Bound (The Devil's Due Book 3)

by Eva Charles

  “Talk to me, Kate,” he murmurs in that voice he uses to coax me into telling him secrets.

  My fingers find my hair, and I begin to play with it, because this is too much. “I thought we were having pretty great sex. That it was something special. I thought you were enjoying sex with me. But I guess I was the only one enjoying it.”

  He comes over and puts his arm around me and drags me toward him. “I have enjoyed every second of you. Don’t you dare start conjuring up shit in that overactive little mind of yours.”

  “But what we have isn’t enough?”

  “It’s enough. More than enough.”

  I pull away and search his face. It’s earnest, but— “You’re lying. The proof is right here in this room.”

  He doesn’t look at me as he nods. The movement is so small it’s barely perceptible. “It’s enough—for now. But kink has been part of my life for a long time. A long time.” He gazes at me. “I like it. A lot. What we have is enough, but I’m not sure for how long it will be enough. I’d be lying to say otherwise.”

  Everything is a little fuzzy, and if I hadn’t thrown up twice last night, I’d be puking on my bare feet right now. Fenny. Oh, God. One thing at a time, Kate. Stay present.

  “Tell me about the women you play with. The ones who like this.”

  “No. I won’t do that. I can talk to you about the kinds of sex I’ve had, but my relationships, including the one I have with you, are private. All you need to know is that this,” he waves his hand between the swing and the saddle, “was all consensual. And that I respected my partners while we played, and after.”

  I glance at the few items hanging on the wall that look like they are on loan from The Tower of London. “Consensual.”

  “I guess you could say, at times, it was consensual, non-consensual play.”

  What the hell does that even mean? “You need this in your life?” Because this is so far out of my experience that I’m having trouble. And I don’t know if I can ever fully accept it.

  “Need it? No. We both know I get off without it. But it would leave a large void if it was gone forever.”

  “And the vanilla sex we’ve been having will never fill that void?” No, Kate, it won’t. How many different ways does he need to say it?

  “I wouldn’t say that it’s all been vanilla. More like butter pecan, rich with some crunch.” I ignore the tug at the corner of his mouth and the dimple winking at me.

  “And what’s this?”

  “Midnight cookies and cream,” he says matter-of-factly. “We’re making progress, but we’re a long way away from this.”

  Progress? “You’ve been grooming me? For this.” Oh. My. God. He’s a predator.

  “Whoa.” He raises both his hands. “That’s a loaded word. It implies manipulation. I told you straight up I was all about exploring and pushing boundaries. You were well aware.”

  “Are you a dominant? A sadist?” I’m not even sure of the correct language to use.

  “Those are complicated words. I consider myself a top. Although I’m occasionally, and I do mean occasionally, willing to let someone else take charge.”

  “What does that even mean? I don’t speak kink. Speak in terms I can understand.” I’m trying to stay calm, but my insides are shaking.

  “I prefer to be in control. In all aspects of life, including during sex. It’s not some deep-rooted psychological need. I didn’t experience abandonment or any other childhood trauma. I just like it. It’s how I’m built.” He squeezes my shoulders and presses a tender kiss to my head. The clean smell of the sandalwood soap on his skin relaxes me—unlike everything else in this room, it’s familiar.

  I take a deep breath and hold it for a few seconds before I let it go. “I don’t know, Smith. This isn’t what I signed up for.”

  “I know.” He pulls me closer. “But you’ve been enjoying it. Even the things you thought you didn’t like.”

  It’s true. “But what we’ve been doing isn’t this. And just like you can’t imagine a life without this, I can’t imagine a life with it.”

  He hooks his finger under my chin, until I’m looking into those serious whiskey-colored eyes. “That’s not entirely true. I’ve thought about a life without kink. But you’ve never really thought about a life with it.”

  “But—”

  “You’re still upset about Fenway. You’re letting your emotions cloud your thinking.”

