“Good.”
Was it just her, or did his voice seem even thicker than before? Autumn hoped so. Her heart was racing in the best possible way. This date was about sex, right? Why not make it sexier? She reached behind herself and unfastened her bra.
“They’ll be happy to go,” she said, as casually as she could manage. “They’re getting all hyper being trapped in here.”
She let her bra tumble to the ground, casual as you please, and heard a low grunt come from the other room. She knew from this angle he could see her boobs, or at the very least some side boob. She pulled off her panties—lines you know—and there came another growl, this one as audible as the knock on the front door. She waited with her heart in her mouth, wondering if he’d burst in and teach her a lesson, but nothing happened. The Landlord was a gentleman, it seemed.
She dressed with care, touching herself far more than she usually would have and fluffing out her freshly washed hair. She tugged on her strappy black sandals and just to be a bitch, bent over at the hips to do them up, her ass facing toward the door. She was disappointed not to hear a response. Maybe Blake was on his phone or something. She picked up her purse and stepped outside. “Okay, I’m ready to—”
The hand closed around her throat before she knew what was happening. Blake, a furious mountainous Blake scooped her up by her ass and pressed her into her bedroom wall, so their eyes were level. His brow was furrowed and his upper lip curled, every inch of him transmitting his anger.
“Let me make something very clear. You don’t tease my cock. You’re not ready for the consequences that come with teasing my cock.”
The hand on her throat wasn’t tight, but it was firm. Uncompromising. Autumn felt herself dampen and knew she should have put on underwear. “I’m sorry.”
“No, you’re not.” Blake’s voice was like thunder reverberating through her. “If you were sorry, you’d have closed that door when I told you to.”
“Told me to? You mean by coughing? Seems a bit vague, if so.”
Blake didn’t take kindly to her attempted witticism. He leaned in so that their noses were almost touching. “I’ve used that picture a dozen times since you gave it to me. Thinking about when I’ll finally get to see your naked body in the flesh, now I’ll have to get through dinner having seen it without touching it.”
“Sorry. You still can, though,” Autumn supplied helpfully. “Touch my naked body, I mean. Now, or later. Drop by whenever you’re in the building.”
Blake rammed his hips between hers, pressing their bodies closer. “Yeah, you’re funny, aren’t you, Fun-Size? That’s going to be a problem, because nothing about this is a joke. I wanted to see you naked when I tore your fucking clothes off, not because you decided to play pricktease through the crack in your bedroom door.”
“Sorry,” Autumn repeated. She might have said some other stuff too, it was really hard to concentrate when The Landlord’s erection was pressed up against her, and she was ninety-nine percent sure it was as big as the rest of him. “Can we maybe, and this is just a suggestion, have sex now?”
“No.” Blake’s hand rose from her neck to fist her hair. The kiss of pain that accompanied the shove from his hips felt so good that Autumn’s mouth fell open.
“I was already pissed off because I know you used to share that bedroom with your scumbag ex-boyfriend. Now, I’m goddamn furious. What do I do about that, little girl?”
Dear God, do me. Do me right against this wall. “I don’t know.”
He chuckled, a low malevolent sound, and then something seemed to change. He straightened up a little and released the hold he had on her hair. “You didn’t learn your lesson yesterday, did you?”
“Wh-what lesson?” Autumn said, then sighed. She was doing something she never did; playing dumb. She knew what he meant. His lesson had been making her fight him, proving that he could dominate her physically and that he needed to make her feel safe before they got down to any sexy business. A little overcautious by her accounts, but still completely understandable. More than understandable, responsible. Kind. She met Blake’s gaze. “Okay, so maybe I was messing with your boundaries by showing you my naked ass, but you have to understand, dude, you’re fucking scary.”
Blake’s eyes dulled and he moved to set her on her feet. “I’ll go.”
“No!” Autumn gripped his shirt collar. “Not like, Freddie Kruger scary! I mean intimidating! You fix old books and you’re my landlord and you’re wearing this gorgeous suit and you’re probably really smart… Sex, I can work with, I can understand why you’d be here for that. But you show up looking like you’re going to the Oscars and you want to take me on a proper date…” She exhaled. “It’s scary. I’ve never really dated and I’ve never, ever dated anyone like you.”
“Like me?”
“Classy. Nice.”
He stared at her. “You think I’m nice?”
“Hell yeah, man. You’re here in a suit, aren’t you?”
Blake looked away, brow furrowed. “Huh.”
