Pushing Her Buttons

by Sabrina York

  He stiffened. “Your name?”

  “You called me Sam. How did you know my name?”

  He nuzzled my neck. I pulled away. I couldn’t let him distract me.

  I rolled over to face him. “How?”

  He shrugged one shoulder. “I asked Duane.”

  I frowned and made a mental note about our doorman’s Christmas bonus. “Why did you ask Duane?”

  He kissed me again. I tolerated it but didn’t respond. When he realized how serious I was—how serious this was—he edged back. “I needed to know.”

  “Did you ask Duane anything else?” A sense of sudden dread curled in my belly. Exactly how much did he know about me? About my past? My present? My world?

  He stood up and took my hand. “I don’t want to talk about this. Come have some lunch.”

  I yanked away. “I don’t want to eat. I want you to tell me what you asked Duane.”

  He scrubbed his eyes his palms. When he finally turned to me, his expression was harsh. “Everything, all right? I asked him everything.”

  Everything? My belly did a hard roll. “Even about my ex?”

  He nodded. He strode to the fridge and grabbed a beer, twisted off the top and tossed it into the sink. Then he came back into the living room and threw himself onto the sofa. Our sofa. Where he had smacked my ass and fucked me the first time.

  Shit. He knew everything.

  Mortified, I collected my clothes and held them in front of me like a shield.

  “But then, I already knew about Marcus.” He tipped back his beer. My heart swelled into my throat, thudded. I struggled for breath. He patted the sofa beside him. I didn’t budge. “In fact, I know Marcus.”

  Horror clenched my bowels. Wave upon wave of heat rolled through me. Sweat prickled on my brow. Had this all been a setup? One of Marcus’ perverted games?

  I couldn’t bear it. I bent slightly at the waist as though my body yearned to curl up into a little ball. The pain was blinding.

  “You know Marcus?” How those words made it past my stiff lips was a mystery.

  “He was a prick in college as well.”

  It took a moment for his meaning to sink in. A breath or two. A lifetime, maybe. “A prick?” Again, lips and brain, not working.

  “That should be no surprise. You were married to him.” He patted the sofa again. “Come and sit, sweetheart. I promise I won’t bite.”

  I did sit. But across from him. Not next to him. I was still reeling from the implications of the simple fact that my new lover was a friend of my ex. My bastard, bastard ex.

  Silence settled between us. Finally, I dredged up the courage to ask, “How long have you known?”

  He flicked some imaginary lint off his naked thighs. “I’ve always known, sweetheart.”

  “Stop calling me that.”

  “Sam. Samantha.”

  Somehow the horror and the fear morphed into anger. Fury. I glared at him. “How sick is this? You know my name—always have—but I have no clue who you are.”

  “JR.”

  Great. A name at last. Part of one anyway.

  I swallowed the thick ball in my throat. “Have you been planning this?”

  “This?”

  I swept a hand vaguely around the room. “Stalking me. Seducing me. Making me feel…” No. I wasn’t gonna go there. “Tell me, JR, what was the bet?”

  He froze. “The what?”

  “The bet.” Harsh words. Harsh truth. Damn Marcus. Damn him to hell for ruining this, my last desperate grab for happiness.

  “There was no bet. What are you talking about?”

  “You’re his friend. Figure it out.”

  He set his beer on the table very carefully and then stood. The steps he took were slow and deliberate and straight toward me. He knelt before me and placed his palms on my knees. I shivered and held my bundle of clothes closer.

  “I didn’t say we’re friends. We’re not. And I’m nothing like him. Nothing. The first time I saw you, I didn’t realize you were his wife.”

  “Ex.” As in very ex. Forever ex.

  “Even then, I wanted you in a way I’d never wanted a woman before.”

  Something pinged in my brain. “The first time you saw me? When was that exactly?”

  He sat back on his haunches. A red tide tinged the tips of his ears. “The Altheimer party.”

