on her throat, kissed her temple. “There you go, sweet baby. Go to sleep now.”
I’ll take care of you like the sweet baby you are…
She’d never relaxed in a man’s arms after sex like this. Never been carried, cuddled to sleep. Cuddling was not part of Celly Lewis’s MO.
She fell into dreams with his hands curved possessively over her throat and pussy, still stroking. Her dreams were peaceful and blank, like a clear blue sky with the sun beaming on her skin.
When she woke at dawn, she was sure those dreams were the direct result of having him up against her back, still coiled around her. She wished she could carry the peaceful feeling into wakefulness, but as she pressed her face into his biceps under her cheek, inhaled him, she knew it was time to leave. That familiar weirdness in her belly was stirring, warning her she’d been shoved way too far out of her comfort zone. She needed to regain some control.
When she pushed up with some vague notion of retrieving her clothes from the other room, his arm went around her waist, an iron band holding her fast, and he put his mouth to her neck.
“I have to go to work,” she said. “Do things. Back to real life.”
He grunted. “Do you make coffee?”
She smiled, despite her uneasiness. “I’ve been known to push a button on a Keurig, yes.”
“How about we share a cup before you go?”
It was a reasonable request. She could act reasonably, not be foolish. She slid from the bed, silent acquiescence, though she noticed his arm loosened reluctantly. Since it was chilly and she didn’t know if he’d left the curtains open in the living room, she picked up a T-shirt he’d left over a chair and slipped it on before she headed for the kitchen.
He already had the coffee ready to go. Just a button push, after all. She poked her head in his refrigerator and discovered some boiled eggs. Since her stomach was growling, she snagged one and a bottle of water while the coffee was brewing. Going into the room they’d occupied most of last night, her gaze lighted on the aftermath. The chains and cuffs in disarray on the floor, the paddle, rod and single tail now not so neatly arranged on the table. The candles were stubs in pools of wax, but their scent still permeated the room.
Looking at the mat on the floor, she could see herself, chained on all fours, him moving around her, using the dragon tail, the paddle. Holding the chain right up against her collared throat as he stung her nipples with the rod. A shiver ran over her skin, recalling the orgasms he’d wrung from her, her screams vibrating against the gag. It was on the table as well, waiting to be cleaned.
She shifted from foot to foot. He probably had special things he used to clean his tools. It wasn’t her job. But it felt weird, leaving a mess. Quelling the ridiculous notion that somehow, as his sub, it was her job to clean up, she snatched her clothes and hurried from the room, closing the door behind her. That scent clung to her, though, as did the images from last night.
Going into the bathroom, she concentrated on making herself presentable not only for the man in the bedroom, but for when she left the house, which would be soon. Very soon. He had some mouthwash she used in lieu of a toothbrush, and she combed damp fingers through her hair after washing her face. She needed a shower, but she’d get one at home. She wasn’t using a guy’s shower and toiletries after one night together. No matter how incredible that night had been.
She found the coffee ready to go. Taking a deep breath, telling herself to act casual and normal, she headed back to the bedroom. She had her clothes over one arm and a coffee cup in each hand. He was sitting up and had pulled on a pair of dark-blue flannel pajama bottoms that rode low on his hips. She expected she was wearing the T-shirt he’d been planning to pull on, but having the chance to see his brown, bare chest and shoulders and the ripped abdomen, made her glad she’d snagged it. It conjured another vivid image from last night. Him shirtless, only in his jeans, which were tight over the crotch because his aroused cock was taking up all the room. When he’d squatted in front of her, held the chain, she’d been staring right at that part of him, the way the inseam cut in to shape his balls for her greedy gaze.
That was all about the sex. A much safer thing to dwell upon than all the rest. Safe sex. She snorted at herself and handed him his coffee, shaking her head at his quizzical look. But she couldn’t keep her mind in such safer realms. Instead, standing this close to him, she imagined moving closer, between his spread knees. She wished she was comfortable enough to hand him the coffee, sink down between his knees and do like she’d done last night, lean against his knee, her cheek against his leg and arms twined around it. He’d drink his coffee, stroke her hair, and her mind could be as still as he’d made it last night, after doing all those amazing things to her.
