I couldn’t help myself. The baking bug bit.
“Lazarrio would beg you to come to work for him if he knew you baked bread sticks like these.”
“Baking wouldn’t be a bit of fun if I did it for a living.” They have no idea the only reason I do it is to keep my sanity.
Jill and Kris would flip out if they knew the whole story about Martin and me. The dominance-turned-abuse. The attempt to kill me. They believe it was a mutual decision to part ways and then I was attacked by some random person who broke into the office to rob the cash drawer . . . we don’t have.
Jill turns the baking sheet sideways and slides the bread sticks onto a serving platter. “Speaking of a living. How did you manage to score today and tomorrow off from work? I hear your boss is a real hard ass.”
“Last minute wedding cancellation. It was so sad. My bride for this weekend came into the office earlier this week. Poor thing was in tears, completely wrecked, after her fiancé called off the wedding; said he couldn’t go through with it.”
“You’re the boss of Bash Agency. You shouldn’t spend every weekend working.”
“I totally agree with Kris. Being the owner of a business should have perks.”
“I hear what you’re saying, and I don’t disagree.”
“Sweetie.” Jill’s voice takes on her counselor tone. “Agreeing and putting it into action are two totally different things.” I’m not one of her patients.
“I know.” I’ve allowed the agency to take over my life. It’s become my everything. Family. Friends. Love interest. But it’s a one-sided relationship. It doesn’t return my affection. It brings a certain type of satisfaction, but I’ve noticed lately it’s not enough.
“How long has it been since the three of us got together?” I’m surprised Kristin asks instead of taking out her phone to check her calendar. She’s so left-brained.
“Sometime late spring.” The last time I had a cancellation. Sheez. My job dictates how often my friends and I see one another. “I’m sorry. We’re best friends. We shouldn’t be seeing each other quarterly because I get an opening in my work schedule. I promise I’m going to do better.”
Jill points at me with a bread stick. “I’m holding you to that.”
“Me too.”
“Got it, ladies.”
Kristin takes a portion of chicken tetrazzini and passes the container to me. “We haven’t caught up in a while. Anything new going on in your life?”
“I’ve decided I want to date again.” Seems the best way to introduce the Oliver topic.
“About damn time.” That’s the exact reaction I expected from Kristin since she’s the one who has hounded me the hardest.
Jill’s reaction is different. Softer. She almost looks as though she’s going to cry. “Aww, that’s great, Addie. Tommy would be really happy about that. A bad breakup shouldn’t dictate the rest of your life.” If only they knew just how bad they would really understand why.
Tommy’s death shouldn’t dictate the rest of Jill’s life either.
It’s been two years since my brother died, and Jill hasn’t even considered dating. She still wears the engagement ring he gave her three months before he was killed.
Kristin looks at me with her stare that screams make her stop. But I don’t know how.
How does one tell a certified counselor she isn’t grieving appropriately? And what is the appropriate way to grieve anyway? It’s likely I’d feel the same, even after two years, if I were in love with a man who was stolen from me because of someone’s selfish stupidity.
Kristin looks away from Jill and shakes her head. “Do you have someone special in mind, Addie?”
There’s no going back with these two once I tell them but I’m going for it. “I’ve sort of, but not really, been seeing someone.”
Kristin slams her palm on the dining room table. “Shut the front door and tell us. Every. Thing.”
I down the last of my Pinot Grigio. One bottle down. Oops. “Well, we put that one away in record time.”
“Grab another one.” Kristin gets up and moves toward the wine chiller. “Better yet let me grab it, and you start talking.”
“I have a new neighbor. And he’s . . . all that plus some. We’ve been hanging out.”
Jill pats her hands together like a clapping toddler. “Oh. You obviously like this guy if he makes you consider dating again.”
“I do. A lot. But we had sort of a weird argument.” I consider that word. Argument doesn’t feel right. “Well, maybe it was more like a misunderstanding.” I’m not sure that’s the right word choice either since Oliver understood exactly what I wanted. Just not the why.
