Her Claim: Legally Bound Book 2

by Rebecca Grace Allen

  His eyes searched hers. “If you’re proud of things they’ve done, why hide the Cuban in yourself?”

  “You mean you haven’t figured it out despite my convoluted attempts at talking around it? Come on, Patrick. Read my mind!”

  She was stalling, but hey, wasn’t paying attention his specialty?

  “If I had to guess, I’d say your heritage means a lot to you, and you’re proud of it, but you don’t quite know how to…be it.”

  Damn. He did pay attention.

  “You got most of it right.” Cassie rolled over onto her back. It was easier to admit this when he wasn’t looking at her so intently. “I’ve always struggled to figure out who I am, from work to relationships to filling out forms. Which little box do I check? Latina or Caucasian? There was no multicultural option back then, I could only choose one. So I chose to be white.”

  “Did something happen to make you choose that?”

  She slanted a pointed look at him. “People treat me differently when they find out.”

  “I’m sorry, I—”

  “No, don’t. It’s not just you. It’s been my whole life. When I’m Anglo, I’m respected. When I’m brown, I’m ignored. I love a lot about my heritage, but no matter how far we’ve come in America there’s still an undercurrent of racism, and as much as I hate to admit it, my eye and skin color have given me opportunities others don’t have, especially at work. I don’t look Cuban, and that’s made life…” she shrugged, “…easier.”

  Easier to be one than stuck in the middle. Easier to keep silent and hide under a cloak of Caucasian features. It was a horrible thing to say. A horrible thing to feel. A horrible way to honor her grandfather’s sacrifice. How could she long for her heritage and reject it at the same time?

  “You’ve clearly worked hard to get where you are though,” he said softly. “I’m sure your grandfather would be proud.”

  “I feel like he might, sometimes. I have his drive, his desire to avoid charity. Not having a loan over my head is important to me. I want to make my own way. I don’t want anything handed to me.”

  Patrick went quiet for a moment.

  “What?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “Nothing. I just had no idea you’d struggled that much.”

  She was still struggling. “I’ve gotta work crazy hours and put everything into proving I can do a man’s job—a white man’s job. A lot of my female coworkers cut their hours to raise their children, or left the practice completely. I can’t do that, not if I want to make partner.”

  “You want kids?”

  The was a question she didn’t know how to answer. So she went with honesty instead.

  “I know I’m supposed to want kids, but I’ve never had that ovary-exploding, biological urge, so I put it on the back burner. It’s certainly what my mom wants from me though. She’s constantly on me about when I’m going to get married.”

  “Is she now?”

  Cassie rolled her eyes and turned back on her side. “All the time. I mean, she’s proud of me, at least I think she is, but it’s like—” she smacked her hands together several times in succession, “—where’s the husband and babies, Cassandra? Tick-tock!”

  He laughed. “Well I don’t have that problem. I don’t think my mom cares much about what I do. And kids are…”

  She looked up at him, at the sudden darkening in his expression, his gaze far away.

  “…I don’t think they’re for me,” he finished.

  “I get it. I’m too old at this point to change my routine and my budget—my savings is for my investment in the firm. And like I said, I’ve lost my patience with dating. I hate all those games you have to play. Be independent, but never let a man think you don’t need him. Demand respect, but act demure. Act sexy, but don’t let them treat you like an object.”

  Patrick grinned and brushed his nose against hers. “But you like being treated like an object.”

  Cassie’s pulse spiked uncomfortably. “That’s a problem too.”

  “Your fantasies?” The huskiness in his voice made her tingle. “Objectification, name calling, slapping—those are hot. Not problems. Not something to be disgusted with.”

  So he remembered what she’d said. Felt like a year, not an hour ago. “But it goes deeper.”

  “I know. You like it when your body isn’t in your control. Like when I get you crazy wet. It makes you mad and it turns you on. And that makes you madder. Which turns you on more.”