  I stilled. Dread crawled through me. I remembered that night. It had been the beginning of the end of my marriage. A horrible evening. A crowded, noisy ballroom full of drunk executives and boring small talk. And then it had gotten worse.

  “I saw you across the room. You were so lovely in that slinky blue dress. I was heading over to introduce myself, to speak to you, or spill a drink on you or something stupid like that, when Marcus walked up to you. He put his arms around you and whispered in your ear. And you left together. And I knew. You were his.” He rubbed his temple. “Do you have any idea what that did to me? Imagining you with him?”

  I swallowed as mortifying memories raked me. Yep. He knew Marcus, all right.

  “Then I ran into him at a business meeting six months ago and found out you were divorced. I had to find you again. I had to make sure I hadn’t imagined everything. I don’t think I did.” His gaze, as it met mine, was hopeful.

  But still…

  “You do realize this is creeping me out, don’t you?”

  He sighed and dragged his fingers through his hair, a charmingly boyish gesture. Curls tumbled over his forehead. “Yeah. I guess it would. Look, I apologize for not being more upfront with you from the beginning. I should have told you. But how do you tell a woman a truth like this? Just out of the blue? How do you make her see, right off the bat, that you think she’s the one?” He flushed. As though he’d said something he hadn’t intended. “I mean… Shit. I really fucked this up.”

  “Yeah.” I nodded. “You did.”

  “Is there any chance for us?”

  I couldn’t answer. Couldn’t find the words. My mind scudded around a question that meant so much to me. That could save me. Or destroy me.

  Was there? A chance for us?

  The fact that he knew Marcus, right there should have scuttled any attraction I might have for him. But it didn’t.

  And he did think Marcus was a prick. Major points in his favor. And the sex was…

  Well, unbelievable.

  “I need time to think.”

  His beautiful face went pale. “How much time?”

  I didn’t have a clue. But I needed space. I needed to be away from him so my brain would work. I shrugged.

  “Okay.” He deflated. “Okay. When you’re ready to talk, you let me know. You will, won’t you?”

  “Yes.” I stood and headed for the door, carrying my entire outfit in my arms like a baby. “I’ll let you know.”

  He stood in the foyer naked, utterly exposed, watching me walk away.

  When the door closed behind me, it sounded like a death knell.

  Chapter Five

  Sunday

  I cocooned for nearly a week, calling in sick and curling up in my fuzzy robe and calling out for Chinese whenever I got hungry. I spent a lot of time thinking about Marcus and our marriage and all my interactions with JR. About how he filled me—and not just with his body. I wasn’t happy about the way he’d wooed me into his bed but I had enjoyed it. Most of it.

  But “enjoy” was a pale word for what he made me feel. When I was with him, it was like a switch had been flipped and a sudden warm light flooded every corner of my soul. I was happy in his arms. Happy in my skin.

  How could it be that as a single woman—free as a bird—I felt more caged than if I were bound in rope and curled at his feet?

  But it wasn’t only the spankings and the devious domination I craved. With JR it went far beyond that.

  I ached for him. His scent, his taste, his touch.

  When I compared the way he made me feel to the grimy, lackluster existence I’d been tolerating for the p
ast few years, I wanted to weep. I didn’t want to live that way for the rest of my life—just trailing my fingers on the surface—but that’s what my fear of ending up with another man like Marcus was driving me toward.

  Was I going to let that bastard continue to haunt me? Did he deserve such power?

  The stubborn, infuriated, wounded side of me screamed no.

  And JR didn’t deserve to be tarred by the same brush. He deserved, at the very least, a chance to prove himself.

  I simply had to find the courage to let him.

  Whether or not we had a future together was a mystery. But by Sunday morning, I was hungry for him again. I wasn’t sure if that was good or bad.

  By Sunday afternoon, I was ready to talk to him, to discuss the possibility of us.

  When I knocked on his door, he didn’t answer. A little deflated—it had taken me a while to screw up my courage, after all—I turned around to go back to my place. But just then the door swung open.

  JR stood there in the shadows, dressed in those flannel sweats I loved. His eyes were hooded and his chin was darkened with a scruffy beard.