“What kind of misunderstanding are we talking about?” Jill asks.
These are my two dearest friends, besides Maury, and neither have a clue about the things I like when I’m with a man behind closed doors. This could get a little tricky.
But should it? We have been through a lot together. Am I ashamed? These girls are my best friends and I have trusted them with so many other aspects of my life . . . except Martin. They don’t know what happened to me. Is that why I haven’t shared about my need to be dominated? Perhaps now isn’t the time either.
“We had sex.”
Kristin fans herself with her napkin as she pretends to pass out in her chair. “Lawwwd, have mercy. When?”
“A couple weeks ago.”
She promptly sits eight inches taller. “And we’re just now hearing about it?” I don’t mistake the sharp clip in her voice.
“You should have called an emergency get-together. This calls for a celebration.” Jill is jumping to happy conclusions. It’s her way.
“Don’t pull out the balloons and penis party favors just yet.”
Kristin’s nose wrinkles. “It was bad sex?”
“No. It was fantastic. Literally, the best ever. But there were problems afterwards.”
Jill’s face drops. “What kind of problems?”
“I like it a little rough. Or moderately rough.” I have to keep this vague.
“Who doesn’t? I love having my ass smacked and my hair pulled.” I’m not at all surprised to hear that from Kristin. She fits the part.
But both of those things are in a different league from what I asked Oliver to do. “It had been so long. I guess I was a little overzealous.”
If I had to speculate, Kris might understand my need for dominance in the bedroom. But not Jill; she’s too strait-laced. And I’ve never felt like I could confide in Kris without her blabbing to Jill. Not in gossip, but because we look out for each other.
“It has been a super long time. I think that’s understandable.” Not according to Oliver Thorn.
“Oliver had a violent childhood. He was abused by his birth parents so he had a hard time with the idea of being assertive with me. It didn’t go well.”
“Aww, that’s too bad.” Jill grabs the bottle of wine and refills everyone’s glass. “Maybe you could try getting some drinks down him so he’ll loosen up.” Wow. That’s a little out of character for Jill to suggest something like that.
“We had drinks. Quite a few beers. He was still very resolute about the whole thing. I don’t think alcohol could have swayed his stance about it.”
“Bor-ing.” Kristin takes a drink of wine. “Your first sexual encounter in years is with a stick-in-the-mud. That’s tragic.”
I feel the need to defend Oliver. “It wasn’t like that. It was really good.”
“Yeah . . . until it wasn’t.” Kristin is sort of pissing me off.
“Are you ready to give up on this guy?” Per usual, Jill is the one who’s going to try to solve the problem.
I shake my head. “No.”
I want him. Bad.
“Then go back to square one. Warm him up to the idea of rough play. Start slow. Use baby steps.” Would Oliver take that chance though? Jill’s probably right. I guess I can see where asking him to choke me the first time we’re together might have been
a little much for someone who has never done anything like that.
“You’re right. Oliver needs to be eased into it.” And that’s what I think about as we finish the next two bottles of wine. All the ways I can condition Oliver into being the bedroom alpha I need and want.
If he still wants me. He’s probably moved on.
Kristin stretches out on the sofa and kicks me in the thigh with her foot. “You should go over there. To your neighbor’s house. Now.”
“You’re drunk talking.”
She giggles. “I may be a little drunk but I know what I’m talking about.”
I’m drunk too, but not so much I can’t rationalize. “Let’s say I go over there. Then what? Throw myself at him and say spank me, please?”
“No. You pique his interest. Dangle the carrot.”
I look over at the clock. “It’s almost midnight.”
“So?”
“He’ll think I’m nuts.”
“Not nuts. Horny? Probably. Which might not be a bad thing.”
“Don’t you think it’ll be painfully obvious what I’m doing?”
“Do you really care if it gets him back in bed with you?”
Seeing him again scares the shit out of me. “We’re having girl time. I can’t believe y’all are trying to talk me into going next door for dick.”
“You won’t be going over there to get dick tonight. You’ll be laying the foundation for getting dick later.”