  I jerk away from his grasp. “Don’t you dare. Don’t you dare tell me that I’m over-emotional and can’t think straight. Have some respect for me. I just walked in on this. I’ve been falling in—developing feelings—having sex with a man who has a whole secret life that I didn’t know a thing about.”

  “What I do is no one’s damn business.” Now who’s defensive? “But it’s not a secret, Kate. At least I didn’t want it to be from you. But I didn’t think you were ready—and I didn’t want to chase you away.”

  “You decided I wasn’t ready? Well here’s a little nugget you can slip into your back pocket: I’m always ready for the truth.”

  We stand there, still, for what feels like months. The longer we stand there, the stronger the realization becomes that we aren’t meant to be together. We’re too different.

  “The truth is,” he says, “this is fun—it can take even great sex to a whole other level. But I wanted to introduce you to it slowly. I hoped it was something we could share together.”

  The sorrow in his face mirrors the one I feel in my heart. I’m confused and defensive, but I’m not ready to give up on us. Not without more information. Well then, grow up, Kate. Figure it out.

  “I’m not a submissive,” I say haughtily.

  There’s a glimmer in his eyes. “Good. Like I told you earlier, I’m not a dominant.”

  “Does this mean we can never have normal sex?”

  His hand moves to my hair, tentatively reaching for a curl. “It’s all normal, Kate.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  He reaches for me, and I don’t pull away. “We can have it all. I want to have lots of vanilla sex. I want to wake you up in the middle of the night and slide into your pussy while your body is warm and sleepy and my dick is hard from dreaming about you. But I also want to try all the kink with you. Kink so filthy it makes you pink when you think about it in the light of day. I want all of it. With you.”

  I see the vulnerability in his face. I hear it in his voice. I know it cost him to lay out his feelings.

  “I don’t know … what if … I don’t want any of this.” I shrug. “But while I’m deciding, there can be no other women—no matter how bad the urge gets.”

  “This is not an addiction, and I am not an addict. And there have been no other women—the day you laid your head on that pillow at the Blackberry Inn, this—us—was exclusive. I made the decision that day.”

  “What about asking what I wanted?”

  He pulls me away, just enough to look at my face. “You wanted something else?”

  I shake my head. “No. But I want you to ask—I don’t want you just to assume.”

  “Fair enough. But about those other women you keep bringing up. It’s never going to work between us if you can’t trust me. My line of work takes me to all sorts of places with all sorts of people at all times of the day and night. I can’t share everything about what I do. As a matter of fact, I can’t share most of it. But I’m not a cheater.”

  “Trust is a two-way street.”

  He nods. “I’m getting better at it.” He is. There are still occasional lapses of trust, mainly involving the Wilders, but overall, things are better in that regard.

  “You can give this up, until we figure it out? What if it doesn’t happen right away? What if it never happens?”

  He places his hands on my upper arms, his fingers digging into the pliant flesh. “Look at me,” he says, in a sober voice. “This is not an open relationship, and I repeat, I am not a cheater. When we’re done with each other, we’l
l talk about it. It might not be pleasant, but it will end with a discussion, not with another woman in my bed. You have my word on that.”

  When we’re done. My stomach contorts into a painful knot that makes it difficult to take full breaths. My mind sprints from one awful scenario to another, but each with the same tragic ending. I wanted it to work, but this is an important part of my life. I can’t give it up forever. No! I will not play the victim in this story. I will fight for this. For us.

  “I want to try the saddle,” I say in a clear, determined voice.

  His brows are knitted together. “I’m sorry?”

  I square my shoulders and approach the damn thing like Joan of Arc riding into battle. “I want to try the saddle.”

  “Now?”

  I look him straight in the eye and nod.

  “No. Absofuckinglutely not.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because you’re not fifteen, and I’m not an asshole in a frat house.”

  I gasp. “I can’t believe you just said that. You think I’m forcing myself to tolerate this so that you’ll love me?” As I say the words out loud, I realize there might be a grain of truth to them.

