Pleasure's Edge (13 page)

Her fingers uncurled from the quilt. “Okay. Okay, I get that, I guess.”

“Good. Because we have to be in agreement about this or it doesn’t happen again. If you want it to. Do you, Dylan? Or are you done with this? With me?”

Some smal part of her mind was screaming at her to hang up and never see him again. But there was no way she was going to do that. Impossible.

“No. I’m not done.”

“Come back here tonight, then.”

“To your house?”

Excitement and nerves trembled through her in equal measures.

“Yes. Tonight at eight.” His voice was soft, low, but the air of command was perfectly clear. “Take a cab. I’l pay for it.”

“That’s not necessary.”

“Yes, it is,” he insisted, and she knew from his tone not to try to argue any further.

Her whole body was vibrating with need, just from that tone in his voice. Absolute control. Command. She couldn’t get over that.

But she couldn’t deny it, either.

“Al right. I’l be there.”

“Good. And, Dylan?”

“Yes?”

“Be prepared not to leave again until I take you home. Is that understood?”

She paused, pushed a hand through her hair. Rebel ion rose in her, but it seemed sil y to her now. She swal owed it down.

“Yes. Understood.”

“And come hungry. I plan to feed you. To talk.”

“What?”

“Talking is part of it. I thought I’d made that clear already.”

“You did, yes. But I thought that since we’ve . . . gotten started . .

. ” She trailed off, uncertain as to what she was going to say.

“You thought that since we’d begun our play there was nothing more to learn about each other? We’re just beginning this journey, Dylan. I’l see you tonight. Don’t be late.” He hung up and she flipped her phone shut, her body trembling with nerves. With need. With an irresistible hunger. And stil , the slightest edge of anger.

Oh, she was in trouble with this man. Trouble she couldn’t turn away from. It was like having a tiger by the tail, but she’d chosen this tiger. Now al she could do was hold on tight and hope it wouldn’t destroy her.

Alec’s house looked just as she remembered it: surprisingly homey, with the wide front porch, the golden glow of light coming through the half-closed wooden shutters.

She’d cal ed him when she was a few minutes away, as he’d instructed her by e-mail soon after their phone conversation, and he was waiting at the curb. Al she could see was his tal silhouette, backlit by the light from the house.

His shoulders were so broad. There was something about the sheer size of him that just did her in. He made her feel more female, somehow. Even more so when he offered his hand to help her from the cab.

“Evening, Dylan. I’m glad you’re here.”

“I ... So am I.”

It was true. There was no use questioning that anymore.

He kept her hand in his as he led her up the front stairs and into the house, letting her go only long enough to help her off with her coat.

“You look beautiful,” he told her, his gaze intense, assessing, and she found her cheeks warming.

“Thank you.”

There was something about the fact that he never failed to tel her she was beautiful every time he saw her. Not that she needed to hear it al the time. Stil , it was nice.

He was as beautiful as ever, his dark hair just a little mussed, making her want to run her hands through it. He was dressed more casual y tonight, in a pair of worn jeans and a black T-shirt that fit snugly across his shoulders, the firm muscles of his chest. He looked very much the bad boy, with his goatee and his tattoos.

Except that there was absolutely nothing boyish about him.

“I’m not the best cook in the world, but I make a passable pasta.

Are you hungry, Dylan?”

“A little.”

She noticed then that the house was warm, the air fragrant with the scent of cooking food.

“Come with me into the kitchen. It’s almost ready.” She fol owed him down a short hal way toward the back of the house and through a doorway. The kitchen was a large space, the old architecture preserved, but the red granite counters, maple cabinets and brushed steel appliances were al new. It was modern, but like the rest of the house, had an easy, comfortable feel to it. The pasta boiling on the stove sent steam into the air, making the place even cozier.

A bel went off, and she jumped.

“Dylan, don’t be nervous. We’re just going to eat dinner. For now, anyway.”

