Free and Bound (A Club Volare New Orleans Novel)

by Chloe Cox

  She laughed, surprising him. “I might hold you to that.”

  “That’s acceptable. Finish your sentence.”

  “Shit.”

  “Cate.”

  She needed this. The way Soren had needed it once.

  Cate sighed. “It felt like I was dying. In little bits and pieces, every day that I stayed, some part of me just died. Until eventually there would only be the parts of me that did believe the things he said about me.”

  They were almost home. Jesus, he wanted to be holding her.

  But Soren knew what he needed to do. She might hate him for it. She might get angry. She might never forgive him. But he wouldn’t do her the disservice of lying to her.

  He had to push her.

  “You keep yourself hidden away,” he said. Almost home. “You’re afraid you’re broken. That this, what we do together, is because you’re broken.”

  “No,” Cate said. And then more forcefully, “No, I don’t think that anymore. I don’t know if I ever really did. I think maybe it was just an excuse.”

  “So you wouldn’t have to be honest, show it to anyone.”

  “Bingo.”

  His headlights illuminated the long white wall that separated his property from Malibu Road and he pressed the button, watching the gate slide open as he made the turn.

  “You’re not just afraid people will hurt you if you poke your head out and show yourself,” he said.

  “No?” Cate asked. “I think I’m pretty damn afraid of that, actually. I mean, all things considered, I have pretty good reasons to be afraid of that. It keeps frigging happening, for one.”

  “So?” Soren said, giving her a no-bullshit look as he pulled the car into his covered garage. “You’re strong enough to take it. You’ve done it before.”

  “Then what am I afraid of?” she asked, turning to face him as the car came to a stop.

  Soren made her wait while he got out and walked over to her side of the car, knowing that dress would give her hell if she tried to get out on her own. Besides, he liked holding doors for her. He liked helping her out of his car. And he wanted to be holding her hand when he said what he was about to say.

  He opened the door and gave himself one last look at her, knowing she might bolt, or tell him to fuck off, or freak out. Jesus, she was beautiful. She was perfect.

  Soren helped her up and then pushed her back against the car, wanting to feel her body against his, wanting her to have to see the truth of what he was about to say.

  “Look at me,” he said.

  She tore her eyes away from his mouth and met his gaze.

  “You’re afraid that if you stop hiding yourself away,” he said, “you won’t like what you see.”

  And then he waited.

  Thirteen

  Cate wasn’t used to not having a quick comeback. She was used to always being a step ahead, to having the upper hand, to being able to out argue or out-quip or whatever it was she needed to do.

  She had freaking nothing.

  Soren had pinned her against the car in that way that would guarantee she didn’t want to get away, and then he’d reached deep inside her head and pulled out that gem. And she had freaking nothing.

  “Who the hell do you think you are?” she said.

  “Your Dom,” he said.

  “Don’t be so goddamn sure,” she said. She was angry. Really, truly angry. She felt…exposed, in a way she’d never experienced before. At a disadvantage. Vulnerable. And not in the fun way. “Who are you to try to get inside my head like this when I barely know anything about you?”

  “Why didn’t you tell me you’d been married?” Soren asked. He was completely calm. Unruffled. Unbothered.

  Maddening.

  “It didn’t seem relevant!” she lied. “Ok, no, that’s it, stop touching me. I can’t be coherent when you’re…”

  Cate took a deep breath as Soren pulled away from her. Immediately she regretted it; her entire body regretted it. That only made her angrier. It was so manifestly unfair.

  And then he turned around and started to walk away, into the house.

  Cate was pissed off enough to follow him, as he knew she would. Soren would make the rules, set the pace, determine the direction, and Cate would follow. How dare he?

  “Are you seriously walking away from me?” she demanded.

  Soren turned suddenly, putting himself very, very close to her. They were both breathing hard.

  “Don’t lie to me,” he said.

  “Why do I always have to be the brave one?” she demanded.

  Soren stared at her.

  Stunned.

  Soren Andersson was stunned.

  Like he didn’t know the answer, and so didn’t know how to respond. Like there were things in this world that somehow Soren Andersson didn’t know. Things about himself, about Cate, about the two of them together.

  And that was when Cate scared herself half to death, because she realized they were having a fight.

  A real fight. A couple’s fight. A relationship fight.

  Which was exactly what they were not supposed to have. Which was exactly what Cate couldn’t allow herself to even think about, because if she did, if she let herself even entertain the idea, if she let herself think of this as something real, she would get her heart broken. She would be destroyed.

  She opened her mouth to take it all back, and no sound came out.

  And then Soren beat her to it.

  “I only laugh when I’m with you,” he said.

  Cate paused. “What?”

  Soren took another step closer. There were only inches between them as they stood in this narrow hallway in the dark, not even inside the house yet. Cate could see the muscles roiling in his striated shoulders, his biceps, his forearms—he was opening and closing his fists, his jaw tense, his whole body wired.

  Had Soren just opened up?

  “I am a fucking statue except when I’m with you,” he said. “I only laugh when I’m with you.”

  She had no idea what to say. “Soren, I—”

  “You see how freaking bad I am at it, you know it’s true,” he said, grinning down at her.

