by Nikky Kaye
I hummed, holding out the flogger like a lure. “But you’re curious, aren’t you?” I beckoned her with the toy, the rosebud falls swaying and tickling my forearm. I loved holding it, reveled in swinging it.
“Maybe,” she whispered, reaching out to touch the velvety leather braids. Her eyes were wide, darkening from sky blue to a starry night.
Using the flogger, I reeled her in closer to me. She stumbled, falling between my spread legs. From my perched position on the couch, we were nearly eye level with one another. She was so close I could smell my shampoo in her still damp hair.
“Curiosity killed the cat,” I murmured in warning.
She licked her lips as I idly wound the supple leather around her wrist. “Did you know there’s a second part to that?” she asked.
I tilted my head at her, tightening the bonds around her wrist until she sucked in a shocked breath. “Really? Curiosity killed the cat…”
“But satisfaction brought it back.”
Yeah, I was in trouble.
3
Zoe
Dear Inner Voice (i.e. Internet Journal)
Day 9 in captivity: My internship with Advertising Sultan Services is going great. I now know how to operate three different coffee machines and have two paper cuts. My Powerpoint skills are coming in handy. I’ve also discovered the joy of street meat, but my bigger problem is the meat at home. Forget I said that.
The warden here is very kind and handsome, and allows me freedom in the kitchen. I get the feeling he eats out a lot. I can’t help feeling like he’s watching me, though. I get this weird feeling in my stomach when he’s around, or when he’s not around and I think about him.
Like last night, I had a bath in Nathan’s soaker tub. I got to day dreaming about him and the way those green eyes darken when he’s annoyed with me… and I touched myself. I gave myself the hiccups trying to hold in my moans when I came. I had to suffer an hour of Nathan’s suggested hiccup remedies. When he suggested hanging me upside down, I stopped breathing long enough to get rid of them.
Now all I can think about is his version of the Red Room of Pain—the Murphy Bed of Merinthophobia. Yeah, I looked it up. I’m not really that scared of being tied up. But I think he’s scared of being tied down.
* * *
“What are you doing?”
“Making cookies.” I lay the hot cookie sheet on top of the professional grade range that had probably never been used. What a waste.
“At six in the morning?”
Nathan yawned, and when I turned around he was eyeing the first batch on the island, his bare, rippled chest almost as hot as the snickerdoodles. I leaned over to see if he wasn’t totally naked. No, he was wearing a pair of basketball shorts, dammit.
I fanned myself with the oven mitt. God, I had to get over this attraction. I blamed the heat of the city, but any way you looked at it, it was just weird to feel this way about a family member. Kinship by marriage is still kinship, right?
“You know,” Nathan said around a mouthful of already cooled cookie, “you don’t need to keep buttering me up.”
Oh god. My brain just went to a really dirty place.
“Don’t get me wrong. I appreciate this.” He went for a second cookie. “But you don’t need to clean the apartment—I have a cleaning lady for that. And you don’t need to do my laundry.”
I blinked. Was it so wrong to want to see his underwear? God knows he had to put up with mine hanging around while it dried. It was only fair.
Okay, I didn’t need to make him a bag lunch for the day, but on days when I decided to make one for myself, it was just as easy to make it for both of us.
“Did you talk to your dad?” I asked.
“Nope.”
My chest caved in. Without Benny’s backup, I might have to look for a hostel with a secure locker for the rest of the summer. Shit. I took a deep, shaky breath and turned back to the oven.
Nathan rounded the island and came to stand beside me. We both stared at the cookie sheet, the smell of sugar and cinnamon curling up to us. “Zoe,” he said gently, “this is not a good idea.”
“You prefer chocolate chip.”
“I mean you staying here.”
Oh. “I know.” I pouted.
At least I was already dressed for work, and mostly still packed. I’d been living out of my suitcase in Nathan’s den. He got me a fancy air mattress that was more comfy than any bed I ever had in the dorm. Gajillion thread-count sheets made a big difference, too. I’d miss those sheets most of all. Well, second most.
I wrapped my arms around myself, trying to quell my goosebumps in the blue sleeveless sheath dress I wore.
“But…”
My head snapped back to look up at Nathan.
He searched my gaze, then reached out to rub his hands up and down my upper arms. “You’re cold.”
“But…?” I echoed. His touch left a layer of fire on my skin.
He stopped rubbing, but his hands remained on me. Another ripple of awareness went through me. “But what kind of brother would I be if I threw you out into the cold?”
I laughed. “It’s eighty degrees outside.”
“Metaphorically speaking.”
“You mean I can stay?” I was already bouncing up and down on my toes with anticipation.
“I suppose,” he sighed.
I’d like to say that I just shook his hand to thank him like the sophisticated new professional I was trying to be, but who was I kidding? I jumped him. Only my narrow dress stopped me from wrapping my legs around his waist.
I’d only hugged him once before, on the first night, but it was like he’d imprinted on my muscle memory. Immediately I recognized the awareness flooding me at his smell, the feel of his hard body against mine. The difference was that this time, we were skin to skin in more places.