She didn’t do it, though. She backed up to the dresser, laid her clothes there and then leaned on it, taking a sip of the coffee. Looked out the bedroom window since he’d cracked the blinds. It wasn’t far past dawn, but the gold tone of the sky said there would be sunshine today. Good. That was good.
He clearly wasn’t a big morning talker, which was either the cause or effect of him working later shifts, but his lips against her neck when she’d woken, the strength of his arm around her, had made her feel welcome in his bed, not a morning-after regret. But morning-afters were likely more problematic for her anyway. She wasn’t used to hanging around.
“Where did you get the scar on your stomach?” she asked, nodding to the shiny, small indentation in his skin there.
He glanced down. “Ricochet. Damn drunk idiot waving a gun around and it went off. Bullet hit the pavement. Gravel and asphalt punched through the uniform.”
“Is that the only time you’ve been shot at?”
“As a cop, yeah, pretty much. Had a few blunt objects swung at me during takedowns or in domestic disturbances. Have to especially watch the women in those situations. They aren’t shy about using hammer, skillet or toilet brush.”
“Assault with toilet brush?”
“You laugh, but those bristles are prickly. I don’t think it had been cleaned since it was bought. Lucky the skin didn’t break or I probably would have died from infection.”
“The dangers of the job,” she said with a lightness she didn’t feel. “You said as a cop. How about not as a cop?”
He grimaced. “Damn reporter. Better at picking out the details than a cop.”
“Well, that’s not much of a compliment. Wave a donut in front of most of you and you lose your train of thought entirely.”
She scampered around the dresser to the door as he made a quick lunge at her from the bed. He settled back, chuckling. “Come back in here and give me that attitude, darlin’.”
“I think I’ll stay here,” she said prudently, taking an exaggerated step into the hallway and winning a grin. The chuckle made her feel better. “So what about not as a cop?”
He lifted a shoulder. “I served overseas, saw some action in the Middle East. Wasn’t ever hit. Some buddies I was with weren’t so lucky.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Yeah. Me too.” He sipped the coffee, gave her an unreadable look. “Most people don’t understand how quickly a situation can turn bad or violent. Or just how violent it can get. They expect life to have a certain rhythm, routine, and they assume that the rhythm protects them. They don’t realize how fast it can hit a sour note. Like a reporter who gets too comfortable rubbing shoulders with gang members and calls one of them out on his own turf.”
She stiffened, stepped back through the doorway. “Mike is a rat. And I didn’t get in Dogboy’s face. I’m not stupid, Leland. I know how to do my job. I didn’t push him to the point he felt like he had to prove himself.”
“And you learned that how?”
She didn’t flinch at the ominous tone. “By trial and error. Luck, good and bad. I’ve had to take a few hits in the face to figure out where the lines are. But that’s the deal. Just like your rookies, I had
to take those blows to learn the ropes and do the job.”
His jaw tensed. “A rookie has a backup, body armor, weapons. A radio. You’re out there with nothing but your wits.”
“I think wits are the one weapon most people tend to underestimate.” She scowled at his look. “Don’t go all Neanderthal on me like you did the other day. If you do, I’ll tell you the same thing I did then.”
He lifted a brow, gave her a sweeping appraisal. “I wouldn’t do that, darlin’. If you have all that judgment you claim to have, you’ll know this is my turf. You think I won’t put you over my knee and beat some manners into you?”
She bristled. “We’re not doing that right now. It’s not Master/sub. That’s just…bedroom stuff. Today is today.”
“And what was last night?”