“I’m not . . . I just . . . No, you’re right. I hate being so ful of nerves. It makes me feel as though I’m not entirely in control of myself, my own responses. But I suppose dealing with my control issues is part of what the power play is about for me. I’m just beginning to realize that in some deeper way.”

“The heavier BDSM play tends to bring a few epiphanies with it.

That’s not uncommon. And it’s not a bad thing, either.”
Heavier BDSM
. Was that what they were doing? Her body clenched, a smal tremor of pleasure running through her as she flashed to what they’d done together the night before.

“Try to relax while we eat.” Alec turned to the stove and tested the pasta with a fork. “Ah, this is done. Go ahead and pour yourself a glass of wine, if you like.” He paused, looking up, and she was struck again by the bril iance of his blue eyes. “But just one.

Intoxication and play aren’t a good mix.”

She nodded her head, said, “Thank you.”

She reached for the open bottle of red wine breathing on the counter and glanced at the label. He had excel ent taste in wine, not that it surprised her. She picked up one of the glasses sitting next to the bottle, fil ed it halfway. She didn’t want her senses compromised even the slightest bit. Not tonight.

“Shal I pour you some, Alec?”

“Yes. Thanks.”

She did, handed the glass to him. He eyed her over the rim as he took a sip.

“You do that wel .”

“I do what wel ?”

“Serve.”

“It’s nothing more than good manners.”

“Perhaps.”

“You’re teasing me now.”

He grinned before turning back to the pasta. She watched as he poured the pot into a strainer, then spooned the pasta onto a plate, added what looked like a marinara sauce from a pan on the stove.

It struck her that this was an odd situation: him cooking a meal for her, sitting down to eat and talk like perfectly civilized people, despite what they planned to do later in the evening. It was a little thril ing. Maybe more than a little, she had to admit when she pictured herself naked, under Alec’s command once more. A smal shiver of lust ran through her bel y.

“Dinner’s ready. Let’s go into the dining room. There’s a salad and bread already on the table.”

She fol owed him through a doorway into the dining room. The wood floor shone in the light of a dozen candles burning al around the room: on the heavy oak table, the antique sideboard. The table was set simply with thick stoneware plates in earthy tones, pale linen napkins, the bread in a wicker basket. In the center of the table was a low bronze bowl, unexpectedly fil ed with floating camel ias.

Alec set the plates down and it was a moment before she realized he was holding her chair for her, waiting for her to sit. She did, let him push the chair in, wondering at al this gal antry. It made the evening seem too normal, when it very obviously wasn’t.

“Is this how it always goes?”

“What do you mean?”

He’d seated himself at the head of the table and was putting his napkin in his lap.

“Like a date.”

“Isn’t that what this is? Whether or not the night ends with me giving you a chaste kiss on your doorstep?”

“I don’t know. Is it? Is that what we’re doing here, Alec?” He was quiet a moment while he picked up a piece of bread and pul ed it apart. She was distracted by the motion of his hands.

They were so strong-looking, like he could pul her apart, if he wanted to.

She shivered.

Final y, he said quietly, “What we are doing is getting to know each other. Do I do this with other women I play with? Yes.

Sometimes. It depends on if it’s a night of casual play at the club or something more serious. And I mean ‘serious’ in that it’s over a longer period of time.”

“You felt a need to clarify that.”

“To clarify what?”

“That for you ‘serious’ does not refer to a serious relationship.”

“I’m not a relationship person. Not in that sense. Is that what you wanted to know?”

“I was simply making an observation.”

“Ah.” He took a bite of his pasta, chewed. “How is your dinner?”

“I don’t know yet, but the wine is very good.”

“Try a bite.”

She knew he was avoiding the conversation, but it didn’t real y matter. She wasn’t looking for a relationship, either. She tasted the pasta, which was tender and delicious.

“You can cook.”

He smiled, looking pleased with himself, and lifted his wine in a mock toast. “I can. What about you?”

