Tie Me Up
Lauren Hawkeye
Barbara always thought of Ethan as her little brother’s annoying best friend, and she was sure he just considered her his friend’s nerdy big sister. Until the hot night after her brother’s wedding. Alone in the heat, it’s clear Ethan sees her in a way she never saw herself: as a sexy, sensual woman. And for the first time, Barbara feels ready to break free from the painful memories that have haunted her for too long—by exploring her passion for Ethan….
Book two of Lauren Hawkeye’s Erotic Me series.
Contents
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I couldn’t sleep.
The “room” I’d been allotted as living quarters for the night was little more than a dry, dark hole. Had there been a window for light to shine through, I was certain that I would have seen dust motes dancing lightly in the air, because though I couldn’t see them, I certainly felt them as they sock-hopped their way into my lungs with every breath that I took.
Why was I here?
My little brother had gotten married, that was why. And while the woman who had now been pronounced Nick’s wife was a lovely lady, I’d be first in line to back up the claim that her parents were pushy people. They’d insisted that I not waste money on accommodations, that I stay with their daughter Evie instead. Though I’d had it in my head to say no—in fact I was sure that I’d done just that, several times—here I was, at Evie’s.
Which might have been okay, except that her parents had apparently offered her little ground-floor apartment to numerous other relatives as well, and since I wasn’t ancient, like Grandpa Jim, or cantankerous, like Aunt Mary, I got the closet.
Squeezing my eyes shut as tightly as they would go, I tried to envision myself back home in my lovely big bed, with crisp sheets and a small, against-condo-regulations window air conditioner blowing blessedly frigid air into my face. Air icy enough to make my nipples contract and to have goose flesh rising up over my skin in waves.
It didn’t work. All I could see in my mind’s eye was the undulating, oppressive dark. The dry dark, the desiccated dark.
I needed some air.
Gingerly, I rose to a sitting position, careful not to hit my head on the slanting overhang of the stairs above. I groped blindly, searching for the thick plastic frames of my glasses, which promptly steamed up on my nose, adding a thin white film to my already limited vision.
I felt an icy sheen of panic that wouldn’t be melted away. I didn’t normally suffer from claustrophobia of any kind, but I had to get out of this closet.
Now.
The knob of the ancient wooden door needed a good dose of oil, and it squealed as I turned it. By that point, I didn’t care.
If I couldn’t sleep, then I didn’t see why anyone else should either.
Still, I padded as quietly as I could across hardwood gone sticky in the heat. An empty Brita filter lying open on the counter made my spirits dive down deep, quashing all my hopes—for a cool drink to help me beat the heat, for the alleviation of some of the discomfort caused by being stuck in a cramped little apartment hot enough to bake a loaf of bread right on the counter, for helping me bear the heavy fabric of the only pajamas I considered appropriate for staying over at someone else’s house as they glued themselves to my skin with a thin film of sweat.
The closer I got to that back door, the less concerned I became with stealth. Surely Nick’s new grandpa-in-law would understand a little noise when the goal was a breath of air that didn’t sear the lining of my lungs like the seventh circle of hell.
I stepped out into the tiny backyard, a postage stamp of rapidly browning grass, and let the ancient, dull metal of the screen door slap shut behind me. I didn’t even wince at the loud, metallic clang, because finally, finally I was outside. Outside where the air, while still uncomfortably warm, was at least fresh with the scents of summer: the crisp smell of grass that had baked all day in the sun, and the moist aroma of earth as it cooled for the evening.
The smell of freedom.
Well, that was an exaggeration, and I knew it. But something about trying to sleep in Evie’s tiny apartment, which was also the resting place for a handful of other family members after the last thick dregs of nuptial celebrations had melted away, had made me feel incredibly uncomfortable. As though a herd of ants had crawled its way under my skin.
And I was pretty sure that that feeling wasn’t just from the extra glass of rich red wine that I’d indulged in. No, something about the entire night was getting to me, was making me itch, and, try as I might, I just couldn’t reach the right spot to scratch.
