Dangerously Bound (26 page)

“You know I kind of suck at that sometimes. If it’s kink related, I’m all about the
transparency, but the emotional stuff . . . that’s a lot harder.”

“I know. I promise I’ll cut you a little slack. For being male, if nothing else.”

“Oh, will you now?”

She grinned up at him. “I will. I’m generous like that.”

“I’ll show you generous, my girl. I’ll be generous all over your fine ass.”

“Promises, promises,” she teased.

She yelped as he picked her up, threw her over his shoulder and started up the stairs.

“You’re a caveman, Mick Reid!”

“Tell me you don’t love it.”

“I . . . plead the Fifth.”

“Ha!”

“Where are you taking me?”

“To bed, where I can do terrible things to your gorgeous body. Do I hear more arguments?”

“Um . . . no.”

“No, what?” he demanded.

“No . . . please?”

He laughed. “That’ll do.”

They reached his bedroom, where the afternoon light was seeping through the curtains,
illuminating it with the kind of soft golden sunlight that made dust motes dance in
the air. His muscles flexed under her palms as he bent and laid her on the bed. He
was so beautifully built. She’d always loved the breadth of his shoulders, his narrow
hips, the pale gold hue of his skin. She loved the wicked gleam in his eyes, the cocky
half smile on his face. The mix of bad boy and occasional tender lover and the sadistic
streak that ran through it all.

“What are you going to do with me?” she asked.

He rubbed his chin. “I’m working on it. I just had a mind-blowing orgasm and told
you I love you. I might need a minute to recover.”

“Mind-blowing?”

“Every damn time.”

“Really?”

“Don’t think that gives you any bargaining power.”

“Doesn’t it?” She batted her lashes.

He chuckled. “All right, I give up. You know damn well it does.”

“I rather like that idea.”

“Don’t get too comfortable with it. I’m still the Dom.”

“I’m pretty sure you won’t ever let me forget it.”

“Damn right,” he said as he lunged for her.

“Mick!”

“Shh.”

He flipped her over onto her stomach and straddled her, pinning her down with his
legs while he found the ankle cuffs he kept attached to his bed, and shackled her
with lightning speed. Immediately he began to spank her, a quick, sharp volley of
slaps. They came too quickly for her to have time to convert the pain. She was overloading,
squirming, panting. He smacked her harder—her ass, the backs of her thighs. The pain
built and built. She couldn’t give herself over to it—it was too much, too fast.

“Mick!”

“My name is not a safe word, princess.”

She almost laughed, but his hand came down again and again, fast and stinging like
crazy. Her flesh was burning hot.

“Do you need to safe-word?” he asked, still spanking her.

“Mick,” she said, her breath rasping in her lungs as she struggled uselessly to get
away from him, from the padded cuffs holding her ankles so securely.

“Yes?”

He smacked her again, impossibly harder.

She did laugh, then, as the lovely brain chemicals broke free and swarmed her head,
her body. She went limp all over.

He stopped, unbuckled the cuffs, turned her over and held her in his arms.

“Lord, I love to see you like this,” he said quietly, almost reverentially. “Your
pupils wide, your cheeks flushed. Your lips . . . so damn beautiful. I always love
you, but when you’re like this, yielding to me so completely, well . . . that’s when
I really fall for you all over again. Every damn time. Because I know you’ve given
yourself into my hands. You make yourself so vulnerable it makes my chest ache. And
I have never said anything like that to anyone in my life.” He paused to stroke her
cheek, her jaw, her throat. “Love you, baby girl.”

“Love you, too, you beast.”

He smiled, leaned down to kiss her. When she tried to curl her hands behind his neck,
he gently pried them away, held her wrists as he lowered her arms to the bed and laid
her down once more. He lowered his body over hers, and it was only when he brushed
up against her stomach that she realized he was hard again.

“You’re such a nymphomaniac,” she murmured, her body heavy and languid with endorphins
and an aching renewed desire.

“Men can’t be nymphomaniacs,” he argued as he took his rigid shaft in his hand to
guide it to her. “And it’s only with you, Allie. Only you.” He paused, the tip of
his cock resting just inside her. “Tell me again.”

“I’ll tell you everything. Anything. I love you, Mick. I’m yours. Always.”

“Always,” he said, slipping inside her.

She was so wet she took him all in one smooth thrust, gasping as sensation trembled
through her.

