Willows, Jennifer - Bound by Accident [Moreland Brothers 1] (Siren Publishing Allure)

by Jennifer Willows

  She stood, forgotten grape halves sliding from her skin. Makenzie padded to the en suite bath, turning the water on full blast. She found a bottle of bubbles and poured them in, emptying the contents in the tub. Finding two bath sheets, she sat them on the sink. Mak was unsure of how she would handle Charyn. He was too intense, and she had second thoughts. But she knew if she walked away, she would regret it for the rest of her natural life. No man would ever compare to him. No other could measure up against him. No man would be able to make her melt the way he did. No man would chase her, and she never wanted to be caught by another either. Her thoughts were interrupted as her lover sauntered in, eyes only for her.

  “Bill and Teddy dropped your stuff off.”

  “Oh really? Did they leave the car?”

  “Nope, it’s going back to the rental place.”

  “But I’ve still got three days left!”

  “So? You’re spending those days, and the rest god gives you, with me.”

  “You would try the patience of Job, Charyn. I need some transportation, and you can’t hold me hostage forever.”

  “Want to bet on it? I promise you’ll love my brand of captivity.”

  “No real woman in this day and age loves slavery, Charyn.”

  “Yes they do. Women have just been trained by history that they aren’t supposed to. So most just don’t admit it.”

  “Don’t be a chauvinist. It’s not PC.”

  “The relationship with a man and woman never is.” With those words, he climbed in the frothing water, pulling her in with him. He pulled the hair from around her face and twisted it, using an elastic band to hold the makeshift bun secure. Continuing, his tone was low, melodic, enthralling. “Makenzie, no matter how far women come, they were created to crave a firm hand. The strongest woman will submit, if the right man gives her what she needs, and is strong enough to make her love it.”

  Mak didn’t respond. What could she say without lying? She was strong, and every man before him fell flat, seemed wrong for her somehow. Not as if there were many, but some guys found her okay to look at. She always turned them away, until he fell in her lap.

  Changing the subject, she inquired about something else she thought strange.

  “Why in the heck do you have hair barrettes, baldy?”

  “I put more thought into this weekend than you’ll need planning our wedding.”

  “Get your mind right. We ain’t getting married.” Snorting, Mak washed her arms with sponge.

  “Fine, you don’t want to plan our wedding? I’ll do it.”

  Makenzie guffawed as the vision of him surrounded by wedding magazines, place settings, and gown fabric had her weak.

  “See, you thought I couldn’t be politically correct.”

  “But men don’t care about that stuff!” Mak was still laughing.

  “You’d be surprised.” Charyn’s tone was gruff, as if the statement were hard to admit.

  “I already am, boo.”

  He took the abandoned sponge, still sudsy, and finished washing them clean.

  “Just because I’m a man doesn’t mean I can’t be domestic. Couples who love each other fill whatever need is there, and are equals. I can’t ask you to do what I am unwilling to do and vice versa. The only thing that I cannot do is bear our children. But I will take delight and time in making them with you. I would be there when they are given life, and be there to raise them.” He observed her, seeming to attempt to decipher her face and know what she thought.

  She looked back, but his words had humbled her. She accused Charyn of many things, making mountains out of molehills, and contriving stumbling blocks along the way, but she was the problem. He had no reservations or hesitation, and he had just as much to lose if he invested in their relationship, too. His speech floored her. The two of them married with two-point-five children and a dog. Mak never thought it would be like this, that she would be crazy for anyone. She was a sensible woman, and although she was an artist, she was a realist first.

  * * * *

  Charyn saw in her face the emotions playing through her eyes, flitting by so quick he couldn’t identify each with certainty. She would admit they were made for each other. Mentally rubbing his hands together, he thought about the coming hours, and tomorrow. It was late, and he wanted to play some more. He leaned in, kissing the tip of her nose.

