Dangerously Bound (6 page)

She pushed her hair from her face, too hot suddenly. Even her robe seemed like too
much weight on her shoulders. And the same heat danced almost viciously between her
thighs.

She stood, loosening her robe as she moved down the hallway and back into the bedroom.
She arrived there naked, tossing the robe onto the end of the bed.

Her toys were still lined up on the smooth sheets. The comforter lay in a pile on
the floor at the foot of the bed. She bit her lip, chose two items and moved into
the bathroom.

She reached into the shower and turned it on, made sure the temperature was cool before
she stepped in, her toys in hand.

She gasped a little as the cold water hit her heated skin, then let her body melt
into it. She closed her eyes, leaned against the pink tiles, enjoying the flow of
water over her body. And thought about Mick.

God, the things he’d written in his emails. The list of kinks. His attitude—cocky
to the point of arrogance, but the level of command there was staggering. Maybe because
it was him. Maybe because he simply
was
that commanding. Either way, her body was responding like crazy. And despite her
earlier orgasms, she needed to come again. Badly.

Mick.

She could imagine him binding her in his ropes, her arms behind her back while he
built a harness around her breasts.

“Oh . . .”

She switched on the small bullet vibe and pressed it between the slick folds of her
aching pussy. Paused for several moments, enjoying the buzzing vibrations before she
pushed it inside.

“Oh!”

It felt so good, pleasure coiling tight, waiting to be sprung free.

He would pinch her nipples once he had her breasts bound. His fingers would be hard
and punishing.

“Please, Mick,” she whispered as she turned the other vibrator on—this one a small
pink textured vibe. It was long, narrow, but had a powerful buzz she loved.

Squeezing her sex so the bullet would stay put, she touched a fingertip to one hard
nipple, squeezed her breast, kneaded it, finally drew out her nipple between her fingers.
Then, pinching hard at the base, she touched the tip of the vibrator to her sensitive
flesh.

She moaned, did it again, just brushing her taut nipple, the electric shivers running
through her body joining with the vibrations deep inside her sex.

Her climax hovered, but she bit it back. For him.

She breathed in, held the air in her lungs, held on as long as she could. But in moments
Mick’s face, his words, the shivering vibrators, did their job. She pinched her nipple
hard as she came, pleasure exploding in her body, in her head. Stars whirled behind
her closed eyelids. Mick’s face was there, his big hands. His deep voice commanding
her to come harder.

She did, her hips jerking until she had to press her fingers to her clenching pussy
to keep the bullet inside her.

“Oh, God . . . Mick . . .”

Even his name was hot on her lips. And before her climax could fade away, another
began, shaking her, making her sob his name.

“Mick!”

The long vibrator slipped from her hand, but it didn’t matter. It was knowing she
was going to him, and oh, God, the things he was going to do to her. That alone was
enough to make her come.

Finally her body calmed and she pulled the bullet from her sex, switched it off. She
sank to her knees on the hard porcelain, trying to catch her breath as the cool water
poured over her.

It was never going to be enough. Because it was Mick. Even once they were playing
together, when the fantasies in her head were finally brought to life, would that
be enough for her?

She didn’t know. He was intoxicating. Dangerous. She hadn’t
known the truth of it until she’d seen him again. She hadn’t known exactly what that
man could do to her body simply by talking to her, by just being
himself
. And how much more powerful would his effect on her be when she was naked beneath
his hands? When she was vulnerable in subspace?

For the first time she had to question the viability of her plan. Maybe she was crazy
to think she could be with Mick. Be with him, if he was not going to . . . what?

“If he’s not going to love me,” she admitted, her voice a breathless whisper.

The water fell, echoing around her. She let the cold calm her.

No. She could do this. If Mick wouldn’t give her his heart, then at least she could
finally give him her body. All of it, with everything out on the table between them.

Except that she was still in love with him. That secret she would keep to herself.

M
ICK LOCKED THE
door to his flat and went downstairs. Moving out onto the quiet New Orleans street,
he jogged down the sidewalk. Nothing too fast, keeping an easy, even pace, warming
up for the workout he’d do once he reached the gym ten blocks away.

He needed the workout. Not only to keep in shape for his fights, but after seeing
Allie, his blood had been humming too damn fast. Too damn hot.

He needed to work her out of his system before she was in his hands.

A part of him could hardly believe he was going to have Allie at The Bastille. Under
his command. In his ropes. He was a bastard for agreeing to her crazy plan. But she
had the references. She obviously knew what she was getting into from the BDSM side
of things. She sure as hell didn’t know what she was getting into with
him
, no matter how many years they’d known each other.

He took a right down Esplanade Avenue, free of traffic and crowds this early in the
morning, heading toward the Faubourg Marigny. He picked up his pace, reveling in the
way his lungs opened up.

How did you warn someone of your own bitterness? He didn’t like to admit it to himself.
But it was there, like a serpent hiding in the shadows. Bitterness about his own foolish
mistakes. About what he’d had to deny himself because of it—being a firefighter, like
his father, his brothers, his grandfather. That anger burned through him to this day,
but he kept it banked through the fights, and through the control he exerted as a
Dominant.

