DutyBoundARe

by Sidney Bristol

  Lisette had only met his family in passing, but it’d left an impression. For months after they broke up, his grandmère had asked about her. Knowing what he knew now about Lisette’s past, he wondered how their lives might have been different if Lola hadn’t prodded him into the break up. Did Lola know how Lisette had changed?

  “I saw my brother today,” she announced.

  Mathieu froze reaching for his tea. “What?”

  Did her brother know about his visit to her parents? After what he’d experienced, he’d been mulling over the idea that perhaps her not knowing might be the best plan. But if she already knew…

  “I was down on Royal in a café after walking Gator and he called me. Turns out he was only a few blocks away so he came over and we hung out for a little while.” She pushed her food around on her plate, one side of her mouth kicked up.

  “Did it go well?”

  “Yeah. It’s crazy, but I never really got along with him growing up. I think I like him better as an adult. I could be wrong. It’s not like I’ve spoken with him since the last time I was here, but I’m glad we reconnected.” She spooned a bite of food in her mouth and watched him over her plate.

  “I’m glad.” He took a deep breath and set his plate on his knee. Telling her was a bad idea, but keeping the truth from her was even worse.

  “What’s that look for?”

  “I…went to see your parents today.”

  “What?” She choked on her last bite and reached for her glass of tea.

  “I’ve been looking into the Seth stuff, and I thought they might have some information you didn’t.”

  “Did you tell them I’m here?” Her eyes were round, the muscles in her face tense.

  “No, as far as they know, I’m just asking about an out of state case. I don’t even think they recognized my name.” He wasn’t even positive Lisette had ever spoken his name to her parents when they were dating.

  She relaxed into the cushions, her complexion a little paler.

  “Lisette?”

  “I wish you would have told me you were going. If they tell my brother, he’ll figure it out.”

  “Is that a bad thing?”

  “I just don’t want them hurt because of me. It’s already bad enough that you’re involved, but they have no idea who Seth really is. What he’s capable of.”

  “Do you think your brother would tell them?”

  She shook her head. “No, he was really concerned about me and totally understood not wanting to tell Mom and Dad I was here. Maybe I should tell him before they do. I just—I’ve never had a good relationship with any of them, and I can see Leo and me actually staying in touch now. I don’t want to ruin that, ya know?”

  “I do. Tell him, if you think it’s the right thing to do.” Mathieu knew it was, but part of him still wanted to hoard her all for himself. Even from her brother.

  “He wants to have lunch tomorrow. I might tell him then.” With that decided, the tension eased from her and she tucked into her food.

  “Okay. Sounds good to me.”

  Mathieu turned the TV on, more for background noise than a distraction, and followed her example. The meal was as delicious as anything he ate at the weekly family dinners. And speaking of, if Lisette planned to stay much longer, they’d be facing his family soon, too. Lola knew the situation, but how did he explain it to everyone else without them jumping to the most logical conclusion—that they were a couple.

  He’d talk to Lola about it later.

  Lisette scratched Gator’s head pillowed on her stomach and listened to the sounds of Mathieu in the kitchen. The sink turned on and off randomly as he cleaned up. The domestic feel of it all was so normal. She’d never wanted to play house or aspired to being married with two-point-five kids, the dog and white picket fence. But maybe she’d never wanted that because Mathieu hadn’t been part of the picture.

  Her emotions were so tangled around the man. The warning signs were big and neon all around her. She was getting over what Seth had done to her a little every day, but the trade-off was falling for Mathieu all over again. And he wasn’t at a place where he was ready for her or the emotional commitment of a relationship.

  She hated the woman who had destroyed him so thoroughly. He wasn’t the first man to be devastated by a woman. She’d seen several in her time at the practice in Miami, and her heart went out to them. But with Mathieu it was different. He could have been hers. It hurt to think of it that way.

