Color Me Crazy

by Carol Pavliska

  She leaned into him, pushing her breasts against his chest. He seemed to lose his train of thought, and his endless objections with it, as he stared down at her cleavage.

  “You ready to get out of the car now?” she asked.

  “Yes,” he said.

  “Yes, what?” she asked as she smoothed his hair.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Cleo led Julian through the lobby, into the elevator, and down the hall to their room. She sobered up with every step, and by the time they reached the room, her stomach was heaving like a California quake. “Listen,” she said, “you were right earlier. We should think about this.”

  “No. I was definitely wrong. You were right.” He pulled her close. “God, you’ve got great tits.”

  Nobody had ever said that to her before. Not that she didn’t have fairly nice breasts, because she kind of thought she did, but nobody had ever actually said God, you’ve got great tits. “Do you want to see them?”

  “Very much.” Julian brushed his fingers along the edge of her strapless dress. She shivered and swallowed, her head floating in a haze of lust. The moment stretched out until she could barely breathe. She forced herself to inhale just as Julian crooked his finger inside the top. With a devilish grin, he pulled it down slowly, stretching it over her breast until her nipple popped out.

  Without thinking, Cleo covered herself, but Julian gently pulled her hand away, clucking his tongue. “No, no, no,” he said, staring at her exposed breast. “You’re the one who wanted to get down to business. We can do this the civilized way, or”—his eyes darkened dangerously, and his nostrils flared—“I can rip this dress to shreds.”

  Nobody had ever threatened to rip her dress to shreds before, either. Josh would have insisted on hanging it in the closet. Her knees weakened at Julian’s forceful tone. But if she melted into the carpet, she’d never regain the upper hand.

  “I’m giving the orders here,” she said, loudly enough to chase the tremors from her voice.

  Julian raised an eyebrow and let go of her hand. “Going to punish me?” His mouth twitched as he fought off a grin—a battle he didn’t quite win—and he took a small step back. “I think I might like that. What did you have in mind?”

  He lowered his head and clasped his hands behind his back in a classic submissive stance.

  Was he for real? The smirk told her no, not entirely. She had no idea what to do with him. She pulled her dress back up and readjusted things.

  “That was brutal,” Julian said, pouting. “But if you want to punish me some more, that belt of yours looks wicked.”

  She gasped. “I’m not going to lash you with a belt.”

  “Too bad. How about I drop my trousers for an old-fashioned spanking with your bare hand then?”

  He was obviously teasing, but there was heat there, too. Cleo had the unnerving feeling she’d bitten off more than she could chew.

  “Come here.” She pointed to a spot between the bed and the rollaway. “Take off your jacket.” She wasn’t consciously thinking about what she was doing. It was as if she was on autopilot, and the autopilot had a secret hankering to be a dominatrix.

  Julian slowly walked toward her while removing his jacket. “Shall I toss it on the bed, mistress?” he asked. His eyes taunted her, daring her to continue the game.

  She yanked the jacket out of his hand and threw it across the room, watching in horror as it landed on a lamp, briefly knocking the shade helter-skelter before pulling the whole thing over on its side with a crash.

  “Ooh,” said Julian. “It’s been a long time since I’ve trashed a hotel room. Can I throw something, too?” He laughed.

  “You think this is funny?”

  “A little.”

  “We’ll see who’s laughing later.”

  She ran her hands over his chest. The black silk shirt felt cool and slippery, and her fingernail gently scraped across a nipple, catching on the small ring.

  “Watch it,” he said, no doubt remembering the night they’d met.

  Tentatively, she stuck her tongue out and traced the shape of the ring, feeling the hard nub at the top. Her efforts left a wet spot on his shirt. With trembling fingers, she loosened the bolo tie and began working on the buttons. When every last one had been dealt with, she stepped back to survey the fruits of her labor.

  He was perfection. Sculpted chest, ripped stomach, dark tattoos on pale skin. His slacks rode low with a snug fit, and she could see he was enjoying himself. He reached for the cuff of his right sleeve.