Except that Allie challenged his control too damn much. But he was going to play her
anyway.

Maintain control.

Words to live by. And he did, damn it. He
would
.

He passed the old iron gates of Washington Square, the trees bent, their leaves nearly
touching the ground. A few homeless, regular residents of the park, still lay sleeping
under their blankets on the grass, where later in the day the local musicians would
jam.

He and Allie had spent some time on that grass, listening to music, talking, kissing . . .

The old plaid blanket he kept in a roll on the back of his bike. Allie lying on it,
her hair spread in long, silky strands, her eyes glinting golden in the sunlight.

“Mick, kiss me again.” A small smile on her lovely face, her hands coming up to push
his hair out of his eyes, then skimming down to grab the lapels of his leather jacket
and pulling him closer. She laughed. “Come on, Mick. You know I can never get enough.
Kissing is my favorite thing.”

“You’re my favorite thing, Allie girl.”

“Oh, now you really have to kiss me.”

He leaned in to press his lips to hers. Lips like plush velvet,
tasting of summer. Tasting of her. Their skin, their hair, smelling of the sunshine
in the park. Kissing until their lips hurt, then laughing about it. His heart hammering
simply because he held his girl so close, because her eyes were so damn pretty, shining
with love when he pulled back to look at her. Love for
him
. Pretty heady stuff. But she was
his
girl, and this was exactly how it should be.

Except for the dark beast he kept hidden away from her. The one side of him he could
never show her.

Damn it.

He pushed himself harder, starting to break a sweat in the humid morning air.

He needed to stop thinking of her for one damn minute. That was how he’d let his sparring
partner’s fist through yesterday morning.

No point in thinking about it now. He forced his mind to empty, to focus on his breathing,
on his feet pounding the pavement as he ran the last few blocks.

He slowed as he reached the gym and swung open the door. It was already crowded, but
he spotted his sparring partner, Antoine Duke, working out with the double-end bag,
his dark skin gleaming with sweat. He’d see if Antoine would have time to work the
heavy bag with him when he was done. He’d be meeting his Muay Thai instructor later
for a more thorough MMA workout. Meanwhile, he’d start on the speed bag. It’d be good
for him. Help him burn off some of this energy raging through his system.

He would be in the gym every morning until he saw Allie. And maybe every night. He
hated to admit how much he needed it right now, but seeing her had dragged memories
to the surface, things he’d rather forget.

Sometimes he thought he’d rather forget her—not that it was possible. Especially now
that she was in New Orleans.

And he was going to play her at the club.

He took a quick jab at the bag, let his fist plow a lot harder into it than he should
since he hadn’t warmed up his hands yet. Fuck it. He would do whatever it took to
calm the hell down. Had to. Because these same hands would be touching her bare flesh
all too soon.

He slammed the bag again, focusing on the pain in his knuckles. Welcomed it. Deserved
it.

Allie. Naked. Under his command.

Oh, yeah. He was definitely going to hell. He was pretty sure it’d be worth it.

*   *   *

M
ORNING CAME TOO
early, the sky a still blanket of fog outside her windows when Allie realized she
wasn’t going to be able to get back to sleep. She’d tossed and turned all night, waking
up as often as every hour. Always thinking of Mick.

She sat up, stretched, threw back the covers and picked up her robe, slipped it on.
She made her way into the kitchen, pausing to open up her laptop as she passed the
table before she started coffee brewing. She’d need it this morning. She sat down
and browsed through email while she waited for the coffeepot to finish.

She’d always loved the scent of coffee. It reminded her of her father. He’d always
been the first one up in the morning, making coffee for her mother before she left
to go to Dolcetti, the family bakery, at four a.m. It was her father who was there
to help her get ready for school, who made her breakfast, packed her lunch, even braided
her hair. Except when he was on tour—then her mother and her aunts would take turns
staying with her until it was time for school. But it was those mornings with her
father she had loved best.

Bertrand LeClair had been a brilliant concert pianist. She remembered music in the
house, always, whether it was him playing the old grand piano in his study she wasn’t
allowed into without his permission, or the symphonies and operas he’d listened to.

Her mother hadn’t been to the opera since her father died. She couldn’t bear it. But
Allie still adored the opera her father had taught her to love.

She got up when the coffeepot beeped and poured herself a cup, took it back to the
table and clicked into her music library, opened her favorite recording of
Lakmé
. It was a sad opera about ill-fated lovers. She’d often thought of herself and Mick
as Lakmé and Gérald. Not that she planned to kill herself, like the poor, grieving
Lakmé. It was simply that sense of impossibility that had haunted her for so long.

She’d accepted it all these years. But no more. Mick Reid was going to give her one
more chance whether he liked it or not. She would do her best to see that he did.

It was in her, that need to please. It always had been. She’d never understood what
it was when Mick whispered the words
good girl
in her ear, all those years ago. She’d only known it had made her shiver.

God, to hear him say that to her again . . .

A small shudder went through her, leaving goose bumps all over her skin.

