One Hot Winter Break (Yardley College Chronicles Book 2) (5 page)

Sweet, warm breezes blow in through the open door. I fill a second glass with champagne—this one is for Jonathon. With lightning speed, I peel off my clothes. I do it in the Hollywood siren room. This room has a huge oval bed surrounded by sheer gold fabric curtains. They are tied to bedposts with silk bows. The bed columns support an elaborate oval canopy. One wall is entirely covered by mirrors; the other is closets with doors formed of white slats. I open the first set of doors. The closet is made to follow the curve of the walls. The space is enormous, but empty except for a shelf, a rod, and tons of hangers. I open the rest of the doors. The last set is locked. In the next to last, a white silk robe hangs and I pluck it from the hanger.

I slip the robe on and leave it open. This way I am naked, but able to cover myself if I need to. My body looks more enticing when I’m giving glimpses of it.

If Jonathon is angry because I’ve disobeyed his order, I’ll have to deal with it.

I swallow hard. My week of fantasy sex might come to a crashing halt on the first day.

I pad out onto the terrace in my bare feet. The terrace is formed of concrete, covered with beige and amber tile. The tiles are toasty warm under my feet even though the sun has set now and the sky is the blue-violet of twilight. A huge pool meanders through the terrace, shaped like a natural lagoon. Dark turquoise tiles make the water look heavenly and inviting.

“A waterfall?” I gasp with delight. At the end of the pool, slabs of rock are stacked to make a shaded grotto and water tumbles down the slabs, falling in a curtain off the last one.

Mere feet beyond that, at the end of the terrace, is the smooth sand beach and rolling waves. The water is darker now that it’s evening, but the waves are topped with silver-white crests.

“This pool is ours?”

Jonathon turns. He was gazing at the ocean, holding my champagne. “Just for us, Mia. We also have several hundred feet of private beach. God, you look gorgeous in that robe.” He holds out his hand. “How are you feeling, fantasy girl? You’ve been through a hell of a lot. Breaking up with the man you love, surviving your first term at Yardley, not to mention...” His voice dies away.

He must be thinking of the worst part of my first term. The stalker. Jonathon came to my rescue then. So did Ryan, when I finally admitted to him that I had a guy sending me creepy emails and notes, then he almost assaulted me. Ryan wanted to quit school to stay close to me. In the end, he taught me how to take care of myself.

Ryan is part of the past now
, I remind myself.

Jonathon was there the night the guy grabbed me and was going to rape and kill me. He slammed the guy to the ground with a judo throw and punched him out, which sent the bastard running away. Jonathon was the one who soothed me afterward, who let me rage, freak out, cry.

He hands me the champagne. “I want to give you one week of pure bliss.”

“Thank you.” I know I haven’t thanked him enough.

“I don’t want to push you too hard. When you said you wanted to try everything—”

“I know. I’m sorry. I thought I did, but I don’t know if I can separate the fun from the emotional baggage.”

“You know, you are incredibly beautiful.” He strokes my hair, which has turned into a mass of waves, and while I like to think my hair is strawberry blonde, it can sometimes look closer to orange. My eyes are too wide-set and are dark blue with invisible lashes. My nose is small, covered with freckles, my mouth large. With Ryan, I got out of the habit of wearing makeup. He claimed he liked me more without it. But for Jonathon I did mascara, shadow, and blush this morning. In the bathroom, I discovered it looked faded and worn out from travel and I wiped most of it off.

He’s seeing me almost au natural and telling me I look beautiful. I’m stunned.

“I promise we will take it slowly. I wouldn’t have pursued you if I didn’t believe this was right for you.”

I’ve never known anyone I found it so easy to talk to. Anyone I could be so honest with.

When I think about bondage from a hot, sexy point of view, like a fantasy, I get turned on. When I think of it from a love, respect point of view, I just don’t know. When I think about the past, I start drowning.

I’ve got to learn to move forward.

Suddenly I realize I want him to be right. I want to believe my psyche is based on more than just the pain I’ve known.

I hold up the glass I poured for him. “Okay, tie me up. I really want to fuck now.”

His dark brow lifts. “You don’t give the orders here.”

At first I sputter, then his wide, gorgeous mouth twitches in a smile. I decide to tease right back. “It’s not an order. It’s an invitation to have fun. It’s up to you if you want to take it.”

