Dangerously Bound (18 page)

“Travel TV, still?” he asked.

“I can’t believe you remember.”

“I remember a lot, Allie.”

She let herself relax a little into him. He flicked on the flat screen television
with the remote and found her channel. They watched in silence a piece on California’s
Mendocino Coast, and as the narrator’s voice spoke about the rugged beauty of the
cliffs, the sea lions swimming off the shore, her shoulders loosened and she leaned
into Mick’s arm around her.

After a while Mick muted the volume and said quietly, “Tell me about your dad, Allie.”

Her body instinctively stiffened for a moment. It made sense
that he’d ask after what she’d said, but she still hesitated. “My dad?”

Mick tugged her closer. “I’ve known you all these years and that’s the one thing you
never really talked to me about. I know he died when you were a kid, I know he was
a musician. I know your mom adored him, and still does. But you’ve never told me much
more than that. Since it came up tonight, I thought this might be a good time to tell
me.”

“Maybe.” She had to digest the idea for a few moments. “My dad was . . . I sort of
idolized him, I guess,” she said, the words trying to stick in her throat. “He spent
a lot of time with me growing up, but I think you already knew that. And I guess what
you want to know is how his . . . death affected me.”

“Only because it obviously still does. And this is not just me being the Dom getting
to know the psychology of his partner. This is
me
, Allie. And if we’re going to get closer . . . well, it seems we are.” He paused,
and she looked up to see him blink a few times. “Yeah. We are. So we have to build
trust.”

“I know.” She paused, swallowed the ache in her chest that was partly from thinking
about her dad and partly from Mick caring about her and being willing to show it.
Being willing to admit that the two of them being together was possibly going somewhere.
But that was too much to think about and have this discussion at the same time.

“I don’t talk about this,” she said, her fingers picking at the edge of the cotton
sheet, her gaze focused there. “Not with anyone. But you’re right. I have to. And
it’s you. Even though we’re in kind of a scary place right now, I still understand
we’ve known each other forever.

“So . . . you know that it was mostly Dad who got me ready in the mornings while Mama
was at the bakery. He would play
the piano for me sometimes while I was eating breakfast, or brushing my teeth—sometimes
it would be a classical piece, sometimes jazz. Sometimes just silly stuff, cartoon
music. That last morning . . . he was playing Mozart’s Piano Concerto number twenty-one.
I’m sure you’ve heard it. It’s a light piece. Supposed to be cheerful. Well.”

She stopped to draw in a long breath. She wasn’t sure how to say the words out loud.
“That morning . . . the music stopped suddenly, and I came downstairs demanding that
he play some ragtime for me, which I did a lot. I just skipped into the room and . . .”
She stopped again, swallowed hard. “He was sort of slumped over the piano.” She had
to close her eyes. She could see him there, his blue striped shirt, his dark hair
shining in the morning sun streaming through her mother’s lace curtains, the pattern
of light and shadow it made on the floor. She drew in another breath and went on.
“Even in my ten-year-old brain I knew right away he was gone. That he wasn’t coming
back. I started screaming. Apparently a neighbor heard me, because suddenly there
were a lot of people in the house. I don’t remember much more after that.” She stopped
and gulped past the hard lump in her throat, tightening her chest. “All I knew—all
I
believed
—for a long time after was that he’d left me.”

Mick tightened his arms around her. “Jesus, baby. Poor girl.”

She shook her head—or tried to, which was difficult being held so hard against his
muscled shoulder. “Don’t, Mick.”

“Don’t what? Feel bad that you had to go through that?”

“Don’t feel sorry for me. I don’t feel sorry for myself. Life happens, right? Everyone’s
gone through something difficult.”

“Yeah, I guess so. But not that.” His voice was rough. “No one should have to go through
that. I get that you’d probably carry those feelings with you through your life. And
I guess I get how you might have felt the same way when I didn’t call
you, that it would have been a trigger. If I’d known more . . . maybe . . .”

They both let the sentence fade and quiet descend as they held each other.