Alarms went off as he rose. With the loose fit of the pajama bottoms, it was obvious he was still experiencing that impressive turgid state males had upon waking. Or maybe the argument was working him up, which should in no way inspire the leap low in her stomach that said she was responding to such a primal reaction. When he moved toward her, her gaze was filled with the impressive play of firm skin over hard muscle at his abdomen and hips. The bottoms were low enough to show his hip bones. If she was behind him, she’d be able to trail her fingers over the taut upper slopes of his ass.
So fine. He was overwhelming to her, sexually and emotionally, a combination that had her pulse pounding, but he was attacking the most important thing to her. That gave her the fortitude to plant herself, not back away an inch. He wasn’t going to intimidate her.
“It was amazing,” she said coolly. “But today is today. We’re not Master/sub right now,” she repeated.
“Hmm. Could have fooled me.” His gaze went pointedly to her throat. “Did you realize you were still wearing it, darlin’?”
The collar. Her hand went to it. Fuck, she hadn’t. Well, she had, but she hadn’t. It had felt like a part of her when she got up, a part she didn’t want to remove. Panic shot through her, but before she could back away, he curled his fingers in the ring and brought her up onto her toes in a smooth jerk that flip-flopped her stomach.
“You matter,” he said flatly. “And everything that happened last night tells me you’re mine.”
“I need to get dressed,” she said tightly. “Please let go of me.” The pull of the collar against the back of her neck, his hold on her, had a tremor running through her legs. She closed her hands into fists against his bare stomach, straight-armed him.
She was sure he read the body language. But he waited just long enough to make it clear it was his decision to let her go. She might claim things weren’t Master and sub right now, but that energy was still humming strong in the room.
When he released his hold on the collar, she muttered something about getting dressed again and escaped to the bathroom. Once there, she closed the door, leaned against it. She didn’t lock it. No point to that, given how flimsy it was, but beyond that she knew the punch sound of the lock would be a direct insult. It might push him over a line her body and mind were too eager to test. She needed to get out of here.
Despite that, she stripped off the T-shirt with as much reluctance as he’d demonstrated when he let her leave his bed. She took time to inhale his scent, rub the fabric against her cheek before setting it aside. When she donned her clothes, they felt strange, as if being naked and under his command had been far closer to her natural state.
She put her hand on the collar. He’d startled her by pointing it out, so it should have been the first thing to go when she went into the bathroom, but she hadn’t taken it off even now. She made herself tear her gaze away from the mirror, quelled the desire to run her fingers over the wide strap. She wanted to hook her fingers in the ring as he had, so she could imagine he was tugging on it again. Instead, she finally unbuckled it, coiled it over her knuckles and left the bathroom, returning to the bedroom doorway. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, sipping his coffee.
Putting the collar on his dresser, she turned and faced him. “You know, I’m damn good at my job,” she said. “Nothing pisses me off worse than to be treated like an idiot child by a cop who thinks women belong on their knees and obeying his every whim.”
His gaze sparked. This time, he didn’t move at all, but she still instinctively moved a step back into the hallway. His jaw tightened again, but he remained where he was as he took another swallow of the coffee. “Does it make you feel better to boil what happened last night down to that?”
No. It made her feel like shit. But no one was going to give her crap about her job. It was the only thing she was good at. No one was going to take that away from her.
As she put her earrings and choker in her purse, she was aware of his gaze on her, his silence. “I belong to myself,” she said. “Not to you.”
His eyes flicked over to the collar, back to her bare neck. “Those two things don’t have to be in conflict,” he said mildly. “I know you’re damn good at your job, Celeste. That’s why I worry.”
“Got it.” She didn’t want him to talk anymore. He’d say something like ‘you matter’ again, knowing how such words could scramble things in her mind. So much of last night had been accomplished without words. Words only ruined things. She wouldn’t let them ruin this.
She straightened, met his gaze with dignity. “I noticed the bus stop is just a few houses up. You don’t have to drive me. I don’t want you to drive me,” she corrected herself. “I need some space to think about last night.”