  “True, but I haven’t told you the fantasies I’m really ashamed of.”

  Her body went tense, and her breathing sped up. She felt naked despite the blanket, raw and vulnerable without the armor she’d gotten so comfortable hiding behind.

  Patrick brushed his knuckles over her cheek, caressed her softly a few times before slipping his hand around to the back of her neck and anchoring it there. “The idea that you have even dirtier fantasies makes me want you even more.”

  His smile was genuine, his eyes shining.

  She inhaled slowly.

  Jumped off the cliff.

  “Breath play is one.”

  He gripped her neck a little harder. Whether it was in excitement or discomfort or an attempt to keep her steady, she didn’t know. “Okay. What does that involve?”

  Cassie’s breathing shifted—still fast, but it wasn’t tinged with fear. She didn’t feel that usual sense of revulsion she always harbored about her perverse hunger to be forced and taken and claimed.

  “I don’t want to be choked. I just want the threat of it, the feeling of a hand around my throat.”

  He looked at her neck, brought his hand around to the front and experimentally tightened his fingers. Cassie inhaled, surprised by the pleasure that coiled through her at the restriction, at how nervous and safe she felt at the same time. The sensation was dizzying.

  “Have you ever done that?” he asked quietly, hooded eyes focused on her throat.

  “Once. A long time ago.” But she wanted more than that fumbling grip from a boy who posed no real threat. She wanted Patrick to do more than tease her.

  She wanted it to feel real.

  “Have you?” she asked.

  He released her throat, pressed his palm to her sternum, his breath hot on her face. “No. Does that bother you?”

  “No.”

  “Good. Tell me about the other fantasy.”

  Cassie’s nipples puckered up. She was lightheaded, her blood rushing. “Consensual non-consent.”

  He stilled, his eyes blazing. “Rape play.”

  The words thudded as loudly as her heartbeat. Cassie nodded.

  “Have you always wanted that?”

  “Yes. I’ve tried to push it back, but it’s always been there.”

  “Did anybody ever…”

  “Rape me for real? No. Which makes me feel crazy guilty because of what actual rape survivors have been through. But I do…want it.”

  “And that’s something you want to do with me?”

  His throat bobbed on a swallow. He was turned on, as aroused as she was, her fantasies the sparks that always set them both on fire. “Not right now, but, yes.”

  “Specifics,” he gritted out. “Please.”

  It was easy, now, to tell him. Now that he knew everything. “I want the rush, the fear and excitement of trying to fend off someone stronger than me. I want to be taken when I don’t expect it, to feel like it’s anonymous and believe it’s real. To be scared and fight until I have no choice and my body gives in.”

  He nodded, like he was taking it in, filing it away. “And if we do that, what do you need? After, I mean.”

  After he’d pretended to assault her? “I need to feel safe, I guess. Tethered. Grounded.” She reached up, traced her fingers along the back of his hand, secured over her heart. “What do you need?”

  His jaw worked, and he pulled her close, arms tight around her, his lips at the crown of her head. “Don’t leave,” he said. “No matter what happens, don’t leave
.”

  Something sharp flashed in her throat, something jagged and raw. “Okay.”

  She wasn’t sure how they’d gotten here, but somehow Patrick had become the person who gave her the most comfort, the person she was willing to share her deepest secrets with. And she guessed the same was true for her to him. It was still just sex, she knew that, but it was okay.

  Everything felt okay, as long as his arms were around her.

  They stayed like that, breathing quietly together until Cassie fell asleep.

  * * *

  Patrick awoke a few hours later. It was the middle of the night, and Cassie was still there, warm and pliable and soft in his arms. He’d been in and out of sleep since she drifted off. His mind was reeling with all she’d shared with him, her history, the things she craved.

  It had felt like a privilege, to learn so much about her. But worries niggled at the back of his mind. Like her grandfather, she wanted to make her own way in the world. How would she feel if she found out he’d sent Hudson to her? Would she see it as a handout?