“Mmm . . .”

He kissed her lips, took her bottom lip between his teeth and nibbled, pulled back
and bent to kiss her breasts.

She reached for him, holding on to his strong forearms, loving the corded muscle there.
And as he arched into her, taking his time, kissing her neck, her shoulders, she explored
his hard frame with her hands. She slid her palms over his sides, pausing to touch
the scar on his ribs before slipping her hand between their bodies to stroke the rock-hard
surface of his abdomen. She smoothed her fingers over every ridge, loving the contraction
of muscle as he arched his hips, pressing his cock deep inside her.

Pleasure was a slowly building blaze. Scorching her, lighting her up inside. He moved
faster and she held on to him, her arms around his waist, her hands spread wide over
his back.

Desire rose, spiraled, her sex impossibly wet, clasping his rigid flesh inside her.

“You feel so good, baby. So good,” he murmured. “Love you, my baby.”

“Love you, Mick. Oh . . .”

“Yeah, that’s it. I can feel you . . . come with me, my girl.”

“Oh!”

Their bodies rose at the same moment, arms winding tightly around each other. They
shook together, burned together, cried out. Her mind spun, light flashing behind her
eyes as if all the stars in heaven were reeling past.

“Mick!”

“Love you, my baby,” he whispered into her hair. “Love you . . .”

The night was quiet around them. She couldn’t even hear the cicadas that sang all
over the city of New Orleans. All she heard was his steady breathing. The sound of
her heart beating in time with his.

Together.

This was everything she’d ever wanted.

She loved him.

He loved her.

She was scared to death.

She buried her face in his muscled shoulder and let the tears come.

“H
EY.”
H
E ROLLED
onto his side, taking her with him. “What’s this?”

She sniffed. “It’s nothing.”

“Transparency, baby.”

“Sorry. You’re right. It’s just that . . . I’m scared, Mick. Aren’t you?”

“Hell, yes. But I’m trying not to run anymore.”

She pressed her cheek against his chest, taking comfort in the solidity of his big
body. “That makes me feel a little better.”

He laughed. “That I’m not running or that I’m still scared?”

“Not that you’re scared. I mean, yes, that you’re scared, but not because I want you
to be.” She wiped the final traces of tears away. It just makes me feel a little more . . .
normal.”

“Baby girl, there is nothing normal about us.”

“No, I guess not,” she agreed, smiling. “A pastry chef with no bakery who likes to
be beaten, and a security expert who
gets into illegal fights and likes to hurt pretty girls. Pretty fucked up, huh?”

“I only want to hurt
you
, from now on. In the good way. And yeah, pretty fucked up. Anyway, about the bakery . . .”

She pulled away and looked up at him. “I’m going to start my own business doing bakery
catering. I’ll rent kitchen space somewhere. I don’t want to work for anyone else
anymore.”

“You should keep at it with your family—you can get through to them eventually, get
them to see your ideas are the best possible plan for Dolcetti. That’s where you’re
meant to be. Where you’ve always belonged. Like you do with me. Like you do in New
Orleans.”

“They’re never going to listen, and I’m done banging my head against that particular
wall. I need to redraw my business plan with this other course of action in mind.
I can’t wait on them forever. And Mick? Can we argue about this another time?”

“We’re not arguing. I just want the best for you. You know that, right?”

“I do. But right now I need to just be here with you. I don’t want to have any serious
discussions for a while. Is that okay?”

“Anything you want.”

He pulled her in close, and she sighed as she breathed in his familiar scent. Smiled
when her sex went wet all over again. But she didn’t need sex right now. His arms
around her, their bodies pressed close, knowing he loved her, was enough.

“Don’t fuck it up, Mick,” she murmured, smiling to herself.

“You are one sassy little wench, girl.”

“You love that about me.”

“Yeah, I do. Doesn’t mean I don’t owe you one hell of a spanking later, though. With
a small club.”

She closed her eyes, burrowed in closer. “You would never spank me with a club.”

“I’m beginning to consider it.”

He bent and kissed the top of her head, pushed her hair back and kissed her cheek,
her lips. He pulled back and she looked up to see him shaking his head.

“What?” she asked.

“Who would have believed this? After all this time.”

“Marie Dawn did. Jamie sort of did or he wouldn’t have helped me.”