  He looked good enough to eat.

  “Sam.” He stared at me, muscles tight. A pulse throbbed in his cheek.

  “JR.”

  His mouth opened and closed several times before he finally said, “I didn’t think you’d come.”

  “I’d like to talk.”

  “S-sure. Come in.” He stepped back and swung the door open, giving me lots and lots of room. Like I had the plague or something. When I shut the door, he was still gazing bemusedly at me. “I didn’t think you’d come.”

  “You already said that.”

  He nodded. Scratched at his beard. Swallowed heavily. “I’m glad you did.”

  He led the way into the living room. I followed and then stopped. And gaped. It looked like a tornado had hit. Takeout boxes and beer bottles and whiskey bottles and empty glasses littered the table and the floor.

  “It’s kind of a mess.” The way he hung his head, like a naughty schnauzer, made me want to cuddle him.

  “It’s really a mess. What have you been doing?”

  He made an attempt to pick up a few of the bottles but then gave up. “Drinking.” He offered a chagrined grin. “Thinking about you. Can I get you anything?”

  “A trash bag?”

  His chuckle reverberated through the room. “Here. Let me clear a space.” He brushed some newspapers from the sofa to the floor.

  I laughed a little too but more at the expression he shot me than at his cleaning technique. I sat. Primly. With my hands folded in my lap.

  He had the good grace to sit across from me but he leaned forward, elbows on his knees as though he needed to be as close as he could—from across the room. “Have you been thinking about us?”

  I nodded.

  “Have you come to any conclusions?”

  Again, a nod.

  “And? Come on, Sam. You’re driving me crazy.”

  “I would like to continue…seeing you.”

  His reaction surprised me. He collapsed in a heap in the overstuffed chair. “Oh. Thank God. Thank God. Thank God.” He scrubbed his face with his palms. “Oh. Thank God.”

  “But…”

  He froze. Flicked a tense glance at me. “But?”

  “We need to talk.”

  “Okay.” He stood and stepped over the coffee table—with all its attendant bottles—like he didn’t have the patience to go around. He sat next to me on the sofa but didn’t touch me. His heat touched me though. It touched me fine. “What would you like to talk about?”

  “Parameters.”

  He blinked. “Parameters?”

  “Yes. If this continues—”

  “I want it to continue.”

  “Then we have to have parameters.”

  As though he couldn’t resist, he toyed with the fine hairs on my nape. “Absolutely. If this continues—and I vote yes, it should continue—then it needs to be something you’re comfortable with. Anything you want. You’re completely in charge.” That comment in itself sent quite a thrill of hope through me. Marcus would never have said anything like that. Marcus would never have thought it. “So. What are the rules?”

  “Well…” Hell. I’d thought about this for hours. Drafted and redrafted my terms again and again. Now, when it was time for me to lay down the law, my mind went blank. Or maybe it was his touch that short-circuited my brain.

  While I knew what was important to me, I wasn’t quite sure how to say it.

  I decided to start with the easy stuff. “If this continues, no one should be part of it but us.” His brow rose. “I mean it. Don’t bring anyone else into our play.”

  A flush crept up his cheeks. “I’m sorry about that. It was a mistake. I shouldn’t have done that.” He was talking about the floozy.

  Yeah. I flushed too. But his consternation reassured me. I allowed him to tug me back into his embrace. “Why did you?”

  He shrugged, lifting me along with it, and idly caressed my hip. “I wanted to get your attention. Needed to.” He blew out a breath. “And frankly, if we’re being brutally honest here—”

  “We are.”

  “I was annoyed.”

  I peeped up at him. “Annoyed?” His cheek bunched. Like he was grinding his teeth. “What were you annoyed about?”

  He jerked around to face me. When I lost the bolster of his shoulder, I plopped back onto the pillows with a grunt. “You brought a guy home. You let him stay over at your place.”

  I bit back a smile because he sounded like a petulant child, but the hurt in his eyes was real. Tangling my fingers in the hair at his nape, I drew him closer. Kissed him. “I didn’t want him. I wanted you.”

