All Mine

by Lisa Renee Jones

  My gaze lifts from where it’s fallen to the cuffs, and the concern in his face echoes what I keep thinking in my head: Reid would never hurt me.

  “I’m good,” I say, answering his silent question. “We’re good. Do it.”

  “The cuffs are harsh on your skin.” He tosses them and reaches behind him again, this time producing a sash.

  I don’t ask how he knows the cuffs are harsh, but I think it in my head. How many women has he cuffed? I’ve never asked about his sexual past. He leans in and his hand settles on my face. “I didn’t come to you a virgin or abstinent, Carrie. You know that.”

  “I know.”

  “All that I am, is right here with you now. Think about here, now, us. Because everything else was about ending up here. Okay?”

  Emotions well inside me at the rough, affected way he says those words. “Tie me up already.”

  He kisses me, his tongue licking into my mouth, and I can taste his hunger, his need, his torment, and I want that torment to go away. He pulls back and those blue eyes find mine, his expression shifting from tender to hot and then dominant again.

  His gaze lowers, rakes over my body, lingering on my breasts, and I swear I can feel that look like a touch, that tingles along my nerve endings and raises goosebumps on my skin. My sex clenches. My nipples tighten into hard, nearly painful knots, and I burn for his hands on my body, his mouth everywhere I can possibly feel it.

  “Hands out, fingers laced together,” he commands.

  There is expectation in his stare, an expectation that I am hesitant to resist. I see it in the depth of his eyes. I see it in the hard lines of his face and harder set of his jaw. I do not give him what he expects. I give him what he wants, what this night and this man command. He doesn’t react, his expression indiscernible. He doesn’t hesitate either. Without preamble, he wraps the silk around my wrists and then further upward to bind my hands before he ties it off and I am officially at his mercy. I am officially more aroused than I’ve been in my entire life because I know that this man has dirty on his mind, the kind of dirty I’ve never experienced, that we’ve never experienced.

  His hand grips my bound wrists. “I can do anything to you now, and you can’t stop me.”

  “Are you trying to scare me? Because it’s not working.”

  “No, baby. Fear is the last thing I want from you. Trust is what I want.” His lips quirk. “And a little begging cannot be ruled out as a necessity.”

  “Just remember, I’ll pay you back for every way you tease me tonight.”

  He leans in, his cheek at my cheek, his lips at my ear. “I look forward to my punishment, but yours comes first.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Carrie

  I’m still on my knees in the center of the bedroom floor, Reid’s cheek pressed to mine, his hand on my other cheek, my hands tied in front of me. He slowly eases back to look at me. “All mine,” he says softly.

  Heat rushes through me and the truth is, my bound hands aren’t what makes me his, but it’s incredibly arousing to trust this much, to let someone have control over you. To know that you’re vulnerable and at their mercy. I want this in a way I didn’t think I could want to be controlled. Reid strokes my cheek, his lips brushing mine before he moves to my side, his hands settling on my back, between my shoulder blades. “Hands on the rug in front of you.”

  My gaze rockets to his and in those blue eyes I find challenge: Do you trust me? I don’t give him the chance to see fear where there is simply nerves and anticipation. I lean forward and press my hands onto the rug. Reid’s hand never leaves my back, a subtle promise that he can control me, that he can hold me right where I’m at, but he doesn’t apply pressure. He simply rests his hand between my shoulder blades and for several moments he does nothing. He just lets me lay there, naked and exposed in every way, anticipation building inside me and between us. That hand is full of potential pleasure and punishment because he does know how to punish me in all kinds of erotic ways.

  “On your elbows,” he orders softly and I lower my body, my backside now up in the air, those potential erotic punishments and pleasures radiating through my body even as the soft touch of the rug tickles my nipples, while I’d rather have his hand and mouth anywhere right now. I want his hands and mouth anywhere I can get them.