  “Don’t do that,” she said, breathlessly. “Turn around.” She had an idea. A perfectly nasty, drunken idea.

  He hesitated, but then, bless his heart, he turned slowly. She glided up behind him and pulled the shirt down past his shoulders, his biceps, his elbows…revealing inch by lovely inch of the masterpiece. She left the bolo tie hanging loosely around his neck.

  He tilted his head, and his hair slid down his back. “What are you doing back there?”

  “Give me your wrists,” she ordered.

  He glanced at her over his shoulder again but then shoved his wrists behind his back.

  “I’m going to bind them with your shirt.”

  “Well, well. Somebody’s been reading dirty books.”

  Maybe so, but they weren’t exactly how-to manuals, and she struggled until she ended up with an unsightly ball of fabric anyone could work his way out of in about two seconds.

  “What in God’s name are you doing?”

  “Why can’t you just shut up? You’re bound, okay? You’re tied up and completely helpless. You’re at my mercy. I can do whatever I want to you. Got it?”

  The sloppy knot came undone. But Julian’s hands were effectively trapped in his sleeves, which were now inside out. He turned to face her, clearly wanting to laugh. “I have actual cuffs at home, although I prefer silk ties. As for tonight, I’m fine with vanilla sex if you are.”

  “Vanilla sex is for sober people.”

  She drank him in with her eyes. Even though he was grinning and holding his hands behind his back in an obvious attempt at appearing bound and helpless, he took her breath away.

  “Take my bolo tie off. I feel like the dude ranch version of a Chippendales dancer.”

  “I like it and it’s staying. Now be quiet.” Time to wipe the stupid grin off his face.

  She stood close enough to feel the heat rising off his chest. She delivered a feathery-soft kiss to his warm skin and slipped her tongue out for a taste. He shivered, and she smiled with satisfaction. “Get on the bed,” she said.

  Julian looked at the bed. “Someone dumped all her shit on the bed. There’s no room for a bound man in a bolo tie.”

  He was right. The bed was covered with her stuff. “Drop to your knees then.”

  “Seriously?”

  With her fingertips, she gave a small tug on a nipple ring.

  “I’m dropping.” He knelt in front of her, hands still behind him, and looked up. “Anything you say,” he whispered. “I’m yours.”

  If only that were true. This was a game, and it was one she’d never played before.

  Perhaps sensing her loss of command, Julian picked up the slack. “Kiss me.”

  His smirk was gone, and his eyes smoldered. She grabbed a fistful of hair and gently pulled back.

  “You can yank it if you want to,” he said. “You know, hard.”

  He held perfectly, submissively still.

  Did she want to? The idea of giving his hair a small yank sent a thrill through her. She tightened her fist and heard his breath catch. The look on his face—eyes closed, lips parted, anticipation of pain oozing from every pore—was delightfully dirty. She pulled his hair, harder than she’d intended, and he jerked his head. It threw her off-kilter. At first, she thought she might recover. But no…she was going down.

  She fell against Julian and knocked him over. His head smashed into the leg of the writing desk before slamming into the carpeted floor. She was right beh
ind him, and her forehead delivered the final blow with a double whammy to his face.

  Julian let out a howl. “I think you busted my lip!”

  She sat up and looked at his face. Blood dripped down his chin, and the sight made her light-headed.

  Julian’s eyes widened. “Holy fuck, put your head between your knees before you pass out.”

  She did, and was grateful for the opportunity it provided to properly hang her head in shame. There would never be a more embarrassing moment in her life. It wasn’t possible. “Are you okay?” she asked from between her knees.

  His voice was gentle. “I’m okay. Are you?”

  She lifted her head a little and peeked out through strands of hair. “I’m so sorry.”

  “It’s nothing, love. Let’s get on with what we were doing.” He pulled his arm out and wiped his lip on his sleeve. “Oops.” He quickly put it behind his back again. “I forgot I was tied up and helpless.”