It was like getting a shock of static electricity when my face nuzzled his bare chest. His abs tightened as my hands went around his waist. When I whispered my thanks, his brown nipples visibly hardened in reaction.
“You’re welcome,” he breathed into my ear.
Damn. Six-thirty in the morning, and I had to change my panties already. Maybe he was letting me stay out of the kindness of his heart, but I wasn’t feeling very sisterly toward him. It wasn’t the big, bad city that I was afraid of swallowing me up—it was Nathan.
As though he’d read my mind, he gently pushed me back and retreated to behind the island again. He dragged his hand through his messy bedhead hair. It already looked like sex hair, and his finger combing didn’t make it less so.
“But there are rules,” he warned me.
I smoothed out my expression, nodding. “Of course. Anything.”
The corner of his mouth lifted in a devilish grin. “Anything, huh?”
Heart. Stop. Beating. Mouth dry. Panties not.
His thoughtful hum vibrated through my belly, and lower. “Nathan…”
“No loud parties. No smoking. No animals. No drugs. No drinking.”
Suddenly I felt like I was fifteen being left alone at home for the first time. I wanted to roll my eyes, but the look on his face told me he was completely serious.
“Do I have a curfew too, Dad?” I put my hands on my hips.
“I’m not your father.” He scowled. “Thank god,” he muttered.
Hey, what was that supposed to mean?
“But if you’re going to be home later than midnight, I’d appreciate a text so I don’t worry.”
That seemed fair, so I said as much.
He rubbed his hand over the morning stubble on his jaw. “I’ll, uh, clean out a drawer or two in my room for your stuff. There isn’t room in the den for a new dresser. And I’ll make some space in my closet as well.”
A pained look flashed over his face. I was probably the first woman in history to be awarded a drawer from Nathan Brownlow.
“There’s always the hanging space in the, uh, Den of Iniquity.”
“Zoe!”
4
Zoe
Two days later, I had “officially” moved in. In other words, my suitcase was unpacked and stashed under Nathan’s king-sized bed.
I’d left my shoes in my bag, as there was limited room in his tiny walk-in closet. At first I’d attempted to negotiate for space on his shoe racks. He didn’t understand why a girl would need six pairs of shoes for a summer in New York, which clearly demonstrated how little he knew women. Personally, I thought I’d been quite conservative with only flip-flops, sneakers, kitten-heeled slingbacks, “fuck me” heels, and two pairs of cute ballet flats. When I tried to explain, however, I lost him when I mentioned the heels.
As for me, I didn’t see the difference between his four pairs of black leather size twelve loafers hogging the shoe racks, unless they were all handcrafted by different guilds of cobbler elves.
He finally just crossed his arms and clenched his jaw. “My place, my rules,” he decreed, so my shoes ended up back in the suitcase. If he didn’t want me crawling under his bed twice a day, then he’d have to come up with another solution.
My dresses found homes on hangers, and my lacy underthings and PJs were in the long dresser occupying the wall opposite the end of his bed. My assigned drawers were the ones closest to the door, so in theory I could sneak in and grab my underwear quickly in the morning and not wake him up.
It worked the first day. And the second.
On the third morning of trying to creep in while clutching a towel around my wet body, I’d paused when I heard him grunt. I glanced over to see if he’d woken. My gaze took a detour over the curve of his ass, where the rumpled sheets were bunched. He lay on his stomach with his arms raised, his hands shoved under the pillow a few inches above his head. I might have taken a picture of his broad, muscled back, had my phone been in my hand.
I pulled out a pink bra and matching panties, hip-checking the drawer shut a little too hard. He stirred and moaned, his head turning to face me.
His eyes opened to slits.
I froze. Literally, the air conditioning clicked on and my nipples hardened painfully under the towel I had secured around me. His eyes weren’t fully open, so likely he was still asleep. I’d lingered too long over his display of masculinity, but for god’s sakes—he had dimples on either side of his lower back. I fled, breathless and wondering how I could be wearing a fluffy, absorbent towel and yet be so, so... wet.
On the fourth morning after I’d unpacked, I held my breath as I tiptoed in. I pulled the drawer open as slowly as I could, as quietly as I could. When I turned around with a black push-up bra dangling from my fingers, I shot a look over to the bed.
Nathan sat up against the headboard, naked from the waist up, watching me with eyes that had darkened to jade.
“Agh!” I dropped the bra, but managed to hang on to the towel.
His mischievous grin never faltered, even when met by my most severe glare. I backed out of the room, like he was the Queen. I felt his gaze on me all day, which was a neat trick considering that he was on the other side of town for a realtor caravan. But as a general precaution, I later decided to get my outfit ready the night before.
All in all, I was impressed by his ability to adjust to sharing his space—but he also had more space than most people.
There were a lot of nights that he was out, though, and on those nights the apartment seemed bigger and emptier. I sat on the couch with my laptop, keeping one eye on the door, until it was too late for me to pretend that “I lost track of time” when he came home. As far as I knew, he never brought a woman home. But there were a few late nights, and I didn’t really buy his “book club” excuse.
