Bound Hearts (14 page)

“Of course not. I have enough problems talking about our own sex life with Michael. I can’t imagine what he’d do if I mentioned this about someone he works with. Any who, if you accept what you enjoy with David, what’s wrong? I’m sensing there’s something you’re not telling me,” Mary said.

Calleigh wiped her mouth with her napkin. Twice. Took a long drink of water. Their server probably should have left the pitcher at their table. Funny. She had no problem disclosing David’s dirty little secrets, but she was mortified to disclose the things she’d said to him to her best friend. Maybe that said it all.

“The other night he came over. And I might have said some things that weren’t very nice,” she began. Yeah, not nice was one way of putting it.

“Like what?” Mary asked, raising her left eyebrow in perfect rhythm with the inflection in her tone.

“Like maybe he had some weird fetishes.”

“In those words?”

“Maybe not exactly in those words,” Calleigh mumbled.

“In what words, then? You of all people know how much words matter.”

As teachers, they were required to take numerous courses focused on their communication skills, with their students, their colleagues, angry and worried parents, stressed out administrators, and school board members when applicable. They attended legions of continuing education conferences that addressed nothing but how to effectively communicate with their students and their communities. They both knew how much words matter, even if actions dominated most conversations.

Even knowing their value, she’d wielded them with all of the finesse of an angry three year old still working on her vocabulary.

Her eyes drifted to the people on the bar stools flanking the counter. The fact that she was mortified by disclosing exactly what she’d uttered to David to the woman who was her best friend and one of the most important people in her life, told her everything she needed to know.

After divulging her remarks, Mary asked, “So what are you planning to do about it?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t think there’s anything I can do.”

“There’s always something you can do. The question is whether you can do it.”

“I’m so embarrassed.”

“Have you apologized yet?”

Calleigh shook her head.

“No. I think if I apologize, I need to do it in person. And that kind of apology isn’t really one I want to offer on a soccer field.”

“What about just calling him up and seeing if he’ll meet you for a drink?”

“I’m not even sure he’d take my call. He’s probably placed me on his blocked caller list.”

“I think you’re talking yourself out of any reasonable avenues to say you’re sorry. But, I think I have a plan that you should try.”

Thirty minutes later, they left Besaws and Calleigh was armed with a plan of attack and redemption.

“Maybe in awhile after things settle down for everyone, and our hormones, we can get the guys together off the field,” Mary offered.

“It’s a date.”

Chapter 9

At some point in the not so distant past, Fridays beckoned not only as the end of the work week, but additionally, as the perfect day to take it easy in the office, catch up on paperwork, and return emails that had come through but weren’t critical for a timely response.

Those days had long passed and this particular Friday was the epitome of a complete shitter. From the seven a.m. conference call with his star quarterback’s agent in Miami who informed him that Johansen was imploding and rehab might be the next step, to the ten o’clock meeting with the Commissioner about the Tide’s ever present troubles off the field. The trannies one of the guys had been caught with. The drugs. The allegations of underage sex between his troubled quarterback and some teenager.

Then, after the Commissioner was done bending him over and having his way with him, the Silverstons magically appeared in his office to discuss additional ways to improve revenue outside of the games. Tide tickets were a hot item in Portland in the fall, so there was nothing to do there. However, there were additional avenues the marketing department was evaluating in order to drive overall team revenue. The Tide’s owners extracted his input on all top decisions, even those better left to people who knew what they were doing. He was a manager, not a marketing executive and despite his numerous protests to the contrary, the Silverstons remained in his office for the better part of the lengthy afternoon to dissect every possible option the marketing folks were considering, along with the head of the Tide’s marketing department, who repeatedly kept inserting herself in the conversation that lasted way too long until a long-standing charity dinner engagement for the Silverstons rescued him.

Consequently, weariness consumed him on the drive home. He needed a stiff shot of bourbon and a hot shower before he could even consider doing anything about dinner. Nothing even sounded good, which informed him exactly how tired he truly was. He rarely missed a meal and considered a nice dinner a perfectly acceptable way to end a long, tiring work day.