  Charyn could feel Makenzie thinking. She still had reservations, and that was all right. Any sane woman would, especially given how long they had known each other. But she was his, their futures were twain. He would show her. He just had to make sure he gave everything, all the fibers of his being, and he was prepared to do just that. By the time he was done, he would crumble her defenses, the brick and mortar she used to hide herself. She could hide from anyone else. Anyone but me. He climbed out the tub, pulling her hand to guide her. They toweled off and walked in the bedroom. Charyn stood behind her, nude and damp in the collage of mirrors. He looked at her, seeing the mix of hot lust and tenderness exposed in his eyes.

  She responded, “What?”

  His stare was heated, as were the words spoken, “You don’t know how beautiful I find you.”

  “Why?” Even after the last hours of love, she still didn’t get what he saw in her.

  “Unless we leave the house, you’re not getting anything to conceal that sexy body, unless it’s me.” Charyn looked at his arms and what they supported.

  “Come on…Nothing at all? Can I get even a T-shirt?”

  “Don’t worry, I’ll be sure to keep you warm.” He watched her pant and teeth gnaw at her lower lip, and continued with, “Just look at you, so soft, feminine, and seductive. Look at my hands on your skin.” He clenched the arms splayed across her skin as her eyes lowered as he commanded. He had his arms around her, shelves for her breasts, propping them up. They were beautiful together, and the two of them were more as one than they could be apart. The blend of colors complemented naturally, both wearing a bronzed flush over their skin.

  “That’s you, Charyn. I’m the plain Jane in this relationship.”

  “My cock wouldn’t stay this hard for a plain Jane. Do you need another lesson so fast? Apparently, I’m not getting through that thick, stubborn head of yours, if that’s the case.”

  He saw her shake her head quickly, and the top-knot bobbled from its perch.

  “No, I think the last lesson sufficed.” Her shy smile was the most adorable thing he’d ever seen.

  “See that it does. Next time, I may not be so lenient with you.” She remained mute for a moment and Charyn grinned.

  “That was being lenient?”

  “It was, I could have denied you an orgasm, but you had several with me so far tonight. Didn’t you?”

  “Yes, I did. You made me wait for hours, though.”

  “Makenzie, I could have withheld them from you for the entire weekend. But you are not trained to my liking yet. For that reason only, I decided to torture you for a handful of hours instead of the days you deserved.”

  “The entire weekend?” Charyn smirked at the skeptical face she made with her rhetorical query.

  “You’ll love it when we get there. The intensity of coming is proportional to the amount of time it’s delayed.” Her face was even more incredulous than before, if possible. As if she couldn’t understand how delaying satisfaction could come with a pleasure in itself. “Imagine how the sexual tension would feel after long hours of need, how it would burn through you. When you came the first time today, the orgasm was the best you ever had. Admit it.” He watched the heated look flit across her face, as if she were having a flashback of coming in his lap in front of the same bank of mirrors they currently faced.

  “Yes, it was. I’ve never…” She stopped, the words trailing off to nothing.

  “Never what, Makenzie? Come so hard in your life?” She nodded and dropped her flushed face. He presumed it was an attempt to hide her embarrassment. “Don’t be ashamed of anything we do together. We are two c
onsenting adults and free to choose how we express our love.”

  * * * *

  Love? He said love, but did that mean sex or l-o-v-e? She was too chicken to ask him to clarify. His body screamed sex to hers, but she needed more from him than that. She wanted to know what made him tick. If she was going to fall for him and make life complicated, then she wanted the total package. So far she knew he was well off, funny, fantastic in bed, and a good cook. Not to mention sensitive. He did everything well. At no time had she seen him appear to be in over his head. Geez, the man even drove his car and made shifting gears seem sexy. But no person was perfect. There had to be something wrong with him. Was he crazy?

  “Can we talk? I’d like to know you better.”

  “Of course, that’s what the weekend is about. It’s for us to take the time to see why we’re so compatible. Come with me.” He took her hand, and the couple went downstairs.