The first night that it rained, I found myself feeling restless and lonely as the storm washed away the smell of garbage and dust in the city. Did he have an umbrella? Could he find a cab? Did it matter? I drifted around the apartment before deciding to grab his blanket off his bed. I knew actually burrowing into his bed might be overstepping our new, uh, family bond, so I cocooned on the couch while I surfed the web.
I fell asleep while pupating with my laptop, rousing briefly when Nathan pulled me out of the chrysalis into his arms and carried me to my bed.
“You need better pajamas, Zoe,” he muttered, his arm like a steel bar under my bare thighs. Without his quilt, my flimsy camisole and short set didn’t stand a chance against the air conditioning. He groaned as my whole body rippled with a shiver and I snuggled into his warmth.
Cradled in his strong arms was a wonderful place to be, even if he smelled a bit like scotch. His jacket was off, and the heat of his body blazed through his shirt and tattooed itself onto my skin.
An air mattress, no matter how deluxe, is not easy to gently deposit a sleeping woman onto, as we discovered. Nathan wobbled when he put his knee on the edge of the mattress, and I tumbled out of his arms and nearly bounced off the other side into his desk.
“Wha—?” I blinked.
He seized the stretchy fabric of my top and shorts, nearly ripping them off me as he pulled me back into the middle of the bed, before losing his balance and falling on me.
“Ooof!”
Air mattresses are like trampolines with two people on them. When one person sinks, the other person bounces.
I sank. Nathan bounced, rolling on to the floor.
I didn’t sleep through all of it—who could?—but I was smart enough to fake it, nuzzling into my pillow so my big, strong, chivalrous stepbrother could escape to his bedroom and pretend that had never happened. The wriggle and moan might have been too much, but it didn’t hurt.
Only he didn’t hightail it out of there right away. Instead, I screwed my eyes shut and forced myself to relax as he stood over me. His staccato breathing was audible over the rain spattering against the windows in the living room. As he bent over me, I smelled a combination of whiskey, cigar smoke, rain and the city on him. I flinched a little when he dropped a warm, soft kiss on my forehead, but I didn’t dare open my eyes until he left my room.
When I came home from work the next day the air mattress had been replaced by a bed. It wasn’t huge, and it took up much of the room. I could easily fling myself onto it from the doorway, in fact. But it was a real bed, and that was when I knew I was really staying. Nathan brushed off my hug, mumbling something about excess furniture for staging or something.
So, I had my internship and was making friends, not enemies. I had unpacked. I had food in the fridge and my own key fob for the building—although if I lost that, I would be out a few hundred bucks. Nathan and I were getting along, even developing a shared addiction to a few Netflix shows. By all estimations, I was a rational, adult woman, making it in New York.
Then the other shoe dropped, and of course it was one of my “fuck me” heels.
5
Nathan
I didn’t begin to worry until it was nearly one in the morning.
I knew Zoe was out for the evening, and I expected her to be out late. I’d had the torturous pleasure of watching her get ready for the party her company was throwing for the Fourth of July.
“See? See?” She thrust her high heels in my face. “I told you I would need all these shoes!”
I tried to grab her wrist before she managed to take out my eye with a stiletto. My reaction time was already delayed from the effect of coming into my room and finding her perky little ass sticking up as she reached under my bed.
The ivory linen dress she wore clung to all her curves. Her body bent like an inchworm as she pulled out her “shoe case.” When she popped back up, she was like a white flag being waved before my sexual frustration.
I come in peace!
Ha! If only. I hadn’t “come in peace” since Zoe moved into my life. Oh, I’d come. I’d come in the shower and in my bed late at night. But chasing peace along with my orgasm had been fruitless. She was driving me crazy, and the worst part was that I didn’t think she knew it. Her innocence and naïveté was charming—until it wasn’t.
She’d clipped her reddish gold hair up on her head before getting in the shower, and it was threatening to tumble down onto her shoulders when she appeared in the doorway between the living room and my bedroom. The towel she wore looked like it was threatening to tumble, too.
Not going to lie—I loved Zoe in a towel. Catching her in one had become a daily challenge, like walking ten thousand steps—although, in New York, the latter was pretty easy.
“Problem?” I asked mildly, my eyes studiously on the TV instead of her half-naked body.
“Should I wear red, white or blue?”
“Wear all three.”
“I can’t. For one thing, red looks terrible with my hair, my blue dress is too, well, worky, and my white sundress is too…” She trailed off, and I glanced over to see her biting her lip. Fuck, she was dangerous.
“Too what?”
“Summery.”
I raised an eyebrow at her. “It’s the Fourth of July.” She blushed when my gaze roamed over her body. “Wear the white.”
“Really?” Frowning, she disappeared back into my closet.
“If you need help picking out your underwear, I’m here for you!” I called out.
“Pervert!”
Baby, you have no idea. I grinned as I thought of her sleeping in the same room as my toys. She’d teasingly called me Mister Grey when she found them. God, it was bad enough that Plastic Surgeon Perry had picked that stupid book for the Billionaire Book Club. That itself was one reason he was no longer a member.
I wasn’t a sadist. I didn’t get off on inflicting pain, nor did I want to be on the receiving end. But I had rules. If you didn’t follow the rules, you got punished. It was that simple.