  Her forehead ached. The collision had sobered her up completely. Which was unfortunate. “Did you ever send for that rollaway? Because I’d like to get a head start on pretending this never happened.”

  Julian looked disappointed—and entirely silly—sitting on the floor with his hands trapped in his shirtsleeves. She might be able to pretend, but she’d never forget this had happened.

  “Come on, Red. You’ve roughed me up a little. What’s next?”

  “Shame and humiliation topped off by a hangover.”

  “I’m not into humiliation. But I’m not above begging. Do you want me to beg for it?”

  “Cut it out. Let’s get ready for bed.”

  “Please,” he whispered.

  “Please what?”

  “Please fuck me. Before I die right here.”

  Was he pretending to beg to save her pride? Or was he actually begging? She couldn’t tell what was real and what wasn’t. “I’m such an idiot. This is so stupid.” She started to get up.

  “Okay,” he muttered. “Begging didn’t work.”

  She stood. “You want some ice for that lip?”

  “Cleo!” he barked.

  She jumped, hand to her heart. Julian’s mouth was set in a straight line. His nostrils were flared, and Cleo could see his pulse pounding at the base of his throat. He had her full attention.

  “Get your ass back down here.” He spoke quietly, but it was with authority. Cleo dropped to her knees.

  “That’s better. Now listen carefully. You’re going to dominate me if it kills me, which it very well might.” He leaned forward until they were nose to nose. “Kiss me.”

  He was ordering her to dominate him? She looked into his sexy, hooded eyes. There was only one thing to do, and that was take orders. So, she kissed him. His lips were warm and full—that’s from the swelling—and he groaned into her mouth—that’s from the pain—and she didn’t care. It was so delicious that she didn’t even mind the slight metallic taste of blood. His hands were still behind his back, so she gently held his head in place. The role-playing was forgotten. Kissing Julian—under any circumstances—was enough. It was everything, and she could do it forever.

  He broke the kiss. “I’ll do whatever you want,” he said breathlessly. “Anything at all.”

  “No, Julian. Stop playing. We don’t have to do it this way. Let’s just be real—”

  “I’m not playing.” He edged forward and kissed her. She slid her hands up his chest. So warm. He leaned back to lie flat on the floor. His hips were raised due to his bound hands—a sexy bondage bonus—drawing attention to the large, hard piece of rock star straining his zipper. She licked her lips. Okay. Maybe we will keep playing after all.

  She crawled on top of him, kissing his neck and running her fingers through his hair, just like she’d done in her dreams every night. Julian writhed beneath her but left his hands where they were.

  “Take your clothes off,” he said.

  “You’re horribly bossy,” she replied, sitting up. “And your clothes are coming off first.”

  “Right. Whatever. Just hurry.”

  “You’d better hush,” she said, placing her finger over his lips.

  At the light contact, he closed his eyes. She ran her finger down his chin, over his throat, and across his chest and belly. He shivered and lifted his shoulders, letting his head fall back. Wow. What would he do if she let her finger follow that trail of hair that led inside his waistband? Or better yet, her tongue?

  She leaned over to kiss his hard, flat stomach, and he groaned before she’d even touched him. She licked and kissed her way down, taking nips and bites, losing herself in the sensations of his warm skin on her lips and tongue.

  The bulge in his pants forced the low waistband up just enough to allow a peek. Either he wasn’t wearing underwear or it couldn’t contain him, because she could see the tip of his penis. She extended her tongue and gave it a feathery lick.

  He moaned. “Stop teasing me.”

  She rested her cheek against the source of his suffering and felt it straining against the zipper.

  “Please,” he begged.

  She delivered a soft kiss and slowly pulled down the zipper, releasing the subject of all the fuss.

  “Holy cow!” she said as it sprang out.

  “What?”

  She was astonished. “I thought it was an urban legend.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll be gentle.”

  “I’m talking about the tattoo, you dork.” She stared at the tribal band encircling the base of his penis. “And,” she added, “I have no intention of being gentle with you.”