  Cate laughed, covered her mouth. He had no idea how funny he was.

  “That’s messed up, Soren,” she said, still laughing.

  “I know,” he said, and that deep rumble filled the hallway, Soren’s laughter sounding at that moment like the best damn thing she’d ever heard.

  Which terrified her.

  “Fuck,” she whispered.

  She couldn’t fall for him. It would be a disaster to fall for him. It was a mistake, just a delusion built of great sex and personal discovery and connection. She didn’t even really know anything about him, didn’t know anything meaningful, nothing about his past, his history. She knew more about Soren from the work her investigators had done for the lawsuit than she knew from the man himself.

  And yet when he brushed his fingers along her cheek, her knees almost gave out. She leaned against the wall, shuddering.

  “Are you ok?” he asked her gently.

  Cate closed her eyes. She could not fall for him. He had pushed her, and crossed lines, and he’d made her feel like she didn’t know herself very well at all.

  And when she opened her eyes, this gorgeous man who she could never allow herself to fall for was looking at her like what she was feeling was the most important thing in the world to him.

  It was too hard.

  “Stop being so fucking sweet!” she shouted.

  Soren’s eyes flashed. His hands circled her wrists, his body turned, pivoted, and he pinned her against the wall, her hands above her head, her legs pushed apart by one of his.

  “Ok,” he said.

  That voice.

  Cate tried to catch her breath. This. This she understood. This was better than falling, than worrying, than feeling lost. This was losing herself in something.

  She would follow him anywhere.

  “Do it,” she whispe
red.

  Cate gasped as Soren ripped her dress apart in one vicious movement, leaving it in long elegant tatters falling from her waist. His grip tightened on her wrists as he looked at her breasts, watching the pink nipples tighten under his eyes. She couldn’t hide how aroused she was if she tried.

  If she wanted to.

  Soren grabbed her face and tilted it up so he could cover her with a rough, ravishing kiss, his body pressing into hers in a way that made her moan into his mouth while he savaged hers. When he pulled away, it was clear it was because he wanted to see her. Wanted to watch her.

  He grabbed one breast, then the other. Not gently. He squeezed, and pulled, and pinched, and he did it all while looking her in the eye while she felt herself pushed closer and closer to the edge.

  Jesus, he never looked away.

  He pinched her again and Cate squealed, surprised as much as anything. She’d never felt like she could come from just having her nipples pinched, but this man…

  “I’m close,” she said. “Oh God, I’m—”

  And he ripped his hand away, his eyes hard and determined. She whimpered, almost begging, as he dragged his hand down her bare stomach until he got to the ruined remnants of her dress.

  Soren snarled in surprise and looked down. And then he tore the dress away completely.

  Cate writhed against the wall. He wasn’t even touching her, just looking at her, naked, and she—

  He picked her up. Not over the shoulder as he had done before; he just wrapped an arm around her waist and lifted, pinning her to his hip. She tried to turn, twist, be less awkward; he ignored her.

  He wasn’t going far anyway.

  The kitchen. He stalked over the brushed steel kitchen island and set her down on her heels, spinning her around until she faced the island. One hand on her hip, the other on her neck, he bent her down until her breasts pressed into the cold, cold surface, her cheek flat on the steel, her mouth open as he spread her farther apart and ripped at his jeans.

  She didn’t move while she waited. It felt like an eternity, her own wetness dripping down her leg, Soren’s hand heavy on the back of her neck.

  He slapped her once on the ass, hard, spread her with his thumb, and then he drove into her.

  Cate cried out.

  “You don’t come until I say,” he growled in her ear. “You’re mine. You come when I say, you understand?”

  Oh God, she didn’t know if she could do it.

  He filled her with long, hard strokes, leaning back while he kept her down with his hand on her neck, taking what he wanted. Just the idea was enough to bring Cate close to the edge, and now, now it was happening, he was fucking her like he owned her all over again, and she wasn’t going to make it.

  She wasn’t.

  She’d never held on so tightly to an impending orgasm in her entire life.

  And then, when Soren pulled out only long enough to turn her around, pick her up, and lay her down on the table, her legs up in the air, her ass in his hands, she let it go.

  He plunged into her just once, the head of his massive cock striking her G-spot at the perfect angle, and Cate couldn’t stop it.

  She came.

  She came screaming, her arms flailing hopelessly for something to grab on to on that stupid table, her back arching, her hips pumping.

  And Soren just smiled. He stopped moving, and he smiled, and when Cate got a look at him, she shivered.

  This was exactly what she’d needed. She felt like she was in the middle of a storm, this confusing, emotionally violent storm, and the look Soren was giving her, that animal, dominating, topspace look, told her she’d just entered the center of it. She felt calm. She felt right.

  Soren pulled out of her, his eyes shining. He set her down in front of him, his huge erection still unsatisfied.

  “Upstairs,” he said, his voice low. “Now.”

  Silently Cate obeyed.

  She walked naked through his house, up the stairs, to his bedroom. There she followed Soren to the bed, watched him sit. Watched him wait.

  “Over my knees,” he said. “Ass in the air.”

