Bind

by Sierra Cartwright

  “Soap?”

  She grabbed the tiny bar and made a lather.

  “What’s the scent?”

  “Magnolia,” she said, returning the sliver to the wire rack.

  “Haunting,” he said. “And now it will be on my sheets.”

  The idea that he intended to sleep with her took their relationship to a new level of intimacy.

  He watched her run the lather across her torso, then lower. As she washed, he rinsed. He took care not to wet her hair or ruin her makeup more than she already had.

  “Grab the soap again.”

  She picked it up and held it while he ran his fingers across it and slid off a small amount. “Done?” At his nod, she replaced it.

  “Now turn around.” He washed and rinsed her back and buttocks. “There’s no indication that I spanked you.” He trailed his fingers lower. “Maybe this tiny mark from the single tail?” He pushed on her buttock.

  “I don’t feel anything,” she admitted. This morning, she’d looked at her rear in a full-length mirror. She hadn’t seen anything. She’d never tell him that she’d been slightly disappointed.

  He took his time, slowly moving across her skin.

  “This isn’t what I thought of when you mentioned Dominance and submission.” She rolled her head from side to side as she enjoyed the feel of his hands on her.

  “Every relationship is unique. I enjoy caring for you. I do it as much for myself as I do for you.” He rinsed her off. “Now let’s make sure your pussy is clean.”

  She turned to face him and she spread her legs without argument.

  “Part your labia.”

  The man was a torment. He directed the water near her clit then moved his hand away. He repeated his action a couple more times and arousal began to churn inside her. “Connor!”

  “Hmm?”

  “It’s…” This seemed impossible. But because her skin was so tender from his sharp slap, even the small amount of water had her on edge. She’d never thought of herself as particularly orgasmic, but he was proving she was.

  Abruptly, he moved the showerhead.

  She felt like a rubber band that had been stretched too far then pinned there. He couldn’t seriously be planning to stop there? “I want…”

  He met her gaze. “I know. I know exactly what you want.”

  “And you won’t let me climax? Are you serious?”

  “Think of how much more intense it will be later when I let you come.”

  She bit her lower lip in frustration. “You’re not showing any remorse.”

  “Or feeling the slightest bit of guilt.”

  His quick grin was wicked, toe-curling.

  She tried one more tactic. “This seems really cruel.”

  “Cruel is a harsh description.”

  “Try feeling what’s going on inside me.”

  “That much, little Lara, I do know,” he assured her.

  Probably true. But the man had been skillful. She wanted an orgasm. And she wanted him. Last night, before she’d fallen asleep, she’d thought about that. She’d wondered why they hadn’t had sex. She was certain it wasn’t because he wasn’t attracted to her. No doubt, he was. She’d already noted how controlled he was, and maybe this was another extension of it.

  After he’d made sure all the soap was gone, he turned off the faucet. She shucked the water from her skin while he grabbed a towel from the rack.

  He offered it and she wrapped it around herself.

  Stunning her, he leaned forward and kissed her shoulder.

  “You smell delectable.”

  “It’s the soap.”

  “It’s you. That scent wouldn’t be the same on anyone else.”

  He followed her to the bedroom, and he made himself comfortable on a small wooden chair while she dried off and re-dressed.

  She tried to ignore him while she concentrated on what she was doing, but it was difficult. Even when he was silent, he was an enigmatic force.

  Finally ready, she said, “Let’s go.”

  He picked up her towel from the floor.

  “I’m afraid you’ve discovered that I can be somewhat messy in the bedroom.” She hoped he didn’t look in the closet. Instead of tidying it, she’d moved a pair of discarded jeans so that she could close the door. As for the bed, she’d assumed that he’d want to see the house, so she’d made it for a change, even grabbing the throw pillows from her office. “I’m organized at work and with most things. I think this is the one place I forget about my responsibilities.”

  “Among your many charms.”

  “As neat as you are, I’d be surprised if it doesn’t drive you crazy.”

  “I wouldn’t let it. If we need a rake to dig out your side of the closet, we’ll get a rake.”

  She didn’t respond. No matter what she said or didn’t say, he kept making plans for their future.

  He turned off the light and overhead fan and followed her from the room. As they passed the kitchen, she snatched up her abandoned coffee cup.

  “I could get you a fresh one,” he said.

  “This will do.”

  Near the front door, Lara slipped back into her shoes and grabbed her purse while he collected her overnight bag.

  “Tell me you put soap in there.”

  “I have a travel size, yes.”

  “We’ll order you a box of them for my house.”

  He opened the door then waited while she locked the deadbolt.

  Lara followed Connor down the path. He opened the car door for her and helped her inside. After stowing the bag in the trunk, he slid in beside her. It seemed natural to be together.

  As they drove across town, he turned the conversation toward business then their potential marriage.

  “Tell me how you see this unfolding,” he invited. Then, before she could remind him it might not happen, he added, “Assuming we’re able to work out an agreement.”