It had felt good to tell him, somehow. And bad, like opening an old wound that would
now have to grow a new scab. But if things were going to continue between them, she
was going to have to get used to being vulnerable with him. It was different with
Mick than it was with the other Doms she’d played with, the men she’d had relationships
with. Mick
knew
her in ways no one else did, and that made the rawness all the more wide open. She
didn’t like that part.

She sniffed, rubbed at the makeup that had undoubtedly run under her eyes.

“Mick?”

“Yeah?”

“Will you tell me something now?” she asked.

“What?”

“I sort of feel like I’ve just laid my soul out to you on a platter, and I’d feel
a lot better if you did a little of the same with me.”

He shifted her in his arms so he could see her face.

“Really? That’s the only thing that’ll make you feel better?” he lowered his voice
an octave. “What about this?”

He leaned in and kissed her softly, his lips pressing to hers, then pressing again,
gently, sweetly.

“That’s nice, too,” she admitted.

“Tell me if this is any better.”

He kissed her again, this time teasing her lips open with his tongue. He slid the
tip of his tongue between her lips, giving her just a taste before pulling away. Cupping
her face in his hands he did it once more, this time sliding in farther, pulling back,
doing it again, a lovely tease that built desire in her body like a
slowly heating flame. She couldn’t help but moan. Couldn’t help the way her body—her
need—betrayed her.

There would be time to talk later. For now, there was Mick. She’d never been able
to resist.

H
IS HANDS SLID
down to her shoulders, and he kissed her lips, her cheek, her neck, as he slipped
her tank top over her head. One strong arm wrapped around her back and he unhooked
her bra, and that came off, too. His mouth was on hers once more as he pulled her
in close, sliding down into the sheets with her. He held her in his arms, their bodies
pressed close, until she could feel his erection against her belly. The gears had
shifted, her mind emptying out, her body filling with desire, her sex aching and wet.

“Here, baby girl,” he said, kicking his way out of his sweats, then helping her slide
her underwear off before rolling her onto her back and climbing on top of her.

God, his body felt so damn good, the weight of him pressing her down. He folded her
fingers into his, raised her arms over her head and held her there while he kissed
her, teasing her with
lips and tongue and teeth while his hard cock pressed into her abdomen, his hard thigh
pressing against her swollen mound.

“Come on, Mick,” she begged.

“Shh, baby. Just lie here and take it for now.”

No, she’d never been able to resist him. Certainly not his command. Her body responded
even before her brain did, her muscles going lax.

“Perfect,” he murmured before bending to kiss her neck, to bite there. Then lower
until his teeth were grazing her nipple, making it go hard, making her muscles go
limp with need.

His teeth grazed her skin as his mouth traveled all over her breasts—light nibbling
at first that gradually built to harder nips. The bites were quick, leaving tiny shots
of pain behind, creating a lancing pattern of sensation all over her breasts. Her
nipples were so damn hard they hurt, aching to be touched. Begging for the pain.

He moved down her side, over her rib cage, down to the tender skin at her waist. He
bit her there hard, his teeth sinking in, making her yelp.

“Oh!”

“Does this hurt you, baby?” he asked, his voice muted, his mouth a breath away from
her body.

“Yes,” she moaned.

“But you like it?”

“Oh, yes.”

“Do you want more? Tell me.”

“Yes, please, Mick.”

He kissed the sore spot where he’d last bitten her, making her sigh with pleasure.
“Your skin tastes like fucking heaven, baby girl. I’m going to bite you hard now.
I’m going to eat you up. And you must hold very still for me. Don’t make me tie you
up. If you do, there will be consequences.”

Consequences.

Oh . . .

Her sex clenched, went soaking wet at the thought.

He bent and sank his teeth hard into her flesh, right at the curve of her waist, and
she had to breathe through the pain. It was exquisite, searing, and followed quickly
by a lovely rush of endorphins. He bit again, a little higher—the fragile skin over
her ribs—and this time the pain was more severe. She gasped, tried to breathe through
it.

“You can take it. Come on, baby. For me.”

She nodded, forced her body to calm, waited for the next bite.

This time it was the underside of her breast, and he bit down hard.

“Ah, God!”

Her fingers dug into the bedclothes until her knuckles ached, but somehow she managed
not to move as she struggled between her body’s natural instinct for flight and the
desire to please, between the pain and the shimmering, tenuous pleasure of the chemicals
beginning to seep into her brain.