  He’d have to keep that one to himself. And make sure Hudson didn’t tell her either.

  She shifted in her sleep, bare legs rubbing against his, skin soft and silky smooth. He wanted to let her sleep, and tried to steel himself against his burgeoning erection, but his mind went into overdrive, awash with the things she wanted him to do to her. How rough she wanted him to be.

  Not rough. Cruel. Brutal.

  Jesus, this woman. Passionate and spirited, wild and difficult to break. But she wanted to be broken. Wanted him to break her.

  He was so fucking gone for her.

  She opened her eyes, heavily lidded and drowsy. “Hey. Sorry I passed out like that.”

  “’S’okay.” He ran his hand down her back, up her side, needing her close, needing more. Instead of hungering for escape he wanted to be present. To be totally enveloped in her.

  She touched his face. “You all right?”

  A prickly tightness started up in his chest. “Cassie, are we…”

  Coming too close to having feelings? Should we shut this thing down?

  “Are we what?” she prompted.

  “Are we okay? We sort of had a fight tonight, I guess.”

  Leaning in, she kissed him. Light. Gentle. Her tongue a wet swipe in his mouth.

  “We’re okay,” she said against his lips. “Besides, we’re used to fighting.”

  Desire spooled low in his belly, anticipation flooding through him in a rush. This. This was a language they spoke well. Whatever they couldn’t say with their mouths, they could say with their bodies, and suddenly Patrick was done with the talking.

  He kissed her, and turned her onto her back with a growl. She’d released something in him. Something unfamiliar and desperate he couldn’t control.

  He reached over to her nightstand, fumbling with the drawer until he found a condom and shoved his boxers down. She held on tight when he pressed inside her. She wasn’t as wet as usual, sleepy as she still was and their regular foreplay absent, so the entry offered him more friction. A confusing shameful lust drove him wild as he thought about what she wanted, about forcing his way into her. It doubled the intensity, sheared the edge off his restraint, but he made himself slow down, teasing her with shallow pumps until the slickness of her pussy eased him deeper inside.

  “Not like this,” she whispered. “Give it to me hard.”

  God, yes.

  He seated himself in one smooth stroke, then reared back and started a frantic pace. Cassie’s eyes closed as she absorbed his pounding, and Patrick did the same. He didn’t want to think about how complicated this was getting, or focus on the past anymore. He wanted to be with her, in her, to fill the gaping hole inside him with this gorgeous, complicated woman, and take, take, take until everything they’d left behind them were distant memories again.

  20

  Patrick reared his arm back and readied his serve.

  “Love-thirty,” he said, then tossed the ball into the air. It landed smack in the middle of the net. He pulled a second ball from his pocket, then missed again.

  Across the court, Jack cracked a grin. “You suck today.”

  “Fuck you.”

  He was sucking. Majorly. Again. But he had an excuse—he was distracted, and had been for five whole days.

  His next shot made it over the net. Patrick ran to meet Jack’s return, but his brain wasn’t there. It was on Cassie. Thoughts of her had him struggling to concentrate, here and everywhere else.

  Her request last Friday had woken up something primal in him. But it worried him too.

  She wanted to be taken savagely. Without her consent.

  He wasn’t sure he could go through with it. Where was the line between fulfilling a fantasy and committing a crime? How could he avoid crossing it while still making it good for her?

  He was determined not to fuck it up. Being asked to do this, to be trusted that much, took what they were doing to a new level. They were definitely in BDSM territory, and as much as he’d played at things over the years, he was completely out of his element.

  Jack scored, winning the match. He threw Patrick a shit-eating grin. “You need a rest, old man?”

  “You’re an asshole.”

  But a rest would be good. It would give him a chance to ask his friend some questions. Patrick gathered up a few wayward tennis balls and made his way to the net.

  “Looking to get your ass kicked a third time?” Jack asked.

  “Actually, I’m all played out. Do you think we could head over to your office for a bit?”