  If they hadn’t broken up, if Mathieu had guided her journey down the rabbit hole into kink, where would they be now? It was a life lost to them, maybe forever. His stance toward her hadn’t seemed to change. Though he cared for her, it wasn’t what she wanted it to be. She hadn’t come to New Orleans to rekindle a romance with him though. She needed to hold onto that, to remember that the hugs, gentle caresses, and the brief pecks on her cheek were nothing more than a very good Dominant caring for his play partner. That was it.

  The kitchen light flipped off and Mathieu rounded the corner. He rested his shoulder against the partial wall that separated the two spaces and studied her.

  Gator lay across her legs, perfectly content to serve as her living, breathing blanket. At least one creature loved her.

  “Comfortable?” he asked.

  “Yup. I’d make room for you, but I think I’ve lost all feeling in my feet.”

  “And that’s comfortable?” He slapped Gator’s hindquarters. “Get down.”

  Gator twisted to look at his owner, ears flattened to his skull and his whip-like tail swinging back and forth.

  “What did I say?” Mathieu stared at the dog.

  Gator seemed to get the drift and crawled off the couch. Lisette winced at a few unfortunately placed paws and the sudden rush of blood to her feet. She hissed and pulled her knees to her chest, wiggling her toes though it felt as if a thousand pins stabbed her feet in the worst pain play of her life. Mathieu sank onto the other end of the couch, but not before tapping the bottom of her feet, sending yet more jolts of screaming nerves through her system.

  “Okay, I don’t like bastinado,” she whined, referencing a kink practice of foot whipping.

  “Something you don’t like?” He chuckled and turned toward her. The tension he’d carried in with him from work was gone, but there was an energy to him that made her think of a jack-in-the-box, tightly contained and ready to explode.

  “Hush.” She twisted to lie on her side and continued wiggling her toes. The pain was subsiding, but it still felt as if she was being pricked.

  She had no idea what show was on TV, but she tried to muster some interest in it. It appeared to be a drama, but for the life of her she couldn’t place the characters to a network or commercial.

  Extreme cold blossomed on the soles of her feet. She yelped and jerked away from the sensation. Mathieu laughed, his big booming voice filling the tiny apartment.

  “That’s not funny,” she whined, curling up as far from him as she could get.

  “Come here.” He scooted over and grasped her ankles before she could dodge him. He placed her feet against his thigh and covered the tops of them with his hands.

  Lisette hissed as her abused nerves screamed in protest.

  “What? That’s not better?” he asked innocently.

  “God, not yet. It’s like temperature play.”

  “Huh. Really?”

  She did not like the interested tone of his voice. Not one bit. She pulled her feet out of his grasp and twisted away from him.

  “Maybe, but I’m pretty sure I’m getting the feeling back now, thanks.” Though she wasn’t into the idea of having her feet stimulated with varying temperatures, the sensations on other parts of her body from the application of hot or cold weren’t all that unappealing.

  Mathieu didn’t reply. She glanced at him and caught him studying her, the wheels of an idea spinning in his gaze. Her heart kicked in her chest and butterflies churned
sluggishly in her stomach. She knew better than to let those dark, golden eyes charm her, but the man was blessed by a voodoo queen. What chance did she have of ever resisting him?

  “What are you thinking?” she asked, not sure if she wanted the truth or not.

  “I have an idea. Interested in seeing if it’s a good one or not?” His voice was all low and husky, sensuality curling through the notes to tickle her pulse.

  Damn him. Yes, yes she wanted to know all his ideas, she wanted that gaze on her and his voice speaking just like that in her ear as he did all the naughty things to her body.

  “Depends,” she replied slowly. He could talk her into anything. He just didn’t need to know it.

  “Get undressed and go lay on the bed,” he said in a tone that brokered no argument. He slapped the couch to punctuate the order and rose, returning to the kitchen.

  Everything in her said to run and obey his command. But should she? Her pussy clenched, arousal pumping through her with no work on his part. Did he have any idea how badly she wanted him? She doubted it; men were always oblivious.