The eventide air was a balm, though. It didn’t remove the itch, but it soothed it, just a bit.
Maybe I’d just sleep out here. Just stretch out on that rickety plastic lounger. It might not be the best night’s sleep I’d ever had, but at least the slight drop of temperature as bright, celebratory day melted into dusky twilight, and twilight into brooding night would allow the drops of sweat that dripped down the curve of my spine to tickle at the crevice that divided my ass to dry.
For the millionth time since I’d stripped out of the bridesmaid’s dress that my brother’s bride had assured me I would wear again, but that we all knew would hang in my closet until the day I died, I wondered why I hadn’t rented a lovely, cool, air-conditioned hotel room.
Hell, even a cheap, questionable hotel room would be fine, so long as it had air conditioning.
As one of Evie’s aunt Mary’s earth-moving snores rent the thick night air in two, I shuddered and thought that I’d even do without the air conditioning if it meant that I’d have a little bit of peace and quiet.
The thought of getting dressed again in the smothering, oppressive dark of that dank little closet and leaving to find that elusive hotel room seemed like entirely too much work. Especially now that I’d been granted at least a small degree of comfort.
I eyed the plastic lounger, and then lumbered my heat-swollen self over to it. Tested my not insubstantial weight on it gingerly before sitting, and then lying back.
It took me a moment to realize that I was actually relaxing. Though it was still hot, it was pretty nice out here in this tiny backyard, on this cheap, thrift-store find of a lounger. If I opened my eyes, even without my glasses perched on my nose, I could make out the dusky imprints of the goliath mountains against the plum and amethyst sky. Could scent the mineral tang of glacial ice, even through the thick soup of the heat.
If I closed my eyes, it was even better. Every sibilant swirl of air through the verdant leaves of the trees was a lullabye, as were the spicy emanations swirling their way to my nose from Evie’s small garden of basil, thyme and mint.
“What are you doing?”
I sat bolt upright as the husky, amused male voice sliced right through my hard-won calm like a razor through silk. Annoyance at the intrusion rooted deep in my gut before the web of embarrassment that came all too easily to me swallowed it whole.
I was wearing polyester pajamas, had at hand pop-bottle glasses instead of my contact lenses, and I was lying on a plastic lounge chair in my new sister-in-law’s dark backyard.
I groped blindly for my glasses on the packed dirt beneath the chair so that I could see who the strange intruder was. Though he looked pretty familiar through the fuzzy haze that was nearsightedness, the thin edge of nerves wouldn’t dissipate until I could clearly see for myself.
When I could, I ground my teeth together in frustration.
“Ethan, you shithead! You scared me!” Scowling, I pushed my glasses up my nose with my forefinger and sat up straighter. I adjusted the twisted neck of my pajama jacket, and inwardly praised the heavens that I’d gone with my gut and worn nightwear that covered everything, hot and clinging as it was in this w
eather.
My kid brother, the erstwhile groom, had had the same best friend since he’d been a kid. And it was that best friend who was standing in front of me right now.
Said best friend shot me what I could only term a shit-eating grin. “You’re the one lurking around outside, Barbie.” Unceremoniously he dropped his ridiculously long length onto the foot of the lounger, moving my legs up with a large hand that lingered at my ankle.
“Don’t call me Barbie.” I shifted until I sat primly on my heels. “You know I hate that. It’s Barbara.”
“You’ve got blond hair and big boobs. And you’re hot. Therefore, Barbie you are, and Barbie you shall always be.” Comfortable in my presence, he tugged at the already unbuttoned collar of his dress shirt as he closed his eyes and lay back, his head resting in my lap.
I was taken aback, not by the placing of his head in my lap, but by his words. Hot? He thought I was hot?
The puzzlement changed, lightning-quick, to anger as I realized that he was making fun of me. Me, his best friend’s nerdy big sister, the one who’d always been awkward from developing earlier than everyone else, who had to watch every morsel put into her mouth to stay even what others would term curvaceous. The one with thick glasses and a penchant for British literature.