“Truthful y, I’m a terrible cook. But I’m very good at ordering out. I don’t like to have to stop what I’m doing to deal with inconsequential matters when I’m writing, so I have my favorite delivery places on speed dial.”

“Food is never inconsequential.”

“Wel , it’s necessary . . . ”

“Necessary doesn’t mean it has to be without joy. Sex is necessary.”

“You have a point. Maybe I’ve just accepted that I can’t create it.

I’d rather sit back and enjoy a good meal someone else has made.”

He smiled, lifted his glass once more. “Some of us are more active in our roles than others.”

She couldn’t help but grin at him. “You do like to emphasize that, don’t you?”

“You’re onto me.” He paused, smiled. “And you’re more comfortable with me tonight.”

“Yes . . . Maybe it’s the wine. But I am more relaxed. Maybe it’s just that we’re sitting here and simply talking.”

“That was part of my evil plan.”

She laughed. “Wel , it’s working. I like that I don’t feel I have to explain myself to you. And it’s not the same thing as when we’re in role, you know—it’s not al about the dominant/submissive thing.

Am I making sense?”

“Yes, absolutely. The power play is always going to be there with me. It’s too much a part of who I am for it to ever be entirely absent. But it does take things to a deeper level. The play itself is more intense, the sex, the levels of trust required.”

“Yes.”

She liked that he understood it wasn’t simply about her responding to the power play in a way that rendered her helpless.

And she didn’t want to question it al too careful y right now. Al she needed to know was that she felt comfortable with him, at ease.

She wanted to enjoy it without picking it apart, for once.

Dangerous.

Yes, this level of comfort with him was dangerous. It would be al too easy to lose herself.
He
was dangerous. But it was a game she was wil ing to play. For now.

Alec took a bite of his pasta, watching her: her hands, the way her throat moved as she swal owed. He could not get over how gorgeous she looked in the candlelight. Her hair was a shining cascade of fiery curls framing the delicate bone structure of her face.

She’d probably appear fragile to most people in her day-to-day life, if she didn’t radiate such an air of authority. But under his hands she was so different. That authority crumbled away. He’d watched her struggle to hang on to it, and loved that she couldn’t, ultimately.

He was getting hard thinking about it. He had to shift in his chair, force his mind away from the memory of her naked skin.

Get it together. Focus.

He took a long swig of his wine. This would work much better if she was the one off balance.

“So Dylan, are you ever going to tel me about your mother?” She looked momentarily surprised. Then she lifted her wine-glass and drank. She took her time in setting it down on the table again. “Probably not.”

“It’s an ongoing situation, then?”

She was looking right at him, her gray eyes clear, glossy in the candlelight. She was alert, on edge. He could see by the tension in her face how guarded she was on this subject, even if she hadn’t been openly refusing to discuss it with him. “Yes.”

“One that you absolutely do not want to talk about.” She sighed. “Are you going to keep pressing me until I do?”

“Not now.”

“Thank you.”

She was stil watching him, her eyes blazing. He enjoyed that little bit of anger in her. He could admit that he got a charge out of it, an added sexual thril . Her fighting him made bringing her to her knees, literal y and figuratively, al the more satisfying.

He eased back in his chair and smiled at her. “I want you in the right frame of mind for what I have planned later.”

“Oh.”

Her features immediately softened; he was certain she had no idea she was doing it. That she wasn’t completely accepting of how easily she went down, submitted to him, even in these smal ways.

Oh yes, perfect for what he had in mind for later. But they had to digest their food first, and he was fine taking his time.

“Tel me about your past relationships, Dylan. We’ve never discussed that.”

“Oh, wel . . . there’s not much to tel .”

“You’re not a relationship person, either?” She paused, sipped the last of her wine, seemed to gather herself, her eyes becoming more focused. “Not real y. I’ve been in a few. I had a boyfriend for two years when I was in col ege, but when school was over I realized I wasn’t in love with him. It didn’t seem fair to drag it out.”