by Tessa Bailey
What she’d just experienced with Oliver had been the single most amazing moment of her life. Freeing. Self-actualizing. It had felt right. But she’d wanted to explore this world to empower herself. She’d been told numerous times by Caroline, read it in articles, that there was power in submission. Yet when she’d been restrained, had her sight taken away…she hadn’t wanted control. She’d wanted none. At all. Had wanted Oliver to take every ounce of it away. What did that mean?
An unwanted image rose in her mind of her mother, always taking abuse. Almost…wanting it.
Eliza felt sick, unease clawing at her throat. A logical part of her brain told her this was just the aftermath of her first experience with this type of thing. She just needed to calm down and think about this when she felt more rational. When hormones and emotions weren’t pouring through her body from several different waterfalls. Even as she told herself to stay put, she found herself desperate to get out of the shower. Out of the apartment. Away from Oliver and what they’d done.
Chapter Nine
I’m so screwed.
Oliver reached down to massage Eliza’s wrists, just so he’d have an excuse to keep her flattened between him and the wall a little longer. Too many new things were happening here. Things he wasn’t accustomed to. Things and feelings and earth-shattering orgasms that depleted him to the point he could barely stand. He’d known sex between him and Eliza would be good. There had been a mutual attraction simmering for a long time, one he’d sensed from the get-go. It would be the enactment of a fantasy, something they would wink-wink-nudge each other about next time they were in the same room. That’s what he’d thought. Expected. He hadn’t anticipated her to reach inside his chest and rearrange everything.
No, no, wait…that sounded serious. His heart was in his chest, and no one had been able to touch that. Maybe he wasn’t even capable of feeling romantic love for another person. This…thing, though, happening in his chest…it hurt. It felt like someone had inflated one of those stupid rafts inside his ribcage and it was pushing, growing, trying to get out. At the same time, his throat wouldn’t seem to stop aching.
How was he supposed to deal with this? It hadn’t just been incredible sex. No, something else had happened when he’d been buried inside of her beautiful body. No one had ever surrendered everything to him as thoroughly as Eliza just had. At first he’d been humbled by her trust. Then he’d simply lost himself in her. People often spoke about having a “connection” with someone. He’d laughed it off as bullshit, something people wanted to see that wasn’t really there. He’d been wrong. Even now, he could feel her heart beating against his chest and swore to God, his tried to match it.
You’re a moron. See this for what it is, man. He finally found a girl he wanted to fuck twice. Okay, maybe a lot more than twice. And she was angling for another dude. This had never happened before in the History of Oliver and maybe, just maybe, he might even be a little jealous. An image of Porter holding Eliza’s damp, naked body unfurled in his mind like a red carpet to hell. A roaring started in his ears, eye ticking, throat constricting. Unconsciously, his arms tightened around her even more, refusing to relinquish her to imaginary Porter. Yeah, fine. Jealousy it is.
Panic flared when he reminded himself he was already down to two. Two more times. Shit, shit, shit. After which, he’d make a call to set her up with someone else. It was almost funny. Actually, fuck that, it wasn’t funny at all. It was a goddamn tragedy. He’d been standing here way too long without moving. While he could have easily stood there for the whole night, and maybe even tomorrow night, she would need to be reassured after what they’d done. Weird how he was looking forward to that part almost as much as the sex. He wanted to…cuddle her. Make her tea. Rub her back.
Oh, yeah. Screwed.
Oliver kissed her temple, still wet from the shower. She stiffened against him, lighting a flare of worry in his stomach. With a frown marring his forehead, he pulled back to look at her.
He never got the chance, though. She moved so fast, he was terrified she might slip on the tile and break her neck. Jesus, what had he missed? As soon as she left the shower stall, she started pulling on clothes with shaky hands. Her pale face alarmed him so much, it took him a moment to react.