She shook herself. She couldn’t sit there mooning over him all day. She had work to
do.

She fired off an email to Jamie reminding him to ask his brother to call her about
doing the repairs on the house, then opened up the business plan she’d spent months
putting together to expand the family business. Her mother and aunts would be hard
cases, she knew, but she’d always had so many ideas, and
now she had the training and experience in the field to back it up. Maybe this time
they wouldn’t turn her down.

Two cups of coffee and two hours later, her cell phone rang. She got up and picked
it up off the counter, smiling when she saw her best friend’s name on the screen.

“Marie Dawn, you’re up early.”

“Neal had an early shift at the firehouse—I’ve been up since five. I didn’t want to
wake you, but I’m dying to know how things went yesterday. I got your message but
I couldn’t call you back. I was taking care of
grand-mère
until late last night.”

She poured herself another cup of coffee and stood at the counter with it. “It’s no
problem, hon. And I’ve been up since six myself. I couldn’t sleep. Too much on my
mind.”

“Let me guess what that might be.”

“You don’t exactly have to be a mind reader.”

“So, tell me everything,” Marie Dawn prompted.

“Well . . .” She paused, sipped her coffee. “. . . He was pissed.”

“As we expected him to be.
Continue
.”

“I’m really glad Jamie was there. It helped, even if it was mostly to give us both
something else to focus on. And why in the world didn’t you tell me Mick is still
fighting, Marie Dawn?”

“Because I knew you’d worry, and I didn’t want to do that to you. If he was ever seriously
injured I would have let you know.”

“He hasn’t been?”

“Nothing more than a few broken fingers, and that badly broken nose, but that was
years ago, when you were still in Europe. There would have been no point in telling
you then.”

“I noticed the scar yesterday. And a bruise on his face. I don’t like it.”

“He’s not about to stop,
mon amie
.”

“I know.” Allie blew out a long breath. “No one has ever been able to tell Mick anything.”

“Does that mean he didn’t agree to your plan?”

“Actually, he did. I’m a little surprised, to be honest.” In truth, she was shocked.
As brazen as she’d been going into it, she’d always doubted he would agree. “I just
had to try, you know, Marie Dawn? Even if he’d walked away, at least I’d have given
it one last shot. That was what was really in my mind. I had to be determined.”

“Why are you being so fatalistic?” her friend asked. “Especially now that he’s going
to do this?”

“You know our history better than anyone but Jamie. And I don’t even know if he knows
that Mick and I slept together that time.”

“I do know the history. But I also know how Mick feels about you,” Marie Dawn said.
“It’s obvious any time your name is mentioned. He loves you, Allie.”

“So everyone keeps telling me. And . . . I think he does, too. Or maybe I just like
to think so.” She sighed. She couldn’t help it. Hope was a tight knot in her chest.
“Maybe I’m delusional.”

“You’re not.”

“We’ll see. He’s taking me to the club Friday night.”

“We’re finally giving up the details! More,
s’il vous plâit
. How did you accomplish this feat?”

Allie couldn’t help but smile at the glee in her friend’s voice. “Jamie and I managed
to corner him into it by telling him if he didn’t play me, I’d find someone who would.”

“Very clever.”

“I almost feel bad about it. It was manipulative.”

“How do you think I got Neal to marry me?”

Allie snorted. “You did not. Everyone knew he was going to marry you the day you two
met.”

“Still, men sometimes need a little push. Or a big one in Mick’s
case. But the bigger they come, the harder they fall. I almost wish I shared this
kink of yours so I could be there to see it.”

“You’re married to his brother. Mick would freak if you showed up at the club.”

“And I don’t have any real desire to go, but I
do
want to know every detail. Can we have lunch on Saturday?”

“That would be great.”

“Okay, good. I need to go run a few errands, but call me this week if you want to
talk.”

“I will. And I’ll see you on Saturday.”

They hung up and Allie poured the rest of her coffee down the sink. She was jittery
enough—she didn’t need the caffeine. Instead, she’d go for a run, then head to Dolcetti
to gauge her family’s mood before she launched her plan to convince them to let her
into the business.

She felt a bit better after talking to Marie Dawn. If nothing else, it was nice to
know she and Jamie were on her side. Now that left only Mick.

She was nervous about Friday night. And incredibly, almost unbearably excited. Physically.
Emotionally. She was also a little afraid. Or maybe a lot.

What if she and Mick didn’t gel when it came to the kink? Their physical chemistry
had always been mind-blowing, but she knew that didn’t always translate to a good
kink match. On the other hand, what if their kink compatibility was as amazing as
their sexual chemistry, but Mick still turned away from her after they’d played? She
wasn’t sure she could bear it. But there was always the possibility that she wasn’t
what he was looking for in a submissive. That she might not please him. And in this
realm, within the D/s and S/M dynamic, that was a crucial element. She could be very
submissive in the BDSM realm, which
was the polar opposite of who she was in her everyday life, but she was no service
sub. What if he wanted more of a slave mentality, ultimately? She’d never be able
to go there, not even for Mick.