It wouldn’t be the first time he’d teased me, but this time I really didn’t like the subject matter. Glowering at him, though with his eyes shut he couldn’t see me, I shoved at his stupid swarthy head.
“Hey!” Ethan lost his balance and started to tip off of the lounger. Before he fell, he grabbed a fistful of my pink pajamas and took me on down with him.
He rolled, trapping my soft flesh under his lean length. Planting a hand on either side of my head, he frowned, though more in puzzlement than in anger.
“What gives?”
“I’m not hot, so don’t mock me.” I felt the beginnings of a tear or two prick at the backs of my eyes. It was stupid, I knew—Ethan would never say anything deliberately to hurt me. But this was an area in which I was very, very raw, and his comment had rubbed salt into a wound that had never fully healed.
When he didn’t reply, I took it as acknowledgement that he knew he had stepped over the line. Mortification rouged my cheeks, and I began to squirm.
He didn’t shift off me, as I’d thought he would once he realized that I was upset. Squishing my hands in between our bodies, which were pasted together with sticky sweat, I shoved, shoved and shoved again. The last push, which I threw all my strength into, drew a low, animal growl from his throat.
Before I could blink, my wrists were caught in long, tightly clasped fingers, my arms above my head and held tight.
“What—” Ethan shook his head vigorously, cutting off my words. I bit my lip, feeling that I’d made some misstep, where I didn’t know, what I wasn’t sure of, but it caused a tight knot of nerves to tangle in silvery wire jumble in the pit of my belly.
“What gives, Barbara?” The fact that he used my full name caught my attention. He’d never called me anything but Barbie.
“What do you mean?” He was angry; I could see it in his eyes.
I could feel it in his touch, which was rougher than I’d ever thought it would be. Not that I’d ever imagined him touching me. Nope. No way. He was my kid brother’s best friend. His annoying buddy. His irritating sidekick—who had a long, hard body that was currently pressed tightly against mine.
Distracted by that thought, I was caught unawares when he pressed his face to mine, nudged me over so that I was looking straight into those indigo eyes. Foreheads pressed tightly together, I forgot why I was worried, why I was mad, why I’d been feeling any emotion other than lust as I was forced to tread water in those deep pools of blue.
“Why?” It took me a moment to answer, since I was contemplating whether the hardness currently resting between my legs was his hip or something else. “Why would that upset you?”
Oh, right. That. The reminder caused the annoyance that had been set back to simmer to heat up and again boil over.
“I’m not hot, and you know it. So making fun of me that way is just mean.” I struggled to free my hands, and when that iron grip held, I felt a surge of panic snake its way in. It was an old panic, one that I’d worked so hard to overcome for years, but it was there nonetheless.
“Let go!” My struggling moved from minute to fully fledged in one blink of those eyes of his. “Let me go now!”
And then I was free, lying on my back, panting up at the pregnant new moon that hung low in the inky night sky.
Ethan’s face hovered over me, concerned and abashed.
“I’m sorry, Barbie—Barbara. I’m sorry. I know better.” The fact that he did know, that I didn’t have to recount the whole story, should have made things better. Instead they were worse. I was angry, embarrassed and just plain upset. Upset and uncomfortable. Uncomfortable and alone.
I wanted to go home. I didn’t want to be here. Didn’t want to be wearing stupid pink pajamas in my sister-in-law’s stupid backyard with my stupid brother’s stupid best friend making me horny and hormonal.
There was no dignified way to leave the situation, so I cast my eyes down, away from Ethan’s stare. Moved from my ass to my knees, my knees to my feet.
“Goodnight.” I used my most prim, do-as-I-say teacher’s voice as I stepped away from where Ethan still sprawled on the ground, took my first step towards the back door.
It didn’t escape my notice how absolutely delicious he looked, his dress shirt unbuttoned halfway, his sooty hair mussed and standing on end.