  When they got there, he sat her on a soft rug by the fireplace, a box in front of her. It was covered in black leather, glossy. He opened it, taking out a small remote, using it to turn the gas fire on. Digging back into the box, he took out an old, thin paperback book, a box of cards, and a small flask. The lid went back on the top, sealing it from Mak’s curious eyes. Her inquiring nature got the best of her, and she had to ask.

  “What’s all of that?”

  “Thought you’d never ask.” His lips tilted upwards in a subtle smile. “The book is a small tome I enjoy and thought to read with you. The cards are a game to play, called Phaze 10. Last but not least, the flask is a salve. Now you can decide what you want to explore first.”

  Mak had no idea what she wanted to do, and ended up opting for the book. Of the three items, it was the most innocuous. But she was wrong, as she found out later. It was probably the most risqué and pointed of the three options.

  “How about the book?”

  “Good choice, I would have picked that, too.” His grin was mischievous. She found out why. It was a book of love poetry. Bringing her close to him, he opted to seat her in his lap. He spoke to her, cadence mesmerizing, as he interpreted the Lords Byron and Tennyson. As he recited more than read them from the pages, it was apparent he knew the poems and sonnets within the book better than the men who wrote them.

  “…thus much and more, and yet thou lov’st me not,

  And never wilt, Love dwells not in our will

  Nor can I blame thee, though it be my lot

  To strongly, wrongly, vainly, love thee still.”

  Even long after he finished the stanza, she lingered over its meaning. The words in this selection were for her, Makenzie knew it. But was it really possible that he felt that way about her? That she couldn’t love him, that he felt their relationship was one-sided and unrequited? The same way she felt about him before she ran. But if his selections spoke to his feelings, she was an ass. He didn’t run, like her dad did, like she did. When she came back from her reveries, he was still reading.

  “…it is not worth the keeping: let it go;

  But shall it? answer, darling, answer, no

  And trust me not at all or all in all.”

  It was hard for her to give as much trust as he sought. He didn’t just desire her. She saw he needed to possess her. All or nothing.

  She noted that Charyn would read a passage, and in the same breath look at her while reciting another, until the volume was finished. Even more unusual about the renditions were the moments he recalled the words from his memory as he quoted.. He would tilt his eyes away from the pages and speak to her as if the words were his and crafted solely for her. Pointed phrases aimed at her defenseless heart and female vanity desirous of love and affection. Mak listened, enthralled, hanging on each word, couplet, and metaphor. When he was done, he asked her what she thought of the selections he chose for her.

  “Did you enjoy them?” His voice was raw, as if he were hoarse.

  Makenzie was speechless. She never paid much attention to poetry, since her skills were not in the written word, but were more physical. But his voice gave each word value, giving the stanzas new life. It was attention she never paid to spoken word aside from music in her whole life. She told him as much, and kissed the arm wrapped across her fluttering heart. He sat the volume aside, breaking the fragile moment with his movements.

  “Thank you, it’s one of my favorites. Want to play cards?”

  Mak laughed, nodding yes. The poetry had left her with too much to think about. It changed the way she saw them, and she was grateful to have a moment to let go of the heavy reflections she burdened her mind with.

  Scooting across from her, he took a moment to teach her the basics. Each hand was different, and the game spurred much laughter and brought competitive instincts to the fore. By the last hand, Charyn bested her. She hadn’t passed the ninth phase, and he won by a landside. Makenzie, infuriated, flung the cards, spraying his chest with them. He laughed, telling her to be a better loser. After they were done, he picked up the salve and a small throw blanket from the nearby chaise.

  “Lay back on the throw blanket for me, facedown.” Mak did as he politely asked, laying on the soft microfiber, patterned in a Scottish plaid. She turned her head, facing the faux fire. The warmth was cozy and played a kaleidoscope of shadows across her exposed skin. Charyn straddled her hips, his thick member a heavy weight cradled in the seam of her thighs. He poured the viscous unguent in his hands and rubbed them together. The initial pace of his hands was slow, kneading motions at her shoulders intended to carry her away. The scent was amazing, patchouli and everything earthy, calling to her. The heat from his thick hands scalded her, burning every nerve ending awake.