“Remind me to take that club to his ass, too.”

She giggled. “Like that’ll ever happen.”

His face grew sober. “
This
happened. I feel like it’s a miracle, Allie.”

So did she. No matter how much she’d wanted to believe they could be together again,
she’d always harbored doubts. A screaming fear she couldn’t quite put voice to—it
was too painful to really consider. But here they were. Together. Happy.

“You’re right. It is a small miracle. It’s what I wanted for so long. Thank God I
was stubborn enough to get it.”

“Thank
you
,” he whispered as his arms tightened around her.

*   *   *

T
HEY SPENT THE
next several weeks, in between Mick’s work gigs, visiting all their favorite old
haunts, like the Court of Two Sisters, where they feasted on peppery shrimp wrapped
in bacon and cold beer over long conversations about politics, their families, their
high school days. Art and movies and kink. Friends and books and travel. They stopped
at Café Du Monde sometimes twice in a day to drink the chicory-laced coffee and eat
the sweet, scalding-hot beignets, or sometimes just to see how much powdered sugar
was on the sidewalk surrounding the canopied patio before wandering across the street
to hang out
in Jackson Square, making out on the benches like they had when they were teenagers.

They discovered new common interests, things they’d never done together before. They
both loved the old architecture of the city, and they visited the famous homes that
were part of the official Historic New Orleans Collection. They both particularly
loved the Perrilliat House, with its spiral wooden staircase.

They had dinner with Neal and Marie Dawn, and Allie realized how much she’d missed
seeing Mick with his family, the two men joking with each other in the rough way brothers
often did. And it felt right somehow, everyone being together as couples. Of course,
she’d told her best friend that she and Mick were together, but neither Marie Dawn
or Neal questioned them too closely. Everyone had simply accepted their being together,
almost as if it were expected. Perhaps it was.

They had a late brunch with her mother and her aunts and uncles after they’d all returned
from church one Sunday. Mick was immediately taken into the family as if it hadn’t
been thirteen years since he’d last been in her mother’s house, eaten her coq au vin,
the wonderful French peasant stew recipe that had been passed down from Allie’s long-gone
grand-mère
, her father’s mother. They sat around the table and drank wine and talked and argued
for hours, a ritual that had always been part of her family, from both her mother’s
Italian side and her father’s French side—something Allie realized she missed, too,
and she vowed to spend more time with them.

In June Mick invited her to his parents’ house for their annual Father’s Day barbeque.
They’d been back together for almost six weeks, and she still hadn’t seen any of Mick’s
family aside from Neal. She was trying to decide what to wear when her cell phone
rang.

“Marie Dawn—just the person I needed to talk to.”

“What’s up,
chérie
? Everything okay with you and Mick?”

“Everything’s great.”

“Is he there? Or are you at his place?”

“No, I’m at my house, alone. Why?”

“Just making sure that wasn’t girlcode because he was standing right next to you.”

“Things really are great. Better than great. It’s been amazing with us.”

“Then what did you need to talk to me about?” Marie Dawn asked.

“I need my best friend for more than relationship advice, you know.”

“Like what?”

“Like fashion advice.”

“You’re the one who traveled the world and came home with that sense of simple European
sophistication,
mon amie
.”

“I did not,” Allie protested, digging through her dresser drawer while holding her
cell phone between her ear and shoulder. “I came back with oven burns and an overwhelming
urge to kiss everyone’s cheeks.”

Marie Dawn sighed. “All you do is add one of those tissue-thin scarves to a wifebeater
and jeans, and you look like a million dollars. It’s so damn . . . French.”

Allie laughed. “Okay, the scarf trick
is
French. But what I really need to know is what to wear to this barbeque.”

“It’s a barbeque. Wear your jeans and that scarf.”

“But it’s Father’s Day and I haven’t seen his family for years, other than you guys.
Shouldn’t I wear a dress or something?”

“Sure, a sundress, if you want. This is New Orleans, in case you’ve forgotten. It’s
going to be almost ninety and humid out there. My only advice would be to put your
hair up.”

Allie bit her lip, holding up a dusky pink cotton tank trimmed in lace. “Hmm . . .
okay, I’ll do that.”

“So . . .” Marie Dawn started. “How are things with you two . . . you know . . . at
the club?”