  Reid runs his hand down my spine, a soft caress that leaves goosebumps in its wake, the sweet promise of so much more settling low in my belly and tightening my already tight nipples. His touch becomes two fingers tracing my spine until his hands caress my sides, sweep over my hips, and then over my backside. Anticipation rushes over me, adrenaline with it, and I am suddenly breathing hard, nearly panting. Will he spank me? Will he intimately explore my body? Almost as if he reads my mind and hears that silent question, he strokes along the crevice of my cheeks, and I arch ever so slightly, wet heat gathering between my legs.

  His fingers stroke low, pressing between my legs and exploring my sex, only to disappear and suddenly he smacks my backside. I yelp and arch into the touch. “Do you like it when I spank you, Carrie?”

  I breathe out. “Reid,” I whisper.

  One palm returns to my shoulder blades while the other cups my backside and he leans in by my ear. “Do you like it when I spank you?”

  “Yes,” I dare. “You know I do.”

  “Has anyone else ever spanked you?”

  “Never.”

  “And yet you let me that first night?”

  “I’m different with you.”

  He doesn’t reply. He just lingers there, his lips by my ear, his breath warm on my neck until he says, “Don’t move or I’ll spank you and—”

  “We’ll go to bed without fucking.”

  “That’s right,” he says. “And we’d both suffer. Now, don’t move.”

  And then he’s gone, and I’m here in the middle of the floor with my ass in the air, unsure what comes next. Silence. That’s what comes next. It’s overwhelming. It’s consuming, it’s white space I can’t seem to escape. I don’t like it. I want to move. I want to sit up. I have no idea why I’m suddenly on the verge of a freak-out. I trust Reid. I love Reid. I’ve just never been good at the unknown. I pant out a breath and force myself to calm. There’s movement to my left, the sound of him undressing, I believe. I count to ten. I tell myself any moment I’ll know what comes next.

  Suddenly, Reid is next to me again and he rolls me to my side, facing him, my bound hands folded between us, his erection thick between my legs. “You panicked. What did you think I was going to do?”

  “How did you know?”

  “The way you were breathing. The way you felt. I know you, Carrie. What did you think I was going to do to you?”

  “It wasn’t like that. It was just the silence and the waiting. It was a control thing. It’s hard for me to really let it go.” I try to reach for him but my hands are frustratingly bound. “Please don’t make it about us.”

  He strokes my hair from my face. “When you need to stop, you just say stop. You can always say stop. I understand that abandonment issues mean you need control. I get it. I should have gone slower. I bound you and blindfolded you without actually blindfolding you. You couldn’t see me. It should have been one or the other tonight.”

  “It was the not seeing part. I was fine until then. Until you were gone. I don’t know why that set me off. I let you spank me. That’s giving away a lot of control.”

  “But that was in the heat of the moment, fast and over. You didn’t have time to think about what came next.” He tangles rough fingers in my hair and pulls my gaze to his. “I really need to fuck you in about ten ways right now.”

  “Then, why aren’t you?”

  “Do you want me to untie you? Because I don’t want to untie you, Carrie, but I will. Say the word.”

  “No. I’m fine now. I was always fine. You didn’t have to stop.”

  “Yes, I did. I needed you to know that I’ll never take you any place that you’re not ready to
go which is why I’m going to tell you what I’m going to do this time,” he says. “Then you don’t have to worry about what comes next.” He kisses me and then presses his cheek to mine again. “I’m going to lick you now, but I’m not going to let you come. I’m going to stop, turn you over, finger fuck you and then spank you five times. Then I’m going to fuck you hard and fast. Do you have a problem with anything I just said?”

  “I—”

  “Yes or no, Carrie?”

  “The part where you don’t let me come.”

  “You’ll come, just not until I’m ready for you to come.” And just that fast, he’s moving, sliding down my body, pausing to kiss my bound hands, his eyes reaching for mine, his fingers catching my nipples, tugging and twisting with a rough touch that has my legs clenching together. “Now I’m going to lick you,” he says again, and he’s lowering himself between my thighs, and then he’s doing just as he promised. He’s licking me, and oh God, is he licking me. His tongue is everywhere that I need him, and I’ve forgotten I’m even tied up until I reach for his head and dive my fingers into his hair, that silk wrap controlling how I can move. Actually, it’s me who wants to control how he moves because I want to come. I need to come and he’s promised to deny me.