“Eliza.” He stepped in front of her, wanting to rip the shirt out of her hands to get her attention but sensed she needed to cover herself. “Look at me.” She yanked the shirt over her head and made for the bathroom door. All right, no. This he wasn’t capable of. He couldn’t let her walk out without an explanation. With a quick sidestep, he blocked the door and latched onto her shoulders. “Look at me, babe. What’s wrong? Are you…” he swallowed hard at the pain in her eyes. “Hurt? God, did I—”
She shook her head. “I’m fine. Please move.”
“Not until you talk to me.” Trying and failing to keep his anxiety at bay, he pulled her into the circle of his arms, tightening them around her when she thankfully didn’t protest. “If you’re a little shaken up, that’s okay. Let’s talk about what you didn’t like, so I don’t do it ever again. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”
“I liked it. I loved it, actually.” Her breath exploded out of her on a sob. “I just never realized I was so weak.”
Surprise filtered through his panic. “Weak?”
She nodded jerkily. “I didn’t feel in control. I was supposed to, right? There’s power in submitting, blah blah blah. I didn’t feel that. I didn’t want it.”
He hated the shame that stained her cheeks. Wanted to eradicate it with an intensity so palpable, it burned through him like a wildfire. That wouldn’t work here, though. She needed him to make this better for her, to guide her through this misconception. At that moment, he thanked God he’d been her first experience with submitting. If he hadn’t been there to comfort her…he didn’t want to think about it. “Hey, bunny. Hey.” He waited until she gave him her full attention. “There you are.”
“I hate when you call me that.”
“No, you don’t.” He brushed his thumb across her cheek. “Eliza, you’re not weak. You’re incredibly brave. It takes a lot of courage to give someone else control like that. That’s where the power lies. I sure as hell couldn’t do what you just did.”
Oliver could practically see the wheels spinning in her head. “No?”
“Nope. I’d probably cry.” He shook his head. “Believe me, you never want to see that. I’m a really ugly crier.” Humor sparked in her expression, and he felt an astonishing sense of victory. He could really get used to it. Don’t get used to it. “You didn’t want control. That’s okay, Eliza. It’s better than okay.” Unable to keep his hands off her, he combed his fingers through her damp hair. She stared up at him looking slightly dazed. Those gorgeous lips were parted in an O, her eyes shining with renewed hope. Like she wanted desperately to believe him. It felt so good to reassure her, that a little too much slipped out before he could snatch it back. “You were spectacular. I’ve never seen anything half as beautiful as you were. As you are.”
…
Could he…mean it?
It startled Eliza how much she wanted the words out of his mouth to be genuine. Desperate, dangerous thoughts that materialized nonetheless, permeating her already overwrought mind. Their surroundings closed in on them, narrowing the bathroom down to the immediate space between them, around them. It got harder to draw air into her lungs as he stared at her through the steam, so mesmerizing and intense. As if willing her to believe him.
No, her imagination was running away with her. She’d just had her mind blown by the man she measured all men against, and it had propelled her into fantasy land. So she’d wanted to know why women followed him around like the Pied Piper? Mystery solved. But she couldn’t be one of them. Or he’d lead her right over the edge of a cliff.
“Wow.” Eliza shook herself. “That was one hell of a line, playboy.”
She frowned when he fell back a step, but he laughed after a beat and everything settle
d back into place. Even ground. “Guess I just can’t stop myself, huh?”
“Old habits die hard.”
Nodding once, he took her hand, twining their fingers together, and led her from the bathroom. Walking out of the steam solidified her place in reality. Where she and Oliver were old friends and this was just a teaching experiment. Striving for casual, Eliza hopped up onto a kitchen stool. The same one she’d sat on last time. Did that mean she had a spot now? She was distracted from her silly thoughts when Oliver began rummaging through the cabinet, watching her steadily over his shoulder.
“Want some tea, bunny?”
It sounded homey. Too homey. So she tilted her head. “Is that ouzo still around?”
“Since last night?” He scrubbed a hand over his damp hair. “Yeah, I managed not to chug the entire bottle.”