  “I’d need to tell my dad, obviously. But I’m not sure if I should do it before or after the wedding.” The word made her tummy jump. Ignoring the reaction, she took a drink of the coffee and continued. “I’d suggest we hold an emergency board meeting. I’m sure my mother would back the request. If needed, we can contact the individual members. I don’t necessarily expect him to like it, and it’s certainly possible that he’d do something, anything to block your seat. But there’s really no way around that.” The idea of being at odds with her father like that made her heart ache. But she recalled him trying to get her to take medication when she was ill as a child, insisting it was for her own good. In a way, she supposed, the roles were reversed now. The knowledge didn’t make the idea any more palatable.

  “It would definitely be good for me to meet your mother,” he said, repeating his words from yesterday.

  “She texted this morning, asking how I was doing. Then she sent another one. She’s part of a ladies’ group. They call themselves the Friday Afternoon Soirée. They get together and do things like getting facials, going shopping, meet for happy hour. She managed to get your mother’s phone number from a mutual friend and plans to invite her to join the group.”

  “How did that transpire?”

  “We had lunch yesterday and I mentioned the fact I’d seen Erin. Since my mother’s in charge of outreach, she’s always looking for fresh blood. Er, I mean, new members.”

  He grinned.

  “And if your mom mentions we’re going to be getting married… Especially if she knows it’s a sham and my mother doesn’t—”

  “Sham?”

  His tone chilled her. “That’s what it would be.”

  “It’s an arrangement.”

  “Really, Connor, I’m not sure why you’re objecting to the term,” she said, turning to face him.

  “While we’re married, we’ll be married. I take all my commitments seriously.”

  “You’re splitting hairs,” she told him.

  “If you think anything about the time we’re together will be inherently disho
nest, you’re wrong.”

  Traffic ground to a temporary stop, and he looked at her. To distract herself, she took another drink of coffee. And she ignored the way her hand trembled. Instead of responding to his statement, she said, “I won’t call it a sham again.”

  The car ahead of them began to move again. “See that you don’t.” He eased into first gear.

  She sat back. At times, his rigid responses caught her off guard. She’d seen the softer side of him with his brother, interacting with Thompson, with Mrs. Fuhrman, even Suzy-Q. But she knew better than to think that was the real him. Connor’s spine was made of steel, and it seemed he never bent.

  All too soon, they arrived at the parking garage.

  He grabbed her bag from the trunk. Instead of waiting for him to come around to her side of the car, she climbed out, headed for the trash can to discard her empty cup then met him at the elevator.

  The car had already arrived, and he was holding it open, waiting for her.

  Everything he did spoke of control. She realized that, even if he was angry, he wouldn’t show it. He was a difficult man to read.

  She moved past him and stood at the back of the elevator. When the doors closed, she said, “I’ll choose my words with more care in the future.”

  “It’s over. Forgotten.”

  “Is that it?” She searched his features. “Are you that able to compartmentalize?”

  “Yes. I rarely take anything personally. When it comes to you, doubly so. We’ll get along much better through the years if we don’t harbor resentment. Do you agree?”

  “That’s a great theory,” she replied. “I’m afraid I’m a little more likely to hold onto things, though. It can take me a while to think things through and move on. I should probably try to be more like you.”

  He swept his gaze over her. “Don’t change a single thing.”

  In response to his perusal, his words, her thought process slowed.

  The elevator dinged, signaling that they’d reached his floor. The ride had been less than a minute, and in just that small amount of time, he’d managed to take an awkward-feeling situation and turn it around in a way that made her feel really good about herself.

  She reminded herself that she’d never had much luck in the love area, and when she did commit, it would be to a man who was more spontaneous, less emotionally distant, a man capable of giving as much as she was.

  Once they were inside his loft, he said, “Feel free to make yourself comfortable. The built-in drawers on your side of the closet are empty. You’ll find empty drawers and cupboards in the bathroom for your toiletries. We’ll take the weekend to figure out whose house we’ll live in. Can I pour you a glass of wine?”

  “Please.” She hesitated. “Back to my mother for a minute.”

  He gave her his attention.

  “I’d prefer just to tell her myself.”

  “I said I was willing to meet her.”

  In frustration, she sighed. “Do you ever relent?”

  “I already have.”

  He probably believed that.

  “Originally,” he reminded her, “I said you couldn’t talk about it to anyone. I’m willing to consider that perhaps that’s unreasonable. So I need more information.”

  “I still don’t like it.”

  “I don’t like letting anyone else know.”

  “Fine. I’ll message her and set up a time to see her. Is there anything on your schedule I need to know about?”

  “I’ll rearrange things if I need to in order to make time. I’ll also have Thompson add you as an administrator on my calendar so you’ll always know where I am.”

  Every step made the whole thing seem more real. “I…uhm…I’ll put my things away if that’s okay?”

  He nodded. While he went to the kitchen, she sent her mother a message then walked toward his bedroom. If he had his way, it would be their room.

  The place was so masculine, from the forest-green bedspread to the dark furnishings. Being in his closet was even more disquieting.

  Everything was organized. On the far left were his suits, ranging in color from black to charcoal to light gray. His dress shirts were hung next to them. All were starched, all were white. Even from a distance she saw they were monogramed.