He gave her his steady look, holding a silence that drew out until it took every ounce of willpower not to fill it with inane words. Like an apology for being such a bitch. It didn’t do any good to apologize for something that was unchangeable.
“All right,” he said at last. He rose, setting aside the coffee. She turned and walked to the doorway, knowing he’d follow because he’d have to deactivate the security to let her out. When she reached that door, she wished she could keep staying just a step ahead of him, ahead of what he was making her feeling.
She felt him behind her. He reached over her shoulder, unhooked the chain and flipped the dead bolt, but before he deactivated the alarm, he turned her toward him, tipped her chin and caught her mouth with his. Easy and brief, though with a lingering feel that made her press her lips together to hold in the tingling response. He kept his face close. “You watch your ass out there.”
There was kindness and concern in his voice, but the look in his eyes added a few extra words, too. Else you’ll answer to me, darlin’.
“You too.” She kept her voice steady, reined back her spinning emotions. A whole lot more was simmering between them, waiting to see what direction they’d take it. Right now, the only direction she needed was the exit.
He deactivated the alarm and let her out. As she strode to the bus stop, she didn’t look back, but it didn’t matter. She felt his eyes on her. When she arrived at the bus sign, she turned, sure that she was being fanciful. Or paranoid. He’d retrieved his coffee and come out onto the porch, sliding a hip onto his porch rail while he sipped from the mug. He’d stay there until the bus came, to make sure she was safe. Why that tore things up inside her heart, she didn’t know. Any more than she could comprehend why she could take the most amazing night she’d ever experienced and drag it back down into the muck of her dysfunctional emotions. He’d probably decide he was better off without the crazy reporter bitch. That was fine. Maybe it was best to leave it that way.
As the bus approached a few minutes later and she turned her back to him to face it, she put her hand to her throat, laid her palm over where the collar had been.
Where it still felt like it was.
§
Even without seeing the victim being brought out of the alley in a body bag, she would have known it was a homicide. A homicide always had a larger police presence. More uniforms were needed to corral and keep any witnesses separate, maintain the police barricade, and then
there would be the arrival of the detectives and crime scene techs.
The death would be drug-related, since the spot was a popular one for dealing. It looked like the police had snagged three witnesses for questioning, and that many was a miracle. Unfortunately, they looked like homeless people or hapless junkies who hadn’t melted away fast enough when the shooting happened. The detectives wouldn’t get much from them, but it had to be done.
One of the witnesses she recognized. Dirty Harry, a homeless guy who lived in a nearby alley. Having spoken with him in the past, she knew the nickname wasn’t a comment on his cleanliness. He had a rasp a lot like the Clint Eastwood character and did passable imitations of him if he was in a good mood. She made a note to visit Harry later when they cut him loose.
For now, she followed her usual routine. She approached the barrier, razzed a couple of familiar faces enough to get a smile, but she didn’t get much from pressing them. So she picked out a strategic spot where the wind direction and location gave her snippets of conversation and a good view of the goings-on. Unfolding her stadium chair, she took up her position to watch and listen.
Cops had to be detached to a certain extent to do the job, yet she thought the way they related to each other at a crime scene helped them deal with the underlying frustration or affront of the crime. Sure, their demeanor was different when it was “dope dealers killing dope dealers.” But even when the victim was a criminal, she knew they weren’t as callous about it as people often assumed. Those who thought the police didn’t care weren’t paying attention. Standing over a body was standing over a waste. Their job was to serve and protect, and a body meant they’d failed.
When Leland pulled up, she didn’t want to be so thrilled to see him. All these months they’d managed not to cross paths, and now she was tripping over him everywhere. The gods must be screwing with her. She told herself she hadn’t wanted him to show up on her radar at all today. She needed to pull herself back together after that out-of-body experience he’d given her last night. Out-of-body experiences weren’t a good thing to overdo, like indulging in dessert every day. She had to figure out where this could go with them, though she knew the best thing was to make it a one-time shot.
Soul Rest: A Knights of the Board Room Novel Page 22