  “Why didn’t you just…have me?”

  “I didn’t want to want you.”

  “Why?”

  Hell. What a question. “Because I knew. I knew what it would be like between us.”

  “And it scared you.”

  Damn straight, it scared me. Frankly, it still did.

  He rubbed his palm over his neck. “Goddamn Marcus.”

  I stiffened. Swallowed.

  This one was important. Maybe the most important parameter of all. “That’s the next rule. Don’t bring Marcus into this. Not ever. Never.”

  He snorted. “Trust me. I have no intention of ever bringing Marcus into this. If I ever see that fucker again…”

  I placed my hand on his arm and he froze. “No Marcus. Not even anger at Marcus.”

  “I can’t promise that.”

  The blood drained from my face. I went numb. This was a deal breaker. I didn’t want to break the deal. I really didn’t. On a bone-deep level. “What?”

  “I can’t promise no anger at Marcus. He treated you like shit.”

  Oh. Well, that was probably all right. “Okay. Can we agree we won’t talk about Marcus?”

  He kissed me gently. “That, I can promise. Unreservedly. Anything else?”

  Oh yeah. One more big fat thing.

  I made sure I had his complete attention, cupping both his cheeks and steering his gaze to mine. “JR, if this thing between us ever becomes something other than sex play, I am out of here.”

  “What do you mean?” Poor thing. His brow was all wrinkled. He really didn’t understand.

  “The domination, JR. It is only play. Not real.”

  “But of course it’s not real.”

  “With Marcus, it got real.”

  His lips twitched up into a tiny sad smile. He waggled a finger. “No Marcus, remember?”

  I stared at him, trying to explain without having to actually say the words. Lazy of me. Cowardly of me. But I think JR understood.

  “Is that what this is about? You’re worried I’ll become a tyrant? For real?” He seemed so flabbergasted that I felt guilty.

  For a second. And then I remembered how Marcus always had an uncanny knack of talking me off the ledge when maybe I should have stayed out there.


  Something in my expression spoke to him. I saw the shift in his features. Resolution rose. “All right.” JR got up and strode into the bedroom. He came back with something in his hands. He dropped what appeared to be a series of straps on the sofa and glared at me defiantly.

  “What’s that?”

  “You tie me up.”

  “What?” I laughed.

  “Go on.” He put his wrists together and thrust them at me. “Tie me up. You be dominant.”

  The prospect floored me. Marcus would never have allowed me a hint of control. The mere suggestion would have infuriated him. “Y-you don’t…mind?”

  “Hell no. Damn it, I don’t care who’s on top. All I want is to be with you.”

  It took my brain several minutes to process this idea. The thought of having a man helpless before me was alien to my experience.

  It also sent quite a thrill through my cunt. “Really?”

  “Really.”

  I picked up the leather straps and examined them, turning them over and over. There were four of them, about a foot long, with Velcro flaps on each end. A little dribble of arousal pooled within me as I considered the possibilities. But…

  I shook my head. “No. This won’t work.”

  His face fell. “Why not?”

  The look I gave him was evil, to say the least. “Because you’re still dressed.”

  “Oh. God.”

  He was out of those sweats in a heartbeat. And there he stood before me. Magnificent and hard and trembling. My slave. At least for the moment.

  “Into the bedroom,” I commanded.

  He scampered to comply and I smacked him lightly on the ass with the straps. I think he moaned or groaned or muttered something under his breath but I was hardly paying attention. I was planning my assault.

  I followed him slowly, padding behind him like a predator. Reveling in this newfound power. I rather liked it.

  “On the bed.” When he flopped down, ass in the air, I smacked him again. “Turn over, JR. I want to see the goodies.”

  Without hesitation, he flipped onto his back and held his hands up toward the headboard. It was a lovely headboard. Have I mentioned that? A thick, heavy wood frame with steel posts running vertically. The footboard was the same. I tested a metal pole. Sturdy.