  In the center of the closet, a few blazers divided the casual clothes from the business ones. His chinos were either khaki or navy. He’d hung the polo shirts together, grouped by color. Golf shirts were next. Off to the side were a handful of long-sleeved, soft-looking T-shirts. She noticed that every garment and hanger faced the same direction.

  Connor joined her. She’d been so fixated on his level of order and precision that she hadn’t started to unpack her bag. “Did you have a professional help you organize the closet?”

  He shook his head. “Judging me to be too regimental?”

  “I wouldn’t say that out loud.”

  “Which means I read your mind.”

  She flushed, but she shrugged. “I’ve honestly never seen anything like it.”

  “I found ways to cope in the last few years.”

  “Since your father passed?”

  His gaze shuttered, but surprisingly, he didn’t close her out. “That’s part of it, certainly.”

  “And the rest?”

  “Ask again over dinner.”

  He offered the wine and she accepted, taking a small sip. She put the glass on top of the dresser and unpacked her things. She hung a dress on a rail. “It looks a little odd.”

  “For now.”

  “Are you sure you’re okay with me cluttering your space like this?”

  “It won’t bother me in the least.”

  Next she went into the bathroom to put away her personal items. “I’ve never done anything like this,” she said when she saw his reflection in one of the mirrors.

  He lazed against the doorjamb, at ease. “What part?”

  “Putting my stuff away at a man’s house. I hadn’t thought about it until now, but I rarely sleep over with a man. And I’ve never lived with anyone.”

  “It’ll take some adjustment, but we’ll figure it out.”

  Doubts and reality collided, crashing into her. She dropped her makeup bag onto the counter.

  “Easy,” he said.

  She turned to face him. “I’d really imagined we’d…”

  He waited.

  “Go to a justice of the peace or a judge. Some sort of civil ceremony. Then I’d see you at board meetings.” She pursed her lips.

  “Lara, the day you walked in my office and I saw you in that delirium-inducing skirt, that became an impossibility. I was determined to have you. You will be waking up next to me for the next four years.”

  “Three!”

  He grinned. “Ends that argument.”

  “Your contract said three years, Mr. Donovan.”

  “And now you think it’s an excellent idea,” he said.

  “Coercion is grounds to nullify the entire agreement.”

  “That wasn’t coercion.”

  “But it is trickery.”

  “Lara, I’ve already told you I play to win. You’d do well to remember it.” In contradiction to his words, she saw a small smile playing at the corner of his mouth.

  The crack in his hardened, careful veneer had a way of melting every bit of resolve. Unfortunately for her emotional well-being, it also drew her in closer.

  “Have a drink of your wine. Relax a little, cut us both some slack. I didn’t pour you much because I want you of sound mind when we enter the playroom.”

  Even though cool air whispered from the vents, she got very, very warm. “I thought what happened at my house sort of took the place of your plans for the afternoon.”

  “It was only an appetizer.”

  He left her alone, and it took all of her concentration to finish putting away her things. Her little bottles of shampoo and conditioner fit on one shelf inside the shower. But the soap she put in the dish near the bathtub.

>   After taking another sip of her drink, she went in search of him.

  He was in the living room, sitting on the couch. “In our contract, we didn’t address birth control.”

  She sank onto a chair. “I’m on the pill.”

  “I always wear condoms, but since we’re going to be married, I expect we’ll want to forgo them sometime in the future.”

  Lara nodded.

  “And if you plan to get off the birth control pills, you’ll discuss it with me first?”

  He’d said it so matter-of-factly that it was impossible to feel embarrassed. “Of course.”

  “Good. Anything else you need to talk about before we go in the playroom?”

  Her insides suddenly became molten. He was a master at using his voice and tone. He gave a slight emphasis to the word playroom, and he managed to change the subject from serious to sensual in only a few seconds.

  “In that case, go in our bedroom and strip then join me in the playroom. Get in one of the positions I taught you earlier and wait patiently for my attention.”

  Something in her responded to him completely. She nodded.

  She walked down the hallway, her shoes echoing off the hardwood boards. And she was aware of his gaze the entire way.

  In his closet—their closet—she hung up her dress and put her panties in a laundry bag that she’d brought along. Then she put her bra in a drawer with the rest of her lingerie. It was interesting, being with him. In just a few days, she’d become more adept at keeping her focus even while things seemed a little out of control. Perhaps she understood him better. Being methodical was a skill, one that could serve her well. At the least, the thought kept her calm while she smoothed her hair and went to rejoin him.

  He was already in the playroom, but he looked totally different, astoundingly Dominant.

  Even though he’d given her instructions, her step faltered, and it took all her control not to speak to him.

  He’d removed his jacket and turned back his sleeves, leaving his forearms bare. She drank in the sight of him—lean, commanding.

  His legs were spread wide and his thighs looked powerful. He had the whip coiled in one hand.

  If she’d ever had a sexual fantasy about a man, he was it.

  He gave an almost imperceptible nod toward the floor.