  It was the voice. She didn’t hesitate, not even when it was awkward, when she almost lost her balance. He grabbed her, readjusted her as he saw fit, like she was weightless.

  He held her down, his forearm across her back, her ass high, her feet off the ground.

  And then he struck her.

  Cate didn’t really know what to compare it to. There wasn’t anything, in the end, no reference point for the sting that spread across her flesh and turned to pleasure. She didn’t know how to understand it, and each blow drained away more and more of what was left of her mental capacity, until all she was left with was this dizzying, delirious symphony of pain that turned into pleasure and back again.

  She was past being upset or afraid, past feeling like a victim or broken or anything at all. There was nothing in the universe beyond what Soren was doing to her, and she let herself float blissfully, freely away.

  And when she was free, he rolled her over onto the bed, spread her legs, and entered her without preamble, fucking her with desperation, with need, with determination. He moved inside her like it was the last thing he would ever do, mercilessly, biting her when she scratched down his back, leaving his mark.

  When he shouted for her to come, she did, until she had nothing left.

  Fourteen

  Soren knew something was wrong before he was even awake. It was the wrongness that jolted him awake, the knowledge that something was not, definitely not, as it should be.

  Cate was gone.

  He didn’t even need to look to know she wasn’t anywhere in the house. He could feel it. Still, he did a search just to make sure. He found Desi in the living room, happily gnawing on a rawhide bone, which meant that Cate had let the dog in and probably played with him for a while before leaving so abruptly.

  Yeah, that made sense.

  Of course it did, kind of. In that crazy, damaged way, it wasn’t totally out of line. The previous night had been what Cate liked to call “beyond,” and it had been about more than the sex, even if neither of them had said it. She would have turned tail and run away if he’d made her say it, though she would have said it.

  They’d gotten close, last night. Closer than Soren had been to anyone in a long time. And now he had to be very, very careful.

  Cate’s skittishness both saddened him and calmed him, in a twisted way. If she was that far away from falling for him, so much the better. But she needed to know that she could let him in—let people in—let him see her, all of her, faults and weirdness and everything, and it would be ok. She’d started to do that, last night. He wanted her to finish.

  And he knew just how to do that.

  He got out his phone. No new calls. Imagine that.

  He texted her.

  “Give me your address.”

  And then he waited.

  Ten minutes and nothing. He knew her, though. She was never without her phone. She never missed anything. She’d seen it.

  “That was an order.”

  Still nothing. Soren sighed, made himself some cereal. She was freaked out, having shown him that much of herself, having opened up even a little bit. He couldn’t let it go or she might retreat even more, decide she couldn’t bear it when she was right on the edge of something. All he wanted to do was show her that there was nothing to be afraid of, that the parts of herself she kept hidden were fucking beautiful, that she was not even close to broken. And then if she wanted to tell him to fuck off, well, he’d have to take it.

  He waited a little longer. And then:

  “Cate. Trust me.”

  So when his phone rang, he wasn’t surprised. He was, however, surprised to find out who was calling.

  “Where are you?” Soren said.

  “What?” Declan’s voice came through. “I’m at home. Don’t worry about that, though. Worry about what that asshole lawyer Cheedham is saying about you.”

/>   “What are you talking about, Dec?”

  “Have you been online? Molly says it’ll be in the papers tomorrow, on the networks tonight.”

  “Dude, I don’t have time for this,” Soren said. “Just tell me already so I can deal with it.”

  There was a pause. If even Declan didn’t want to give it to him straight, that was not a good sign.

  “The newest piece of bullshit is that you plied your women with drugs,” Declan said. “That consent wasn’t…”

  “I fucking know what it means,” Soren said softly.

  He should have known this was coming. He did know. He knew, deep down, that Sonya would screw him, that she’d sell whatever story brought her the most money, no matter how untrue it was. No matter how much it hurt him or anyone else. No matter how much she knew he wasn’t willing to tell the truth to defend himself.

  “You’ve gotta deal with this, bro,” Declan said.

  Soren looked down at his phone. There was a text notification in the corner—Cate.

  “Later,” Soren said. “I have something more important going on.”

  “You what?” Declan said just as Soren hung up.

  The text was what he’d known it would be.

  An address.

  Cate sent the text, and then waited for the freak-out to arrive shortly thereafter.

  Right on time.

  She’d woken up anxious, like her mind had just been waiting for its chance to yell at her while her body got what it wanted. Her eyes flew open, saw Soren’s naked body next to hers, remembered everything about the previous night, and thought, Oh holy shit, this is real.

  Not real as in ‘that actually happened.’ That was obvious, and, frankly, magnificent. Real as in meaningful. Real as in ‘no longer this strange vacation from real life in which I can play at being another version of myself.’ Real as in real.

  She needed to get out. She needed to get some air. She needed to get some perspective.

  So she snuck out.

  Cate wasn’t proud of that. She hadn’t been able to leave Desi without saying goodbye, and then she’d walked right out on Soren, having called her car service and found some entirely too big sweatpants to wear home. The car service guy was a consummate professional—he didn’t say anything at all about the giant sweatpants, sweatshirt, and evening bag combination.