  And he does.

  I’m so right there, about to tumble over, and suddenly, he’s flipping me over onto my knees, and yanking my backside up in the air. Adrenaline spikes through me, but I don’t have the time to anticipate the spanking. His fingers are stroking me, sliding inside me, preparing me for what I know is coming, and I can’t seem to care. I just want him to keep touching me.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Carrie

  Apparently being bound and on my hands and knees doesn’t bother me when Reid is touching me, especially considering he’s now denied me his mouth and an orgasm. He strokes his fingers along my sex, pumping his fingers inside me and then he denies me yet again. He pulls them out, pressing one hand to my belly, and the other to my backside. “What am I going to do now, Carrie?” he demands softly, caressing my backside, warming it for his palm, I think, or maybe he’s just teasing me with what comes next.

  “Spank me,” I pant.

  “Yes.” He squeezes my cheek. “I am. How many times?”

  “Five,” I whisper.

  He caresses a path back to my sex and starts to pat, the sensation driving me crazy, little darts of pleasure shooting through me. “How close are you to coming?”

  “Reid, damn it.” I look over my shoulder. “Stop teasing me. Spank me and then fuck me already.”

  He answers me by smacking my backside, the sting shocking me and I arch into the touch while Reid is suddenly pressing inside me in a long, hard thrust. I gasp with the unexpected rush of sensation, only to have him spank me again, followed immediately by yet another thrust. Heat rushes over me. I am hot, so very hot, and aroused, every nerve ending in my body on fire. He pumps and spanks, pumps and spanks, and it’s bittersweet when we reach the final smack of my backside, this one being the hardest of all. It bites and stings and as surely as he delivers it, he’s driving into me again and I just want more. So much more. I’m in the center of a tunnel of sensations and this man just keeps pushing me to a new place, a deeper place, a darker, more erotic place, until here, now, I’m over the edge. I shatter, literally, it seems as this deep ball of pleasure starts in my sex and radiates through my body. I lose everything; time, space, reality.

  Reid’s low, guttural moan pulls me back to the present, and he grinds into me as he begins to quake. I smile with the intensity of his body’s eruption and soon he’s rolling to his side and dragging me with him, my back to his front. He slides his leg between mine and then strokes my hair. “You okay, baby?”

  I relax into all that hard perfection of his body. “I’m pretty perfect right about now. You?”

  He doesn’t answer, in fact, his fingers that were absently caressing my bare hip go utterly, completely still. “Reid?” I ask, confused by his reaction.

  He exhales as if he’s been holding that breath, and then catches my hip and pulls me even closer. “You have no idea what you do to me, woman.” He cups my face and tilts my head back, his mouth finding mine, and he kisses me, a slow, emotional kiss that isn’t about sex, but love. This kiss is filled with so much love. “No one but you ever asks me if I’m okay,” he says when his lips leave mine.

  “You’re not, are you?” I ask. “Talk to me, Reid,” I plead, my hands going to his hand on my face, and I try to twist around, but he’s still inside me, he’s still holding me in place.

  “Of course, I am,” he says, the word defying the fact that he won’t let me turn and look at him. “I’m laying here naked with my future wife. I’m fucking perfect.” He kisses me again and then he’s shifting us, reaching for my hands and untying them. “Don’t move, baby,” he orders. “I’ll get you something. I’ll be right back.” He stands up and I roll over to watch him walk away, all naked, sinewy muscle, to the bathroom where he disappears. I stare at the doorway that he doesn’t immediately exit and decide he’s not okay. He’s not even close to okay.

  I stand up, grab some tissues from the nightstand, and then find my robe lying on the floor by the bed. I snatch it up, slip it on, pulling it around me as I cross to the bathroom to find out what is going on with my man. Entering the open door, I find him now in a pair of sweats facing the sink, his hands on the counter, his chin to his chest, torment radiating off of him. My gorgeous man, who I’d once thought without real feelings, is hurting, and I fear that in some ways I’ve opened up his wounds. I’ve cut him where he was already cut.