He took it from the door of the fridge and set it on the island. When Eliza saw a good portion of the alcohol was missing, she laughed. After the way she’d left last night, he’d obviously indulged more than was healthy. Why did it give her a thrill of pleasure to know he’d been as upset as she’d been? Oliver narrowed his eyes at her laughter, obviously realizing she’d cracked the case of the missing ouzo. Still smiling to herself, she took the chilled bottle and poured two shots. “Should we toast to lesson one?”
For a moment, he looked confused by her meaning, but he finally snatched up the shot. “Right. To lesson one.” They drank. Oliver licked his lips, leaving them coated in liquor. Lord. How could she already want him again? His mouth quirked on one side, as if he knew exactly what she was thinking. And liked it. “Feel better, babe?”
Her smile dimmed as she recalled her episode in the bathroom. “Yes. Thanks for what you said. I, um…I don’t know where that came from.”
His gaze remained intent. “Are you sure? It seems like you might.”
Had Oliver always been this astute? “I might, yeah.” With her index finger, she traced the rim of the shot glass. “My father didn’t treat my mother so well. That’s actually an understatement. He wasn’t physically abusive, but I remember this, like…constant mental torture. She never did anything right, and he made sure she knew how inferior he found her.” She blew out a breath, feeling more than a little shocked at how much she’d revealed. “Anyway, I never want to be like that. But—”
“Eliza.” There was incredulity in his tone, but he didn’t continue right away, brows drawn together as he poured them another shot. “You gave me hell last night for making a decision for you. Was that weak?”
“No.” Warmth bloomed in her chest. “No, I guess not.”
“What happens in the bedroom is separate. At least for us. You. I meant, you,” he corrected quickly. “Some people like to be submissive in all areas of their lives, but you’re not one of them. You never could be. What your mother went through is abuse. This, what we did, is not abuse. If anyone ever crosses that line, I’ll gladly kill them for you.”
Eliza’s breath caught, surprised by his vow, his white knuckled grip on the shot glass. This wasn’t the Oliver she’d grown used to over the years. Suave, easy Oliver had left the building. Just as quickly as the realization appeared, though, she blinked and he was back, giving her a lazy smile. “Where’s Mom now? Still in Maine?”
After a beat, she nodded. “Yeah. After my father died, she sold the house and rented a small apartment in town. She’s much happier.”
“Good.”
Eliza recalled the week her father died. She and Caroline had been juniors in college. Her best friend had gone with her to the funeral as support, since she had no siblings. Until now, she’d forgotten that Oliver had driven them to the airport. Checking them in at the curb, hugging her so tightly before she left, whispering apologies into her hair. He’d even asked her if she needed him to come. He’d meant it, too. She must have been so lost in her grief, she’d forgotten about that morning until now.
With great effort, she dragged herself back from the memory, hoping to lighten the tone. “So. Personal trainer, BDSM instructor, therapist. Do you have any other hidden talents I don’t know about?”
Oliver capped the ouzo and stuck it in the fridge. “I do. And you’ll never see it.”
An outraged sound tripped from her lips. “It must be embarrassing. Now I’m really curious.” She drummed her fingers on the island. “I have a hidden talent too. If I show you mine, will you show me yours?”
“We already played that game in the shower, bunny.”
She laughed and felt the remaining tension leach from her body. “I can juggle.”
“Not worth it.”
“I can juggle while doing the splits.”
His eyebrows shot up. “You have a deal.”
…
Eliza shook her head as she collected three green apples from his fruit bowl and stood. “You men are so easy.” Then she dropped into the splits. Right there in his kitchen. Oliver found himself diving over a stool to get around the island. He found her in a perfect split, those long legs stretched out in two delectable lines on either side of her. Blond hair shielding one eye. Big satisfied grin on her face. Fucking hot. Those were the only words he could think of to describe the picture she made. Okay, maybe boner inducing. Fantasy material. And…goddamn adorable. Those worked, too.
“High school cheerleader?”
She pursed her lips. “Gymnast.”
Oliver cursed, not even bothering to hide his interest in her spread center. That sweet spot he’d been buried in less than twenty minutes ago. Want to go back. “Should I juggle now?”
“Who?”