I can tell this conversation is about to get real. “I assume my vagina is the carrot so how do I dangle it?”
“Oh, God. You two are killing me.” I’m happy to see Jill laughing. She does too little of that.
“The first thing you’re going to do is change out of those leggings and tunic into something sexy.”
I’m going to change into something sexy before I go over to his house at midnight. “Don’t you think that’ll be obvious?”
“Who gives a fuck if it gets you back in bed with him? That’s what you want, right?” She has a point.
“Well, yeah.” I want Oliver but I’m not going over there looking stupid, even if I have had a whole bottle of wine. And a half. I’m not that drunk. Yet. “He left his motorcycle wrench by the pool today.”
“He needs his wrench. Maybe even tomorrow. Perfect excuse to go over there.”
It wouldn’t be the dumbest excuse for dropping by. “Maybe.”
“Maybe, my ass. It’s a fantastic reason for going over there.”
I don’t know. Despite the alcohol, I can still see that expression on his face from two weeks ago. The one that told me he was disgusted by my kink.
And it shakes any liquid courage the wine may have given me. “Maybe it’s not the best idea to go over there after I’ve been drinking.”
Jill holds up her glass of wine. “No. The best idea would be for you to have another two glasses and then go.”
Kristin opens our last bottle of Pinot Grigio and tops off my glass. “Bottoms up, bitch.”
The fence between where I am now and hammered is a thin one. And this glass is going to shove me over the edge.
“Get your ass up. You’re changing out of those fat clothes and putting on something sexy.”
I follow them to my bedroom. I sit on the bed as they go through my wardrobe. Within minutes, it looks like my closet puked all over my room and I’m wearing a spaghetti strap sundress. No bra. “Inconspicuous but easy access to the carrot, just in case.”
The just in case sends chills over my body. “Not so sure about the inconspicuous theory.”
Jill pushes another glass of wine my way. “Finish this off so you don’t chicken out.”
“Another glass or not, I’m considering backing out.”
“No, you’re not. This is the first promising relationship since your breakup with Martin. You’re doing this.”
“My breakup. Right.” I hate that I’ve lied to them. It has felt as though I’m protecting Martin. Nothing could be further from the truth. At the time, Jill and Tommy were together, and if I shared the truth, she would have told him everything. And then what? My brother was so protective of me. He probably would have killed Martin then and there.
I was so ashamed. Mortified it had happened to me in the first place. How could I have been so stupid to remain in a relationship so dark and dangerous?
Jill taps the bottom of my wine glass. “Drink.”
When I see the bottom of the glass, there’s no denying it. I’ve crossed the fence. Fallen over it, actually. I’m tanked. “Okay. Let’s do this.”
My girls walk me to the patio door and Jill holds out the wrench. “You’re hot. Sexy. Confident. He wants you.”
Kristin pushes up on my boobs from the bottom. “Rub your nipples so he can see them through your dress.”
“Are you kidding me?”
“Come on, Addie. Do it. Guys love it when they’re hard.”
I recall the special attention Oliver gave to my breasts so I reach into my dress and pinch my nipples, pulling on them so they elongate. “Better?”
“Oh, yeah. He’ll like that.”
“Okay. I’ve got this. I’ve got this. Tell me again I’ve got this.”
“You’ve got this, Addie.”
Jill and Kris are standing at the door when I look back. “Go, ho.”
Fuck. I’m not getting out of this.
My mind and head spin as I cross from my property to Oliver’s. None of the lights are on but I think I see the flash of the television in the living room window.
Even intoxicated, I know I’m a dumbass for doing this. It’s juvenile. I’m acting like a twenty-seven-year-old teenager.
I ring the bell and come up with at least one dozen reasons I should haul ass before he comes to the door and sees me sloshed, in this dress, with erect nipples, on his doorstep. I consider it hard but I’m afraid I’ll face-plant in the front yard. And that would suck so much worse.
Tick-tock. Tick-tock. Tick-tock. No Oliver. Maybe he isn’t home. After all, it is Saturday night. He’s probably out on a date or some shit like that.