  * * * *

  Charyn meant every word he said to her. Even though the words were not his, they captured how he felt about her. There was no reason for her to love him. He wanted to be worthy of the honor so badly, he refused to accept that the woman he was mad for didn’t feel the same way about him. Before Makenzie his life was black and white, and she added color and spice. It was possible to fall in love on sight, his parents had. She just didn’t see that, and wanted to make it about lust and need alone. Although that was part of what he felt for her, there was so much more.

  He watched Makenzie relax under his touch, melting boneless into the floor. As he massaged each muscle group, the firelight played across the skin beneath his hands. Riveting, the sight of her had him hardening before he knew it. A feeble attempt was made to calm his libido with thoughts of football stats. His hunger for her could disrupt his plans, and he wanted everything to be perfect. He required her relaxed and ready for what he planned next.

  After he finished massaging the spread, luscious body before him, Charyn scooped his woman up. He carried her upstairs, headed for the attic. She hadn’t seen the space yet, and he deliberately glossed over it in her tour. He didn’t lie when he said it was unfinished. He just omitted a few salient facts about the space. The attic door had two entrances, one from outside and this one. The indoor entrance was not in the ceiling. Charyn opted to cut through the bedroom instead. It appeared as a normal closet, but the wall backing was a sliding door.

  The stairs needed to be finished, and were still just raw untreated wood. But he only put these in two weeks ago. It seemed to be serendipity, how he met his dream woman less than a week after installing them. The house was ninety-nine percent done. Just finishing the stairs and landscaping would complete it. Almost five years worth of hard work, and now he was ready to outfit it with his family. Although it was just the two of them, soon enough they could gift themselves with children.

  When he bought the house, he could feel in his gut that it was perfect. Perfect for his family one day, and he could see them playing in the water. Bringing back junk shells and building sand castles, making memories filled with laughter. Like his childhood, only better. Charyn should have realized it at the time, but nowhere in the picture did he see the woman he was engaged to. That should have been a sign, but he was jus
t too stubborn to admit his mistake and almost paid a hefty price for it. But Makenzie, he could see her fitting in perfectly. Their homes were similar, neutral and earthy.

  He was glad he met her, even if the circumstances at the time were not desirable. Otherwise, they may have never crossed paths, since their lives were too disparate. She didn’t work or live near him. He just happened to be on Seventeenth Street the day of her accident because he had a hankering for a poker game. He smiled to himself, thinking that it was almost ironic to think that he may have never met the woman of his dreams. After tonight, he would make sure that she would understand how fortuitous their chance meeting was.

  He knew Makenzie would have questions, especially about some of the articles he had laying about when she got a good look around. Reaching the top of the stairs, the space was dark, and only the barest of moonlight diffused by clouds and distance shone through. It was time to see if his chosen woman was able to accept all of him. If she could handle what it took to fully satisfy her needs and his.

  Chapter 14:

  Rope Trick

  Charyn watched her, his eyes already adjusted to the darkness. He could see her silhouette, framed in moonlight. She was an angel, his Madonna, to use for his own devilish ends. He wanted to show her all of him. The person no other had ever completely seen, since Master Johntu trained him in the exquisite art he was going to display for her now, the art of bondage. He had a mixed style, using both ancient Japanese shibari and modern western techniques. He wasn’t into whips or beatings, just the slide of silken skin, tortured by rope. He loved the look of a woman in bondage. The total surrender she gave a lover, allowing him to bind her with coarse fibers. It was one of the main reasons he and Tami were incompatible. She was unable to enjoy the art in any form, even shunning play handcuffs.

  Tami would have never had the patience to follow any part of this weekend. She loved to see and be seen. Tami didn’t even know he could cook. She never ate a single meal he made, just wanted to hit the new hot spots. For what? To eat a plate so small, he was starving every night? A year of that had had his belly aching and mind made up. The incident with Marques just confirmed what his gut already knew. She wasn’t the one for him.