As he cruised along the streets, night had laid down in Portland and the streets were minimally lit. In his residential neighborhood, the bikes had been returned to the protection of their garages, and the few cars on the street motored along as quietly and softly as he did, as though they too, were worn out by the work week. This time of night this time of the year, there were no walkers out after dinner. No strolling couples or young families trying to squeeze the last of the sunshine out of the sky before saying hello to the end of the day.

As he unlocked his front door, the darkness spoke to him, reminding him that he was now all alone after the fiasco with Calleigh last week. He should probably think about installing some lights on a timer. He was tired of always returning to a dark home.

Heading to the kitchen, he flipped on the lights, poured himself a tall shot of Gentlemen Jack and pounded it. Its warmth settled throughout his chest and limbs, slightly loosening him up. He cracked his neck and prowled back to his bedroom where the sight that greeted him arrested him in his tracks.

“What the hell is going on?” he growled even as his cock sprang to life.

Her voice, that smooth voice that iced his dreams during the darkest hours of each night, floated through the air and over to him.

“This is my way of trying to say I’m sorry, David. It’s my apology. I thought since actions speak louder than words, that this would say it all.”

It sure said something. Calleigh’s stunning, perfect blondeness was spread out on his bed in every way. Each of her arms was outstretched and shackled to his headboard with separate cuffs, while each of her legs shared a similar fate down below. Lacy midnight-blue garters and hose gripped her legs, legs that ended in sky-high black heels digging into his comforter. The barest whisper of matching silk covered the very most feminine part of her. Her buoyant breasts were suspended in a deep blue demi-bra that barely covered her nipples. His mouth went dry as he began to perspire.

What was she up to?

“It’s been a very long, very shitty week, Calleigh, so you unless you’re ready for me to fuck the ever loving hell out of you, I’m going to release you and ask you to leave. I don’t have time for this and I don’t have time for your judgment about my, and I quote, sicko fetishes.”

Liar, liar pants on fire. You couldn’t care less about what she thinks about your preferences. You’d give your left nut just to touch her anywhere she’d let you touch her right now.

“David, I was wrong. I acted out because I was scared and I didn’t mean what I said. I’m still kind of scared, but not of you.
Never
of you. I was scared about everything you make me feel and the fact that I like being with you. In every way.”

“Being with me? Or being fucked by me? Which is it?” His hand was twitching at his side, dying to take both of her thighs in his hands, turn her over and paddle her beautiful ass for everything she’d put him through.

“Both, David,” she said, her voice clear and strong as a ref’s whistle in the first quarter.

“Honest to Christ, woman, I can’t be with you in any way if the whole time together, I’m worried that you’re not enjoying what we’re doing and thinking I’m some kind of sexual deviant. Because I’m not. I like what I like. Period. If you have any further questions or concerns, you need to leave right this very minute because I am sick and tired of trying to convince you to let yourself go and just enjoy what we do. What I do to you. The door’s over there and I’d be more than happy to untie your arms and your legs and escort you out the door if this isn’t what you want. It’s now, or never. Your choice.”

“I choose you, then. I choose us,” she said, strength and confidence coming through her words.

“Alright. That was your last chance.” He whipped off his belt and ripped through his buttons on his shirt as he removed his slacks and kicked off his socks. For a minute, he tried to pause to appreciate the beautiful sight in front of him. A sight that emptied him of any words.

An athletic body, taut in the right places, but perfectly curvy in all of the best places. A body gorgeously accentuated by her lingerie, both above and below. Green eyes, shy in the dusky shadows of the night, yet brimming with hope. A wide, pert mouth so richly, carnally pink, it should have been illegal.