“We haven’t been going. We’ve just kind of wanted to spend time reconnecting. We both
feel the same way about it—like the club would almost be a distraction right now.
We just want it to be about the two of us.”

“That sounds really good. I’m happy for you,
chérie
.”

Allie straightened up, smiling. “So am I.”

“So you’ve put the kinky stuff on hold, then?”

She laughed. “You are so nosy! But no, we haven’t put the kink on hold. We’re just
doing our thing at home. Technically. There was that one time in his truck . . . and
maybe one time on a bench at Washington Square Park.”

“Allie! You had sex at a
park
? Where there are kids?”

“It was right after sunset, and the park had emptied out because it started to rain.
And we didn’t have sex. He was just sort of . . . holding my hands behind my back
and kissing me really hard and pulling my hair and . . . you really don’t want to
know any more than that.”

“Oh, but I do. Brother-in-law or not.” She paused for a moment. “You know, I’ve been
thinking lately that Neal and I could spice things up a bit. I may need to come to
you with some questions.”

“Anytime. Except for at this Father’s Day thing.”

“Oh my God—can you imagine their mother overhearing a conversation like that?”

“Please. She’d die of shock.”

Marie Dawn giggled.

“Promise me you’ll behave,” Allie demanded. “You’ve been part of the Reid family longer
than I have.”

“Longer than . . . ? Allie, are you guys planning on getting engaged or something?”
Allie heard her take in a breath. “Did you get engaged and not tell me? Are you two
going to announce it today?”

“What? No. Of course not.”

“Why ‘of course not’? You just said—”

“It was a slip of the tongue. We’re not there yet, Marie Dawn. We haven’t even been
back together for two months yet. We haven’t talked about anything that far in the
future. If we had, you know you’d be the first person I called.”

But they sort of had—they’d both used the word
forever
. Still, now that Marie Dawn had asked, Allie couldn’t help but wonder if either of
them truly had a grasp on what
forever
meant.

Part of her wanted it. That commitment. That promise of enduring love.

No. This is enough.

She and Marie Dawn hung up, agreeing to talk more later, and it came to Allie all
at once that she’d been trying to allow it to be enough. But some part of her was
left unsatisfied.

She hated to be such a girl. But when had she ever imagined walking down the aisle
with anyone but Mick Reid?

She shook her head, slammed the dresser drawer shut. She was being ridiculous. She
was happy with things as they were.
They
were happy. And did she really have any better grasp on
forever
than Mick did? Wasn’t the idea of that what scared her?

Or maybe it was the idea of something as wonderful as the love they had for each other
being taken away. It felt . . . inevitable.

Don’t think about it.

She’d been pushing that thought to the back of her mind ever since they’d talked about
love. But she couldn’t help that it came
creeping back in sometimes. Like after they’d made love staring into each other’s
eyes and it felt like a gift, and she’d have to swallow down her tears.

She’d gotten good at pretending, hadn’t she? Pretending the fear wasn’t always there,
hovering. Waiting.

No.

She had to shake it off or the fear was going to ruin everything. It was the one thing
she couldn’t talk to Mick about. The one thing she had to keep locked away in a dark
corner.

She opened the dresser drawer again and stuffed the tank top back in, going to the
closet to distract herself more than anything, maybe. She finally decided on a long
cotton-knit sundress in a modern print in shades of orange and brown. She grabbed
her favorite flat brown leather sandals she’d bought in Barcelona years earlier, and
added a pair of silver hoop earrings after putting her hair up, as Marie Dawn had
suggested.

Looking at her reflection in the mirror she told herself not to be silly—his family
had always liked her and there wouldn’t be a problem. But the real problem was the
nagging voice in the back of her mind that worried about this being one more step
in a serious direction.

“What are you even thinking?” she asked her reflection aloud. “You’re with the man
you love, who loves you back.”

She was too afraid to assure herself it wouldn’t all disappear at some point, just
dissolve like soap bubbles on the wind.
Because
she loved him. She didn’t dare believe in it too much. It made her so sad—it hurt
to the core—if she let herself dwell on that thought.

She squared her shoulders. “So I just won’t.”

But the mirror didn’t lie. She could see for herself the haunted look in her eyes.
She’d have to do better before she saw Mick.

*   *   *

M
ICK HELPED HER
out of the truck in front of his parents’ home, a perfectly kept two-story wood-sided
colonial built in the 1930s.