  “Lisette? Didn’t I give you an order?” he said from the kitchen.

  She cringed and again resisted the urge to strip and run to the bed.

  “Yup,” she replied and pushed to her feet. “On my way now.”

  She strolled into the bedroom and blew out a breath. God, she had it bad, but the thrill of what he made her feel was better than the misery of the last year. For now, she’d enjoy their relationship, though it didn’t satisfy the deep craving in her heart. She wanted to love and be loved in return.

  Lisette stripped out of her socks, jeans, tank top and bra, leaving her in cute striped panties. She climbed onto the bed as she heard things clanging in the kitchen while the microwave chimed in the background. Though something she’d said about temperatures or her feet had inspired this, she didn’t know exactly what he had in mind.

  She lay down on her stomach in the middle of the big bed and waited.

  Mathieu’s footsteps thumped across the apartment followed by the click, click, click of Gator’s nails on the hardwood.

  “No, boy. You’re staying out here,” he said and shut the door, cutting out the light.

  She glanced over her shoulder, but couldn’t make out much in the dim light.

  “Don’t look,” he chided.

  The amusement that threaded through his voice was new. How long since he’d found joy in anything?

  “Do I want to know?” She turned and laid her face across her crossed arms.

  “Probably, but I’m not telling.”

  He set something down on the dresser at the foot of the bed. The unmistakable flick of a lighter and the scent of a burning candle were next, as several candles—or something—was lit.

  Wax play could vary from mild to extreme depending on the candle used. She’d experienced a number of sensual, enjoyable scenes, and also a few that left her with places she was certain might blister and burn.

  The urge to look was overpowering. She twisted just a little. He wouldn’t notice, would he?

  Mathieu stood at the foot of the bed, lighting a small tea light with a lighter. His gaze flicked toward her.

  Caught!

  His brows lifted and his expression hardened.

  “Bebelle, I told you to not look.”

  “Sorry!” She buried her face in the pillows.

  He sighed and moved around the bed. The plastic rope bins she’d discovered skidded across the hardwood floor.

  “I won’t look again.” Her voice was muffled by the pillows.

  “No, you won’t.”

  The bed dipped under Mathieu’s weight. She held her breath and waited for punishment, a reprimand, something. His knees settled on either side of her waist and his ass rested on her bottom, his warmth seeping into her skin. Rope slid over her back and she shivered, recalling their scene from yesterday, which had left her in an emotionally raw but good place. She couldn’t help but smile in anticipation of whatever he might do that involved rope.

  “Close your eyes.” He gathered her hair off her back and lifted her head using it. “Stay right there.”

  He coiled rope around her head, over her eyes, once—twice—three times. Not too tight, but she wasn’t about to open her eyes. Her pulse kicked up slightly at such a rough and tumble blindfold. Any manner of things could be used, but she’d never seen rope used before.

  “There. That should do it.” He continued to mess with her hair, running his hands over her shoulders and back.

  Her nipples tightened until even the soft comforter felt slightly abrasive.

  Mathieu swung his leg over her, the mattress dipping toward her left, where he must have settled in. He cracked his hand against her ass. Lisette yelped into the pillows and wiggled her hips. It didn’t hurt, but heat spread out across her skin and her channel grew slick with arousal.

  “Turn over. I think that will be more fun.”

  Fun for who? Him?

  Still, she did as he asked, breathing deep as she felt the cool air across her breasts.

  He grasped her right wrist and pulled it up toward the bedpost. More rope wrapped around her arm, not tight enough to cut off her circulation, but not loose enough to slip free. He bound her arm with minimal slack to something, the bed most likely, but with her rope blindfold she couldn’t tell. He bound her other wrist as well, but left her legs free. She wasn’t sure if that was a good or a bad sign.

  What tricks did he have in store for her? The not knowing was the worst of it. Her stomach tied itself in knots.