  Jack raised an eyebrow. “I thought you weren’t going to be hitting on my students for a while.”

  “I’m not. But I need some—” He paused. He’d never done this before. “—lifestyle advice.”

  Jack’s face went serious. His jaw ticked in understanding. “Let’s go.”

  Jack had always been extremely confidential about his sexual proclivities, living the BDSM lifestyle in private. He was a professor at Harvard Law. If people found out he got his rocks off spanking and flogging and tying women up, he feared it might affect his career. So he was all about discussing things in secure places.

  By the time they got to Jack’s office, Patrick couldn’t feel his fingers. It wasn’t that chilly—it was certainly going to get worse—but it was cold enough.

  Fuck. He needed a vacation.

  Jack closed his door behind them. “What do you need?”

  Patrick leaned against a chair. “Things with Cassie have progressed, and I’m wondering what you can tell me about breath play and consensual non-consent.”

  Jack’s eyebrows shot up. “Try not to kill her, to start.”

  “Don’t be a dick. I’m serious.”

  “So am I.” Jack sat at his desk. “I thought you two were just fucking. Have you gone beyond that point?”

  He didn’t know. “Things got kind of…intense last weekend.”

  “Intense how?”

  Taking her in every orifice, intense.

  Gagging her and making her come so hard she cried, intense.

  Telling her things I’ve never told anyone, not even you, intense.

  “It’s complicated.”

  “That’s a fucking understatement.” Jack frowned and steepled his fingers together. “This is dangerous stuff, Patrick. They call it edge play for a reason. It requires a shit-ton of trust, and being able to read one another. Are you sure she wants this? Are you sure you do?”

  Patrick pushed off the chair and paced around the room. Cassie wanted this. He knew that. They’d talked more about it over the phone since last weekend, and she’d said she liked the idea of being tied up as part of the fantasy. To have her mouth covered when she started to scream. Patrick should’ve been disgusted. Appalled. Anxious as all shit over the idea of her wanting him to be so vicious.

  But, fuck. It turned him on.

  “What does it say about me if I do?”

  Jack was
silent for a beat too long. “I guess the question is, why do you want it?”

  “Because she asked me to.”

  “So these are Cassie’s fantasies,” Jack confirmed.

  “I thought they were—hers I mean—but I want them too.”

  “And that bothers you?”

  “I don’t know that it bothers me…”

  He hadn’t been bothered by anything they’d done together, from telling her to shut up to gagging her. He’d thoroughly enjoyed watching her struggle to speak, rendered helplessly silent. He’d loved her body’s reaction when he’d had his fingers inside her pussy and her ass too, his elbow shoved against her spine, making her like things she’d never tried before, feeling her give in. And, God, hearing the strain in her voice when she finally broke under the force of all that pleasure…it was the hottest, most powerful thing he’d ever experienced.

  He wanted it too. To take her by surprise. To feel her thrash and hear her protest and knowing he could have her anyway.

  “I think it bothers me that it doesn’t bother me.”

  “And why is that?”

  Patrick continued to pace. Stupid law professors and their stupid Socratic methods. This was why he’d never needed a therapist. He had Jack asking him questions until he ran out of air. “You know I’m kind of an asshole, right?”

  “Your words, not mine.”

  “Well, with her, I can be that—not the nicest. I can let this heartless beast out, this part of me that’s angry at everything, the part I try to shut down and sublimate through empty sex with strangers because I can’t do a fucking thing to change it. She likes it pretty goddamn rough, and I can…give in to that. But I’m not gonna actually hurt her. What she’s asked me to do, it’s this deep-seated fantasy she doesn’t even get, and it woke up stuff in me too. And we’re not just fucking. We talk. Sleep together. Make breakfast in the morning. Shit I never do, with anyone.”

  Patrick stopped talking, stopped pacing too. He turned to face his friend.

  “So, Cassie is different,” Jack said.