  He just stands there, the knob in his throat bobbing before he speaks. “That’s not what I meant. Don’t put words into my mouth. I think you’re willing to try things you’re not ready for because you think it will make me happy. You’re always too willing to disregard your feelings when it comes to people close to you. You don’t strap on a pair of skis for the first time and take a run down the expert trail. That’s a sure way to guarantee you’ll never put on those skis again. You’re not ready for this.”

  “Why is it that you always get to decide what I’m ready for? I’m an adult. I want to see if this is something I can ever be into, or if we should go our separate ways now.”

  “I want you to like this.” He gestures toward the toys. “Maybe not these particular things, but I want you to love kink as much as I do—as much as I know I can with you. This isn’t fiction where a virgin is taken to a dungeon and ends up a pain slut before the night is through. That’s not how it works in real life. If we play too much, too soon, you could be turned off and shut the door on it forever. There’s no reason to take that risk.”

  “This is what I want.” I sound much more confident than I’m feeling. The pain slut comment rattled me a bit. “You can join me, or you can watch, or you can leave and think about me mounting that thing.” I reach for his hand. “Or you can help me learn. I’m going to do this with or without you.” I give him a minute to settle in. “Where are the attachments?”

  He shakes his head and turns toward the door.

  “You’re a coward,” I shout after him. “Nothing more than a bunch of big talk. You don’t want to do this with me. You just want this to become the excuse when you’ve had enough of me, and want to walk away, guilt free.”

  31

  Kate

  He stops in his tracks, pivots, and stalks toward me. “You have no idea what you’re asking for.”

  “Then show me.”

  I see the turmoil in his eyes. The flicker of uncertainty across his strong features. I’m sure there are reels in his head playing on a non-stop loop. A drunk fifteen-year-old girl surrounded by young men in a frat house, pawing lewdly. He doesn’t want to add to her pain.

  “I want to understand this.”

  “I know.” He throws up his hands. “But what you’re suggesting—isn’t the way to understand it.”

  “I want to know if this can be a part of my life. If I’m in it for the long haul. I need to know before I get any deeper.”

  His tongue emerges, the tip nestled in the bow of his lip. He’s considering it.

  I wait impatiently for him to decide. “Fine,” he says, his palm scrubbing a stubbled jaw. “I’ll play, if that’s what you need.”

  I don’t believe him. He’s going to give me some watered-down version of what he likes. It will serve as a reminder to him that we’re different, and in the end, neither of us will know if we can reconcile those differences.

  “Don’t you dare.” I pound my fist against his chest over and over. “Don’t you dare. I am not a fragile glass figurine, and this is not a Tennessee Williams play. I want to be treated just like all those other women you claim to respect so much. I want the same things you give them, during and after.”

  He drags in a breath and blows it out with a long hiss. “Fine.” This time the word pulses with life and fire. “If that’s what you want. But you are not in charge today, princess.” His body language shifts as he speaks. His eyes turn cold—his voice hard. He steps closer, mere inches away from me.

  “Take off that T-shirt and get on your knees. Get comfortable there because you’re going to take out my cock and suck it like your life depends on it. Do you know why, Kate?” He grabs a fistful of my hair. “Because despite all your foolish bravado, you’re going to want me patient with you today. You’re going to want me to have some measure of control. So you’re going to use that sassy little mouth to settle me, and you’re going to do it real good, just like I showed you.”

  He tugs harder on my hair until my scalp tingles. “Then I’m going to fuck you until you can’t remember if your name is Mary Katherine, or Katherine Mary, or Jenny from the block.”

  Is this what I want? Should I be afraid? I push the thoughts away, every last one, and force myself into the moment.

  When he lets go of my hair, I pull off the thin T-shirt and drop to my knees. It’s not an elegant landing, but I’m where I need to be to unbutton his jeans. His cock pushes its way out before the zipper is fully down, and I cradle it in a shaky hand.