  Hot air blew across her nipples. She sucked in a breath and arched her back. She grabbed the rope going from her wrist to the bed and held on, glad it gave her something to cling to. The bed dipped toward her right, then left. She sensed more than felt the large presence of Mathieu above her.

  Her lungs stopped working. She bit her lip and waited. What would he do next? Not what she wanted, but he was a clever man.

  Heat closed round her right nipple and something damp caressed the tight bead. Her brain short-circuited, and for a moment, she was too shocked to think or feel.

  Mathieu’s mouth on her. Her skin heating from his touch.

  A moan escaped her lips and she finally relaxed her shoulders and arms, allowing herself to enjoy the contact. Her feet moved restlessly over the bed.

  God, this was torture of the worst kind. Her clit throbbed, and there was no hope for satisfaction, not when sex was off the table. She didn’t know if she hated or loved him in the moment, his talented mouth working over her right breast, heating her flesh until she panted.

  He switched to her left breast, using only his mouth, never his hands.

  The benefit of the blindfold was she could imagine someone else doing these things to her body, but she wanted it to be Mathieu. She wanted him near her, in her, tormenting and teasing her.

  Pleasure zinged between her breasts, the cool air tightening her right, while his mouth warmed her left. It was an odd sensation, but the man was a conductor of her body with that mouth, driving her higher. She wiggled her hips and squeezed her thighs together as his teeth barely brushed the even more sensitive areola.

  As suddenly as he began, he stopped. His presence no longer covered her. She was bereft of his heat.

  Through her fog of sensation and muddled thoughts, she was aware of him. Even though she couldn’t see Mathieu, she could hear the swish of his jeans as he walked to the foot of the bed and continued messing with things in the bowl. Several hurried steps took him to the bathroom, then the bed dipped again. Terry cloth was shoved against her sides.

  Towels?

  Now what was he doing?

  The bed rose and she listened to his steps take him again to the dresser, then to the right side of the bed. There was a clink that was familiar, but she couldn’t place it. It was something she’d just heard. What was in the bowl?

  Ice-cold wat
er splashed on her chest, just under her breasts. Droplets landed on her sensitized breasts and ran down her stomach, soaking her panties.

  She yelped and yanked against the ropes.

  “Jesus fucking Christ, that’s cold.” She gasped and twisted her torso, making the water run off her and onto the damn towels.

  At least she knew why they were there in the first place.

  “Yup, it is. Hold real still now,” he said.

  “Oh crap.” Her groan turned into a yelp as something freezing cold was held to both breasts. “Holy shit!” She wiggled, trying to get away even though she knew it wasn’t possible. Whatever it was, it was rough, lumpy and fuck all cold. Her skin began to burn with the intensity of the cold.

  “Now, now, didn’t I tell you to hold still?” Mathieu chuckled as he held two of the objects, one on each breast, and pushed her back down into the mattress.

  “It’s cold,” she got out through clenched teeth.

  He moved one of the things down to her stomach and began drawing patterns on her skin with it. The muscles in her stomach constricted and the unmistakable sensation of goose flesh rising spread across her body. Great thing she’d just shaved that morning.

  The other bundle of whatever he had in his hand trekked up to her collarbone. She grit her teeth. On the scale of things she enjoyed, this was falling pretty low.

  “Hm.”

  “What does, “Hm,” mean? I don’t like the way your voice went up at the end.” Lisette’s teeth began to chatter. She twisted her wrists in the rope, but he’d tied her so that the makeshift cuffs would neither tighten nor loosen. Damn him for being so talented.

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  “You sound way too amused for me to not worry.” She continued twisting her wrists. The rope scraped over her skin, not quite painfully, but it wasn’t comfortable. The rope, she decided she liked.

  He laid one of the things between her breasts and left it there. Immediately it seemed to change shape.

  A washrag. He’d had a damn washrag full of ice cubes on her. The water must have been from them melting and why the terrycloth was damp. Clever bastard.