He held on, her flesh gripped between his sharp teeth, and the pain threatened to
overwhelm her.

“Mick . . .”

He bit harder, and a tear slid down her cheek. She was panting, trying to convert
the pain to pleasure. After a few difficult moments it worked, and she was rewarded
by a flood of endorphins. She went limp with it, let her body process the intense
pain and the even more powerful pleasure. The powerful sensation of Mick doing these
things to her. The lovely, sweet sensation as he lapped at the bite with his soft
tongue.

He finally pulled away and knelt over her, looking down at her. He didn’t say anything,
but she knew from his expression
he was pleased with her. He urged her thighs wide apart with his. She was weak with
her need for him. Aching with wanting.

He reached between her thighs, and she arched her hips as his fingers slid into her.

“Love this, baby girl,” he murmured. “Love how damn wet you get. I want to be inside
you. To fuck you. And I will.”

He pressed down on one of her thighs with his hand, hard and hurting, and spread her
even more, left his hand there, the pressure letting her know he was completely in
control. With his other hand he began working her clit, rubbing, tugging, pinching,
then moving to push his fingers inside her and pumping a few times before going back
to her swollen clitoris.

“Hold still, baby,” he demanded.

She did her best. But pleasure was building inside her, making her dizzy. Finally,
she couldn’t take it and she arched her hips hard against his hand. He immediately
pulled back.

“Ah, now you know that won’t do, princess.”

He pushed himself off her and leaned over her, reached under the center of the mattress
at the top of the bed and pulled up a length of black rope. He pulled her arms up
over her head and tied her wrists together so fast she didn’t have time to consider
what he was doing. But she instantly sank into the sensation of safety in the arms
of his ropes. Her head really began to empty out, and she was vaguely aware of how
much easier it would be to take the pain and the orgasm control if she were bound.

He moved around the bed—she couldn’t really see what he was doing, but figured he
had ropes attached to the bed frame—and soon he had her ankles tied, legs spread to
the corners of the mattress, as well as a doubled length of rope pulled tight across
her stomach and over the middle of the bed.

“Better,” he said as he moved back to kneel between her thighs.
“I love the way you look like this. Stilled by my ropes. The contrast of the dark
rope against your skin, the surrender in your eyes. That just about kills me—I don’t
mind telling you that.” He paused, ran a hand down her body—in between her breasts,
over her stomach, until his fingers were surging into her once more.

“Oh . . .”

“You know I like to hear that—your sounds of pleasure. Come on, baby, give it to me.
Let me take you right to the edge.”

He pumped his fingers—two, maybe three—curving them to hit her G-spot, and she groaned.

“Yeah, that’s it.”

With his other hand he pinched her pussy lips, the pain sending pleasure rocketing
through her system.

“Ah, Mick . . . yes . . .”

He thrust hard into her, and her pussy clenched hard around his fingers. He withdrew
them.

“Not yet. Breathe for me.”

She did as she was told, pleasure so keen in her body she could barely hold it back,
even though he was no longer touching her.

“That’s it. Get it under control. You can do it.”

He pressed into her once more, adding more fingers and spreading them so that it hurt
her a little. But pain
was
pleasure to her, and she had to work to hold back her climax. He held his hand still
inside her, his fingers still spread wide. With the other he started to caress her
body: her stomach, her breasts, her hips, her thighs, tracing over the bite marks
and the tender welts from their previous play. His touch was lovely, his gentle fingertips
a sensual contrast to the way he filled her sex with his hand. Desire was sharp, surging
hard through her system, and only Mick’s command and his ropes held her orgasm at
bay.

He held her there, suspended for endless moments while she took in a breath, let it
out, rode that exquisite edge.

“You need to come,” he said. It wasn’t a question.

“Please.”

“Beg me for it, Allie. Beg for your release. Make me know how much you need it.”

“Oh, God. Please Mick. Let me . . . please make me come.
Make
me, Goddamn it.”

He laughed as his fingers surged into her, as he bent to suck her hard clit into his
mouth.

“Ah!”