I enjoy pushing him, teasing him, being feisty, but deep in my heart I worry. I don’t know if I even want to submit, and is that what he is ultimately going to demand? Jonathon is used to having everything and anything he wants.

I can see how we push each other’s buttons. Lara freaked out over Jonathon’s playroom filled with BDSM goodies when she first saw it in September—I teased him about it. When he explained it’s not because he’s screwed up, it’s just the way he likes sex, I think I understood. When he took me to visit one of his clubs,
Tied
, he explained the rule of BDSM communities: safe, sane, consensual. I’ve seen what happens there, met people, and many had no wounds or pain in their pasts.

And I know my psyche and Jonathon’s are based on more than just the pain we’ve known.

I loved to bug him, annoy him, challenge him. And he liked it. It tempted him to pursue me and to be my friend when I refused to be anything more.

I loved to bug him, annoy him, challenge him. And he liked it. It tempted him to pursue me and to be my friend when I refused to be anything more.

He made it so easy for me to talk about my past, about sexuality, pain and recovery and growing stronger.

But after this week is over, is he going to want to move on? For months, I’ve been a challenge, which intrigues him, but I’m not stunningly beautiful, or imbued with a great pedigree, or famous in my own right. I’m just starting to make my stamp on the world. I want to finish college, start a career, and eventually build my own architectural design firm.

My heart still hurts from breaking up with Ryan. I’ve gone for rebound kink, and I wonder how big a mistake it might be if my heart gets involved.

***

Jonathon finishes his champagne in one quick swallow and sets down his glass.

He comes up to me and unthreads the belt from my robe. Slowly he wraps the ends of it around his hands. The pure white of the silk makes his tanned forearms look darker. He’s pushed up the sleeves of his casual shirt so I can see the hardness of his muscles and a small tattoo near his wrist.

He has beautiful arms. I reach out and let my fingers, damp from champagne condensation, run along his skin.

“You will touch me when I give permission.”

I lift my brow. “Seriously?”

“Seriously. You’ll enjoy the scene if you explore it fully. If you trust me.”

“All right.” I meet his gaze.

“There’s something I want you to understand,” he says softly. “You’re afraid and I know why. There’s like a huge dam in my head, and it keeps stuff held back, where I won’t remember it. I have to keep the dam intact. If I loosen my control on it, I’m afraid my head would explode.”

The feeling is so familiar I’m speechless. He’s explained exactly what I feel. “That’s what I have to do,” I say. “Keep the dam intact. Little thoughts come and they chip at it. I have to be vigilant, in case it breaks. Sometimes it seems more like Pandora’s Box than a dam, because it’s as if there is a flock of demons inside waiting to get out.”

He steps closer to me and winds the belt around my right wrist. I let him. “We’re very much the same,” he says.

Jonathon can jet to
Azure
when he wants and rent a twelve-person villa for a week without blinking an eye. I have to finish school as fast as possible so I can start earning money to support myself and help my mom.

“We aren’t alike,” I say, stating the obvious, “But we’ve known similar pain. That’s why I can talk to you. I know you understand.” I glance up at his eyes. They reflect the dark purple of the twilight sky, turning them from green to an impossible-to-read black. “And the way you like to play sexually never touches your dam?”

“No. This kind of play is fulfilling. Enjoyable. Studies have shown it eases stress. I sense it will work for you, Mia.”

“Recommended by four out of five doctors,” I tease. Then I bite my lip. “What if this type of play causes my dam to burst?”

“It won’t because I’m not here to abuse you.”

The simple honesty of that stuns me.

The belt slides around my left wrist and he draws my hands together.
Focus on Jonathon. This is about sex with him. About two adults engaging in mutually beneficial play.

But I say, “Maybe I shouldn’t have my hands tied. I want to touch you. Remember your ass on the plane? I could give you a lot of pleasure with untied hands.” I guess I’m nervous.

“You look too hot like this.” He picks up his glass, flicks open my robe and lets his champagne flute brush my nipples. The combination of warmth, chill, and moisture makes them pucker and stand up at once. I lower my bound hands, allowing him complete access to my naked breasts and my large, puffy nipples.