Crawling up between her legs, he rubbed himself against her as he lowered his head and captured her lips with his own. She tried to rub against him, but her restraints limited her movement. The silk that covered her pussy tantalized him, a cool silkiness that ignited incredible friction. Deciding to torture her the way she’d tortured him all week in his dreams and in his fantasies, he increased his thrusts against her underwear, allowing her to feel how hard he was and how much he wanted her. The friction reminded him of all the fun he enjoyed with silk with his partners of years past, nameless, faceless partners at this point in time when all he could see, all he could feel was underneath him. Right where she belonged.

Calleigh.

She emitted slight moans and purrs in perfect cadence with his thrusts, her delicate wrists pulling against the metal cuffs. For a second, he considered releasing her, but decided to prolong her anguish a little longer.

She deserved nothing less. But he was preparing to give her a whole lot more.

“Now, what exactly do you expect me to do with your bra on, Calleigh? It makes it difficult to give your breasts the attention they deserve,” he said as he rubbed his nose right across the line presented by her décolletage where the silk of her bra met her flesh before licking a path his nose had blazed.

“I want you to do whatever you want,” she breathed as she endeavored to raise her hips to meet his, another fruitless attempt given the bindings around her ankles.

“Ahh, Calleigh. You’re killing me. You really are,” he said, looking up and reaching out to her with his eyes. This woman, this female, somehow had blown through all of his carefully erected defenses and plopped right down somewhere near the vicinity of what passed for his heart. Her words the previous week had sliced a hole inside him, opened him up something wide, and exposed the desert within, a desert he was no longer content to live with. A desert he wanted to transform into something lush, warm, and loving. For her. For them. Finding her in his bedroom tonight, all splayed out waiting for him, lanced the wound on his soul left by her the prior week. Tonight was her way of apologizing in the best manner she knew how. He rewarded her for it.

Sucking a nipple into his mouth through the silk, he felt her shift under him, coming up off the bed. Her pebble hardened under the onslaught of his tongue, the silk of her bra acting as a delicious barrier. He occupied his hands with teasing the triangle of blue silk covering her up, moving it back and forth over her mound, never quite providing direct stimulation.

Coming up for air, he said, “Hmmm, Calleigh? Is this okay for you?” he asked as he nuzzled her neck.

“I think what you’re doing is just about perfect,” she croaked, as though gasping for air.

“Oh, really? Well, in that case, I guess we’ll just keep things the way they are for a little bit longer.”

For the next hour, he treated her to an array of sensations, from sexual frustration to unbelievable ecstasy. He demonstrated the myriad ways silk enhanced every single sensation on her body, leaving her satiated and completely sexed out.

Afterward, he released her bindings again, in order to cradle her in his arms.

“Tell me, again, what you’re doing here tonight,” he quietly demanded, spooning his front into her backside.

“Do you really need me to tell you what we just did? Or what we’re doing?” she gamely responded.

“I want you to be explicit right now, where there there’s nothing that’s keeping you here, in my bed, except the fact that I’m hoping you say you want to be here.”

She turned around and planted her hand on his waist, facing him, facing herself.

“Look, I don’t know where this is going or where it’s ultimately going to end up. I don’t know what I want or what you want or if this has any capacity to be a long-term thing. What I do know is that I’m attracted to you. Really, attracted to you. I have been since we met.”

He smiled. Yeah, he’d known that, but hearing it still pacified his ego.

“I’ve never been with a man like you. A man into domination. I’ve never submitted to a man. The things we’ve done…I have no experience with.”

“I know that, but –” he interrupted.

She placed her fingertips on his lips.

“Let me finish,” she gently chided. “Giving up control is hard for me. No matter how much I trust you. No matter how much I love the way you make me feel. No matter how many orgasms you give me. Mentally and emotionally, it’s difficult for me to accept the way you are and the way I am when I’m with you.”

“What, exactly, does that mean?”

“It means I need you to be patient with me. Let me wade in the kiddies’ pool for a little bit with you,” she pleaded. “I have judgments about certain things. I’m not proud of it. I wish I could just let go and say live and let live. But that’s not the way I was raised. All of this,” she indicated his bedroom with her hands, “is foreign to me. Not the sex, but the kind of sex.”