She screamed as she came. Screamed his name over and over as pleasure made her shatter,
made her shiver. Then made her mutter senselessly as her mind clouded, her body lost
in sensation.

“Yes . . . oh, Mick, please . . . yes, that’s it, so good . . . Mmm . . .”

Finally her body calmed, and she was left with tiny sparks of pleasure shimmering
through her. Mick pulled away.

“And now, my girl, you are ready for me to fuck you.”

She could only sigh.

Yes . . .

She watched through climax-clouded eyes as he sheathed his thick cock, licking her
lips in anticipation. He lowered his body over hers, one arm holding him up as he
gripped his cock and guided it to her entrance.

“Do you want it, Allie? Tell me you want me to fuck you.”

“I need you, Mick. Need you to fuck me. Ah . . . yes . . .”

He angled his hips and plunged into her, all at once and hard, filling her with his
flesh.

He immediately started with a fast, punishing pace, his hips ramming against hers,
his pubic bone slamming into her mound over and over. Above her his face was a concentration
of lust,
his eyes gleaming, his wicked mouth loose with pleasure. And pleasure filled her every
bit as much as his lovely, big cock while she lay helplessly, unable to do anything
but accept the pleasure he gave her. Safe in the ropes.

At this moment what happened between them was
his
responsibility. Under his control. She reveled in that thought. In his hard fucking.
In his utter and absolute command over her body.

His hips arched hard, faster and faster, his breath coming in sharp gasps. Pain and
pleasure blended, surged together, and once more her body rose toward climax. Pleasure
and pleasure, pain and . . . she came in hard, shuddering spasms, stars exploding
behind her eyes.

“Mick! God . . .”

“Ah, baby . . . coming, my baby girl . . .”

She felt him shiver, then his hips jerked hard, and he bent to latch on to her neck,
his teeth sinking in.

They were both out of control, beings of pure sensation, needing nothing but this
moment.

He fell onto her, his weight pressing her down until she could barely breathe. But
she wanted it.
Needed
it.

Needed him.

*   *   *

M
ICK GASPED FOR
air—the power of his orgasm had stolen every bit of breath from his body. He knew
he was crushing Allie beneath him, but it was several minutes before he was able to
move. Finally he rolled off her, propped himself up on one elbow beside her. She was
watching him, her eyes glazed, a sheen of pure gold over the deep brown. Beautiful.
Her cheeks were flushed, her full lips that gorgeous dark pink. He leaned down and
kissed her mouth, just brushed her lips with his. She was so damn sweet he had to
do it again, and then again.

Something in his chest tightened and he pulled back. She blinked, but remained quiet,
only the hitching rhythm of her breathing telling him that she felt something, too.
Something that went beyond the sex.

No.

But it was the truth, and right now it was too damn hard to hide from, naked as they
were, both of them raw and open.

He’d always managed to keep certain parts of himself locked away from the women he
played with, slept with. But this was
Allie
.

“Mick?”

“It’s okay, baby. Let me get you out now.”

He knelt up and untied the doubled rope that held her body down on the bed, swept
his palm across her stomach, heard her breath catch as he brushed over the already-bruising
bite marks at the curve of her waist. The ropes had left a pattern of shallow indents
in her skin, and he smoothed his fingertips over the grooves for a moment before turning
to untie her ankles. He did the same there, stroking the rope marks, massaging her
feet for a minute or two to ensure the circulation returned, then he massaged her
slender ankles, loving the delicacy of the bones there. Finally he moved up, kneeling
over her to untie her wrists.

Her arms immediately reached for him, wrapping around his neck as she whispered, “Mick,
I need you to hold me. Please.”

He pulled her into his lap and she curled against him, her head on his shoulder. She
was all soft, fragrant skin, lean curves and pure yielding girl. He’d never felt any
woman’s submission in the way he did with her—giving herself over was so acute because
it was something she struggled with. And there was something about her submitting
to
him
. He didn’t think he could fight against it.

He didn’t even know what that meant.

Christ.

His stomach knotted. He wanted to get away. He wanted to never let her go.

He couldn’t let her go yet. He owed her aftercare.

Fuck. He was being an asshole.