Eliza chuckled before drawing her brows together in concentration. She focused on the fruit in her hands a moment. Two apples launched into the air, a third joining them in a continuous pattern almost immediately. Against all odds, he found his gaze drawn to her hands, impressed by her speed and dexterity. Holy shit, she was really good. There’s a beyond sexy, uber-flexible, newly-minted submissive in your kitchen and you’re marveling at her dexterity. You’ve finally lost it, Preston. Even his obnoxious inner monologue couldn’t stop him from smiling, though. This entire situation was absurd and yet it felt oddly comforting. Like nothing out of the ordinary. As it should be. Of course, Eliza should be juggling apples in his kitchen on a Tuesday night after a mind-blowing fuck session in his shower.
Her voice broke into his thoughts. “Okay, your turn. What you got?”
“Please don’t make me do this.”
She lobbed an apple at him. “Deal’s a deal, playboy.”
Ignoring the stab of hurt he encountered at the nickname, Oliver took a deep breath, giving himself some time to get into character. He propped his wrists at the back of his waist. Stuck his lips out like a duck. And did the Mick Jagger impression that had been his claim to fame through four years of business school. Strutting around the kitchen like the Rolling Stones front man, he sang, “Let’s Spend the Night Together,” because it seemed appropriate. He hadn’t done the stupid impression in years, especially for a girl he wanted to continue sleeping with, but once he started, it was like riding a bike. Muscle memory. He would have stopped after enough time had elapsed to hold up his end of the deal, but her musical laughter was addictive, so he kept going.
She grabbed onto his ankle from her position on the floor. “Stop. Oh my God, please…I can’t watch you do it anymore. I’m going to pee my pants.”
He kept his lips in quack position. “Tha’s no way to talk to a bloody English knight, love.”
Her body curled up into a ball on his kitchen floor, sides shaking so hard she was clutching at her ribs. Around her, bright blond hair was spread out like sunshine. His masculine, functional kitchen had been lit up by her. God, when was the last time he’d genuinely laughed? His sister got a chuckle out of him from time to time, but right at this moment, he felt new. Fresh. Fucking happy.
“When am I seeing you again, Eliza?”
At the serious tone in his voice, she rose slowly to a sitting
position. Had he even heard a thread of desperation in his question? Maybe. He didn’t know. Could only stand very still and wait for her answer. She reached out a hand and he hauled her to her feet, steadying her with a hand on her waist when she stumbled toward him. Another chance to kiss her. Her lips were so close. This time, she didn’t give him enough of a window, though, probably because he’d let his opportunity pass in the bathroom. With a toss of her hair, she moved around the kitchen island and dug through her purse, pulling out a leather day planner and leafing through it.
She looked up at him. “Does Sunday night work for you?”
“Sunday?” He all-but shouted. “Today is Tuesday. What are you doing for the next four nights?” God, he sounded pathetically desperate. He needed to get a grip. “Not that I can’t find a way to stay occupied.” As soon as the words left his mouth, he wanted to slam his head against the wall. If he continued in his current vein, the next four nights would have been spent pretending to be interested in whoever approached him first at Serve or another club. Right now, the very contemplation of doing that made him feel nauseous.
Eliza’s smile was tight. “I’m sure you will, playboy.”
“I’d drop everything for you.” God. Have I already?
She propped a hip against the island and crossed her arms. “Friday night I’m going out with Caroline for dinner.” They exchanged an uncomfortable look. “Then Saturday night I have this formal gala at Cipriani where I’m expected to land a huge client named Conrad Sterns. Huge. Every night between now and then, with the exception of Friday, will be spent learning all there is to know about him. I’ll probably have a ninety second chance over champagne to sell him on letting me decorate his mansion in the Hamptons.”
“Wow.” He dragged a hand through his hair, reminded once again how impressive she was. “You need a date to the gala?” They both froze. Had those words just left his mouth? Yeah, they definitely had. He didn’t go on dates, and they both knew it. But the alternative was waiting an extra night to see her. When she didn’t answer right away, he experienced a foreign sense of insecurity. “It can double as your second lesson, of course,” he added quickly.