  I close the space between us and press my hand to his shoulder. “Reid?”

  He pulls me between him and the sink, his hands on my waist, his face buried in my neck. “You smell like me.”

  My hand goes to his face. “I want to smell like you for the rest of my life. Talk to me.”

  He’s slow to move, but he inches back and fixes me in a blue-eyed stare. “Old wounds, baby. You know I have them.”

  “There’s more to tonight than the old wounds I know about. What haven’t you told me?”

  He studies me for several long beats. “I need a drink.” He kisses my temple. “I’ll meet you downstairs.” And then he pushes away and walks out of the bathroom.

  I stand there, staring after him, and confused by what just happened, by the closed door that was just slammed in my face. I swallow hard at the stab of his rejection that I know comes from my own old wounds, that part of me that fears loving and losing.

  I force myself to set aside my emotions and think about Reid, just Reid, the way he did for me when I was bound in the middle of the bedroom. And so, I process what just happened, all the way back to dinner and I decide that he needs a few minutes alone to gather his thoughts, and that’s okay. Love and marriage don’t mean that you don’t ever need space. I walk to the closet, pull on sweats and a tank, and then walk to the window in the bedroom, staring out at the beautiful night sky, stars speckling the night, the lights proving this city never sleeps.

  I love Reid. I love him so much and just as he understands how my past affects me, I need to understand how this affects him. He will have triggers. He will want to withdraw and I suddenly realize why tonight set me on edge, why being tied up in the silence got to me. He wasn’t completely with me. He’d already withdrawn. He’s wanted more from me, but he’d been giving me less. I felt it even before he walked out of that bathroom door. The question is: Do I let him withdraw? I think I have to. I can’t force him to be here with me one hundred percent, but I can’t marry him if he can’t. I suck in a pained breath. Maybe that’s what he’s decided. He can’t be here, not all in, not all the way.

  I press my hands on the glass, hating how badly that idea hurts, but his withdrawal triggers my abandonment issues. These two things are bad in combination, and for the first time since the proposal, I fear we can’t make this work. “Carrie.”

  Reid’
s voice sounds behind me and I turn to find him approaching, already back, and with two glasses in his hand that say he was thinking of me, of us, not of ways to keep us apart. “I brought you wine,” he says, studying me a moment before he sets both glasses down, catching my hips and pulling me around to him.

  “Whatever is going on in your head right now, stop,” he orders.

  “I can’t stop. You just—you need space. I felt it and—”

  “I needed five minutes, baby, and it was too much. I needed to be right here with you a whole hell of a lot more.”

  “You did?”

  “Yes. I did. I know I’m off tonight. I know at one point I even pushed you too hard.” He cups my face. “I need to tell you why. I want to tell you why.” He catches the fingers of one of my hands and leads me to the chair where we sit down facing each other.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Carrie

  Reid and I sit on the chair, side by side, and I wait for a bombshell confession, for something more than the night his ex-girlfriend died. “Right before I met you,” he says, “there was a woman that tried to blackmail Cat and Reese.”

  I blanch at the answer that is nothing that I expect. “Blackmail how?”

  “She was pregnant and said the baby was Reese’s, which was a lie. She just wanted a big payoff, and I was legal counsel to Cat and Reese.”

  “Oh my God. Gabe asked Cat tonight if she knew she was pregnant when something was going on. I didn’t know what.”

  “He was obviously talking about this and from what I pieced together tonight, and you just confirmed by what you overheard, Cat knew she was pregnant during all of this.”

  “Do you think she feared he was guilty and didn’t want to tell Reese?”

  “No,” Reid says firmly. “She didn’t think for a minute he was guilty. I was with her; I saw her reactions and I looked into his eyes. I knew he was innocent and she trusts him, but the idea that she might have any doubt gutted that man, as it would me if we were in that situation.”