“Would you suck them?” I whisper. My breasts are aching, my pussy pulsing. Memories of the plane flight hit me like a movie montage, like erotic scenes from porn movie that is actually sexy.

“You can make requests, gorgeous. Not commands.”

“I can do as I want. But you don’t have to indulge me, I guess, if you really don’t want to suck my tits…”

He catches his breath. I do like being bold with him. He lowers to my right breast and lets a soft champagne-scented breath breeze across my nipple. The tingles race down to my toes.

“You’re so wet. I’ve barely touched you, and I can smell how aroused you are.”

The snug pressure of the silk around my wrists is making me wet. Being with Jonathon is making my legs shake with desire. I look around and I’m surrounded by heaven, but I tear my gaze from the stars beginning to wink in the sky, away from the moonlight-tinted roll of the waves. All I want to look at is Jonathon.

If I wanted to be a submissive, he would definitely be the guy I’d want tying me up. At twenty-four, his success glows from him. He exudes confidence. Power.

His hair is thick and black, brushing the collar of his white shirt, with bangs in the front that he sweeps to the side now and again. Deep blue from the sky reflects on his dark, shiny tresses, along with gold from the lights that illuminate the pool.

Kaleidoscope eyes. Jonathon’s eyes make me think of that line in the Beatles song. Bright green, his eyes constantly change. Sometimes they are almost turquoise, sometimes a vivid light green, sometimes they are like emeralds, or even dark as ivy.

“You talked about tying me spread-eagle on the bed,” I say. “It that really what you want?”

“Yes. Ready?”

I nod. Then regret it. I will have completely relinquished control. The feeling makes me uncomfortable. It reminds me of the times I knew my stepfather wanted to do things with me, but I didn’t know what, and I had to wait, all the while wishing I could get up the courage to run.

Memories threaten to rise up like zombies, intent on destroying my brain.

As if he knows, Jonathon rolls my left nipple between thumb and forefinger. Still clamping my nipple, he leads me, with my hands bound, into the huge bedroom where I’d stripped off my clothes.

“This is you and I,” he says. “Safe. Consensual. Fun.”

Here, he removes the belt, freeing my hands and letting it drop to the floor.

He goes to the last closet door, the locked one. Pulls a key from his pocket, opens the door to display a wall of sex toys, just like the ‘playroom’ attached to his bedroom in his home near the Yardley campus.

His grin gives me the treat of his dimples. He looks very pleased with himself. There’s a rough, harsh, tightness around his mouth that’s extra sexy. His breathing is on the edge of hard. He’s obviously extremely horny—he has a huge bulge in his jeans.

He reaches up to the top shelf, which is easy for him since he’s about six-feet tall, though shorter than Ryan who is six-two. He brings down four lengths of rope.

Here I go…

He doesn’t say a word, and he doesn’t have to. I can figure out the logistics. I was good at math in high school, which was what got me into the School of Architecture at Yardley. I peel off the robe, knowing I’ve committed to letting Jonathon see all of me, and lie on the bed. I spread my arms wide and open my legs.

 “Very good.”

Oddly, the praise makes me feel good.
Really?
My cynical voice decides to come and play.
That’s what you need? A pat on the head from a guy because you do what he wants in bed? You know how meaningless that is.

Shut up
, I growl at my inner cynic. I’m here for fun. For once, no one is going to hurt me or judge me. Not even
me
.

One black velvet rope skims around my right wrist. Who knew a brush against the wrist could make pure electricity sizzle through you, and make you ache for sex? Jonathon ties a snug knot. I can’t see it well, but it looks like a work of art. No simple knot, it’s a complicated twist and weaving of black velvet.

He draws the rope tight and ties it to a ring in the bedpost.

Why can’t we both be healthy, free of our pasts? Shouldn’t there be a way for he, for me, to not need a dam anymore? To make all the memories go away and start clean? I know that’s impossible, but it seems wrong that the rest of our lives will involve coping with crap that was imposed on us.

You’re in paradise
, my cynic points out.
Get over it.

Jonathon sheds his casual shirt. This is the first time I’ve seen him somewhat naked. Beautiful V-shaped back, tight waist. His muscles come from working out in his gym, so they’re bulkier than Ryan’s—not as wiry. Another tattoo graces his right shoulder, but it’s small and looks like just a graphic design of lines.