  I gaze up at him and see a myriad of emotions in his face. He’s still unsure. He could end this at any moment. I feel it. “Don’t you treat me like I’m broken, Smith Sinclair.” Then I lower my mouth and lick his shaft from root to tip, my tongue flicking the ridge of the flared crown. I use my teeth to gently scrape the dusky head before drawing it into my mouth.

  “Kate,” he groans, sliding his hands into my hair, cupping my head with gentle fingertips so that I’m still setting the pace. I want to know if his head is tipped back and his jaw is slack, or if he’s watching me tease him with my lips. I let his swollen cock slide over my flat tongue, and that’s when he takes control. He doesn’t wrest it from me. I hand it to him, willingly.

  In seconds, my eyes are watering and my gag reflex is working overtime. “Swallow,” he instructs with a raspy voice, each time he shoves deeper into my throat. “Breathe through your nose.”

  I’m grateful for the reminders.

  His breathing is labored. My fingers feel the tightening in his groin, and the jerky movements of his hips right before he pulls out of my mouth, spraying his seed on my breasts and belly, bits bouncing off my skin and splashing onto my hair and face. I gasp, gulping mouthfuls of air, like I’ve been holding my breath underwater for an extensive period of time. It’s shocking and exhilarating, and I want more.

  He yanks me off my knees, kissing me roughly. “You just need to say stop,” he murmurs, backing me up against the saddle, where he owns my mouth until I’m submerged again.

  After a few minutes, he sweeps the T-shirt I’d been wearing from the floor, and wipes his mark off my skin. But it’s not gone. It’s smeared deep into my pores, where I’ll smell him every time I sweat.

  “Turn around and bend over that saddle you’re so interested in riding.”

  I do as instructed. Draping my body over the worn leather saddle, my chin resting on the very edge. He stands over me, quietly. “Can I choose the phallus?” I ask softly, when the silence becomes too loud.

  Smith slaps my bare ass in response, and I yelp at the sting. “I already told you we are not playing with that saddle. Today, you’re just going to be anchored to it.” He slaps my ass again, and the sting begins and ends in my cunt. “Don’t move, and don’t say a single word until I give you permission to speak.”


  He comes back holding a long bar with cuffs attached to it, and a glass plug with spheres attached to one another in increasing size as they approach the base. I recognize it immediately because we’ve been playing with butt plugs. Smaller than this though, and made of pliable material.

  Smith holds up the bar. “This is a spreader bar. I’m going to attach the cuffs to your ankles and then to the bar. The bar is going to keep your legs open nice and wide for me, Kate. You tend to squeeze your legs together before you come. It deflects some of the intensity you’re feeling. With this, you’re not going to be able to do that. I’m going to lick your sweet cunt until I’ve had my fill, and you will take every orgasm, all the pleasure, I give you. Do you understand?”

  “Yes.” My mouth is so dry, I can barely form the word.

  “Do you know what this is?”

  I nod. “A butt plug.”

  “That’s right. It’s made of glass. Do you remember how cold glass is against your skin until it’s warmed?”

  When I don’t respond, he slips the long plug between my legs, dragging it over my clit. I shudder and gasp at the cold. “We’re going to warm it just like this.” He holds it against my entrance and pushes it inside. I groan as it fills me.

  He pulls it out, coated and slick, and holds it in front of my face, licking the glass like it’s a popsicle to be savored on a blistering day. “Do you want a taste? Take a small taste.” I slide my pointed tongue over the smallest sphere, acutely aware of where it has been and where it will soon be.

  “You’re delicious,” he murmurs, taking another long taste.

  He discards the plug, and standing behind me, he gently pulls back my hair. “I’m going to tie your hands to the base of the saddle so you don’t fall over when the spreader bar is in place.” He ties my wrists with binding, slipping his fingers between the fabric and my skin. “This won’t cut into your wrists, but it will save you from a nasty fall if you let go of the base. I don’t want you to get hurt.” I’m grateful for the care he takes, but I can’t help but wonder if this is an extra precaution for me, or just the norm.