  His eyes darkened. He liked that.

  “You’ve got five seconds to look, Big Red. One…”

  “Didn’t it hurt?” she asked. “I mean, did they have to hold you down? How long did it take? And why would you do something like this?”

  “The opiates I was on at the time helped with the pain. But, yes, they held me down. And it took fucking forever. As for the reason, I already mentioned the opiates. Now, can we talk about my youthful indiscretion later and get on with this current one? Please?”

  Shaking her head in disbelief, she took the work of art in hand and inspected it properly. And the more she handled it, the more impressive it became. “I like it,” she finally declared. “I like it a lot.”

  “Dirty girl,” he said with a grin. “Of course you do. Show me how much.”

  She leaned down, letting her hair fall across his stomach. She wanted to make him insane with pleasure, but he’d probably had countless backstage blow jobs, and she was hardly a pro.

  She tossed her hair over her shoulder, and the room spun a little. Not too much. Nothing she couldn’t handle. It settled back down, and she cleared her throat, lowered her head, and whoa! It was like a Tilt-a-Whirl. She grabbed the leg of the desk with one hand and squeezed tightly what she already held in the other, holding on for dear life because she was most definitely in danger of falling off the floor.

  Julian gasped. “Don’t squeeze it. Shit.”

  “Sorry. I just, um, I need to…”

  He attempted to sit up. “What? What’s wrong?”

  “I think I’m going to be sick.”

  “Cleo, don’t you dare—”

  What happened next was nothing a groupie would want to write home about.

  Chapter Eleven

  The subdivision north of Austin wasn’t what Julian expected. He double-checked the address.

  He could kick himself for letting things get so out of hand after the release party. It was a good thing Cleo had gotten sick. He didn’t have sex with drunk women. It was completely against the rules. How had he come so close? And under such ridiculous circumstances! He wouldn’t blame her if she was mad.

  He hadn’t actually talked to her since the Fifty Shades of Embarrassment at the hotel room. Cleo had been asleep—or faking it—when he’d left the next morning for his clinic appointment. Then they’d been occupied with hauling ass to the airport. On the plane, they’d had no
privacy to discuss it. Now, two days later, it was too late. Too awkward. They’d both sunk into silence. Cleo didn’t even know how well the clinic appointment had gone, and that’s what he hated most about what had happened between them. He was left with nobody to talk to.

  He got out of his car and looked around. It was a fucking suburban neighborhood. Not the neighborhood he’d thought would appeal to Mitch, but then again, Mitch had always been full of surprises.

  Patches of green cedar dotted the limestone hillsides that rose above the rooftops, and a lake shimmered in the distance below. The houses were set closely together, and the winding driveways were littered with big plastic toys.

  He looked down the sloped driveway of 277 Lantana, squinting through his sunglasses. He hadn’t seen Addie since he’d punched Mitch in the face. He’d fully expected her to start calling and harassing him, desperate to make amends. But she hadn’t. In short, she’d written him off. Landrum had a history of stealing the important people in his life. And now Addie was one of them.

  Julian marched down the driveway to the front door. Yanking his sunglasses off and hooking them in his collar, he rang the bell. A pretty young girl answered. He’d expected a maid or servant, and she was obviously neither. Her blue eyes, outlined in thick liner, stared at him with blatant curiosity.

  Shit, but she was young.

  “Mitch here?” he asked.

  “Um, just a minute. I’ll go get him.” She hesitated, unsure of whether or not to invite him in.

  “I’ll wait outside,” he said.

  Seconds later, the door swung open, and there stood Mitch. He didn’t look all that surprised to see him. “Hello, Julian.”

  A piss-yellow cloud floated above Mitch’s head. That fucking voice.

  “Mitch.”

  Mitch raised an eyebrow at his swollen lip. “I see you’ve already been in one fight recently. You sure you’re up for another? Or should I just invite you in for tea and crumpets?”