I turn to leave and Oliver opens his front door. He looks at me, puzzled, through squinted eyes. “Max?” His voice is raw and scratchy.
Shit. I woke him.
“Umm . . .”
“What are you doing?”
“Umm . . .”
His hair is unruly, reminding me of a faux hawk gone wrong. He’s shirtless. I can’t take my greedy eyes from his muscular, tattooed chest. I want to lick it. Bite his nipples again. And that damn V at his waist disappearing into those thin athletic shorts. I want to lick it too.
Fuck. He looks amazing.
I want him.
I step closer and grasp the back of his neck with my free hand. I press my mouth to his with the intention of possessing it. And he lets me.
His tongue is soft. Wet. Alluring. Everything I remember.
I came to entice him. Dangle the carrot and walk away. But it’s he who holds the power to seduce me.
Oliver cups his hand around the side of my face. “Max.”
He says my name and I panic as memories of the this-isn’t-going-to-work-for-me incident flashes in my head. I’m terrified to hear what comes after my name so I step away and hold out his tool. “You left your wrench at my house. I thought I’d bring it to you. That’s why I’m here . . . this time of night. . . because I have nothing better to do.”
He chuckles and I want to die because that is likely the lamest damn thing I’ve ever said to someone. “Thanks. I’m sure I would have been looking for this tomorrow.”
“You’re welcome.” I want to run. Get away now.
I’m halfway down the sidewalk when he calls out to me. “Max.”
I stop, before I consider doing otherwise, and turn at the sound of my name. “Hmm?”
“You look beautiful . . . this time of night when you have nothing better to do.”
Fuck. Me.
My carrot may be working on this jac
krabbit after all.
Oliver Thorn
I didn’t eat breakfast when I got up. I kept expecting (hoping) I’d get a Sunday brunch invitation from Adelyn after her late-night visit.
Last night’s kiss. It has to mean all isn’t forsaken between us. Surely, it means she’s coming around. Maybe. Hopefully.
Yet, I sit here without a word from her today. Not a call. Not a text. Nada. But that kiss. Fuck. So hot.
There are two cars parked in her drive this morning. At least two people. One of them could have been a man in her bed last night. Maybe a man who would happily give her all the things she desires. Wish I could be that man.
I picture some asshole putting his hands on her. Holding her down. Pulling her hair. Grasping her throat. Fucking her pussy. Maybe even her ass. Plus all the other kinky shit I discovered during my research. Does she want to be treated like a princess in public and a whore in the bedroom?
My blood fucking boils as I consider the possibility of some other man doing those things to her.
I’ve looked out my kitchen window at least a dozen times this morning trying to see what’s going on at Adelyn’s house. Trying to at least catch a glimpse of who’s there. Not knowing is killing me.
But caring is killing me more.
I hear what I believe is a splash and girly squeal. But not a panicked version like the one from the snake yesterday. More of a fun-like yelp.
I take the stairs two at a time and peek through my guest bedroom window since it provides a view into Adelyn’s backyard and pool. I stand there, waiting, to catch a glimpse of Adelyn’s guests. I’m fucking pathetic for this.
I’m pleased when I see one bikini. Then two. And finally a third. She had girlfriends over last night. She wasn’t in a chokehold getting fucked by some alpha asshole.
I’m slightly disgusted by my relief and sudden lift in mood.
Given Adelyn is tied up for the time being, I might as well do something instead of sitting around by myself thinking about how badly I wish I could see her.
I call Porter first. “Hey, dipshit. Want to come over and watch the game later?”
“I’ve got nothing better to do, so sure.”
It’s Sunday and he’s not MIA for the first time in weeks. Not sure what that means. “Game starts at six. Lawry said she was working on some kind of furniture refinishing project with a friend today so I’m gonna see if Tap wants to come too. I’ll ask him to try sweet-talking my sister into sending food.” Hopefully, guacamole.
Stout (Lovibond Collection #2) Page 11