The fact that I was feeling amorous towards this man that I’d known since our days of Popsicles and treehouses just made me more embarrassed and unsure of myself, even as the visual caused my nipples to harden and a rush of wet to dampen the cloth between my legs.
A hand snaked around my ankle and tugged. Startled, I lost my balance and fell, none too gracefully, back onto the lounger.
And he was on top of me again, pressed down against me. Rubbing hard planes and lean angles against me in all the right places.
This time I couldn’t think this was an accident, or a rough-and-tumble way of making me toe the line. No, this was a very deliberate move on his part, and the rigid length of cock that I could feel all too clearly through the thin fabric of his trousers told me just what his intentions were.
“Barbara.” He moved his hips, just a bit, and I gasped as the hard tip jutted against the tender flesh of my clit.
What the hell was going on?
“Barbara. Is this okay?” Furrowing my brow, I turned my head, met his stare. Let my own light-blue eyes be swallowed whole by the deeper tone of his. “I understand why it wouldn’t be. It’s okay. You can tell me.”
And I knew that I could. I could shove him off, could swear at him for invading my space and for terrifying me, because he knew. He knew all about me. He knew that I’d skinned my knee at age seven when Billy Menard had pushed me off my bike. Knew that I’d gotten my first period when I was thirteen years old.
Knew just what my second cousin, the nameless dark entity that would forever shadow my every move, had done to me at our family reunion six months later.
The reminder that he knew, the fact that I was certain he’d move away from me if I only said to him to do so, broke something in me. Cracked it wide open.
Freed me. Made me brave.
“Yes.” My voice sounded lower to me than it usually did, rasping away at the stagnant night air. “Yes, it is. It’s fine.” I licked my lips to moisten them—they were dry with want—and his eyes followed the little flicks of my tongue over swollen pink flesh.
Could I do this? Could I finally break free and want, need, be?
There wasn’t a better person I could think of to explore with.
Experimentally I moved my hips, rocking them against the solid jut of cock that was nestled tightly against my pussy.
He groaned, and a look I could guess at the meaning of flickered
into those eyes that I couldn’t look away from.
Was I really going to do this?
Before I could contemplate it any further, I found my mouth bruised and bathed with hot, delicious breath, and my head held in place by large hands fisted tightly in what I’d always considered to be my mousy-blond hair. I gasped for breath, struggling to find a comfortable rhythm and instead falling without a net.
When his nose pressed against the nosepiece of my glasses I winced and grumbled into the lips that were coaxing mine open. Before I could inhale even once more, Ethan had pulled back, pulled away, even though I could see by his ragged breathing and shaking arms what it cost him to do so.
“Barbara?” I squirmed under the intensity of his stare.
I shifted until my hands were free, reaching up to remove my glasses.
“Don’t.” I froze, uncertain. “Leave them on. They’re hot.” I furrowed my brow again, not sure once again if he was making fun of me or not.
Since his tongue was all but hanging out of his mouth, I decided to go with not.
“Really?” I squirmed again. “They’re so nerdy.” I shifted with discomfort. Now that the heat of the moment had been paused, I was uncertain of what to do, and I knew that he knew it.
A spark lit his face, and the right corner of that sexy mouth tipped up in a grin. “Oh, no.” Placing a palm flat on each hip, he molded the shape of my waist, my ribcage, my breasts. Traced over to my aching nipples. “They’re hot. Like a sexy teacher. Ooh, yeah. Discipline me, teacher, I’ve been bad.” A laugh barked out of my throat before I could stop it; he was being ridiculous and we both knew it. But it had the intended effect of loosening me up, at least a bit.
But I still didn’t know what to do, and I told him so. Ever since that lightless nightmare of a night nearly fifteen years earlier I’d had limited contact with men, and what I had had hadn’t been anything spectacular.
None of it, not even full-blown sex, had heightened my awareness as much as it was right now, pressed tightly against a man whom I’d never before really seen as anything more than a goofy frat boy.
Tie Me Up Page 1