Autumn, operating on an instinct she didn’t understand, reached out and touched his cheek. He started a little but didn’t pull away, so she cupped his cheek. His beard was very soft. “Can we please just stay here, have a couple of drinks and then fuck, Blake? I’ll be so much less awkward, I promise.”
He shook his head, looking rueful. “Not the right time. Believe me, though, when you’re chained to my bed and I’m riding your pussy on the hour, every hour, I’ll make sure you remember what you did to deserve it.”
Autumn, whose body was as tight and frustrated as it had ever been, was trying to think of a snappy comeback when he kissed her. The kiss was as much a contradiction as the man himself; firm, yet gentle, furious and yet strangely tender. He was at once exploring and establishing his dominance over her with his lips and tongue and when he pulled away, he nipped hard at her bottom lip, sending a shockwave of pleasure through her.
“Please,” she said, not sure what she was asking for, but asking all the same. “Please?”
He placed her on her feet. “Not now. Let’s go have dinner.”
CHAPTER 4
Blake had been reading the classics and watching no television for too long.
Who arrived at a date’s door in formalwear? Furthermore, who assumed his date would know to dress in the same way? When Autumn opened the door, her expression had been one of wonder and horror. Blake could still see it as he escorted her to their table at Eleven Madison Park because she had her head tipped back to take in the high, Art Deco ceilings. As he watched, she bumped into another guest’s chair.
“Shit! Sorry!” Pink raced up the back of Autumn’s neck and Blake swallowed hard, the need to draw her to a stop and taste that color nearly overwhelming. What would she do if he lifted her up onto her tip toes to conform her ass to his lap? What if he pushed her head forward and licked straight down her spine, right here in front of all these diners?
God, he wanted to find out. She would probably go very still, her little sides moving with hard fought breaths. In the end, though, she’d let the moment happen, because for all her timidity around him, Autumn’s need for dominating never left her eyes.
Blake had spent a good deal of time lamenting the fact that he scared her. He didn’t want to scare her. But he’d confirmed again in her apartment tonight that a big dose of that fear was tied up in lust, and Blake supposed he needed to accept that. Her attraction to him was rooted in the fact that she found him intimidating. Perhaps he should be grateful, considering he didn’t know another way to behave. Apart from his curt business dealings and the building tenants—who were strange in their own right—no one had observed his behavior in a long time. Setting one foot in front of the other and walking through a restaurant shouldn’t be difficult. Unless one was focused on not stomping the way he did in his own apartment. Or unless one found oneself maintaining eye contact with other men, monitoring their unwanted interest in his date.
His jacket f
elt weird, the fly of his pants uncomfortable where it chafed his dick, which was accustomed to loose pants or broken in jeans. Cutlery scraped on plates, chairs scooted along the floor, people talked. Nothing unusual, but all thrown together, they were a soundtrack he hadn’t heard in ages.
Growing up in Rockaway Beach, a close-knit neighborhood at the southern tip of Queens, fancy restaurants hadn’t exactly been on the agenda. Why travel when beer was cheaper the further you got from Manhattan? He could almost hear his friend Kevin saying that exact thing while performing a tightrope dance on the boardwalk rail, a million nights ago, Budweiser in hand. A night among many he didn’t care to remember, but caught him off guard nevertheless.
When Autumn turned to look at him over her shoulder and tugged on the dress’s hem, Blake realized he was frowning at the backs of her legs. Her abbreviated attire was on his head. Blake knew that. If he’d known these odd strings of possessiveness would tug in his midsection at bringing her into a crowded dining room wearing nothing more than painted on red, he would have been the one to go change. But he wasn’t a spontaneous man and the plan had already been made. Now they were here and he’d have to deal with other guys testing their x-ray vision against Autumn’s dress.
But he didn’t have to like it.
Blake saw the hostess begin to pull back Autumn’s chair and cleared his throat, waving her away so he could do it himself. Before tugging back the chair, though, Blake cast a scowl over his shoulder at the two businessmen dining together. Only when they’d gone back to their meal did he ease the expensive piece of furniture away from the table and grunt for her to sit. And then in slow motion, he watched the sweet curves of her ass stick out, the red dress sliding up her thighs, probably revealing the undercurve of her cheeks before planting on the seat. If he wasn’t so tall, he’d know for sure. He’d never cursed his height so much.
Autumn spread her white napkin in her lap before tilting her head back to meet his eyes. “Are you going to sit? Or is standing behind your date all night an American custom?”
Even though she was joking, Blake wondered if remaining in place wasn’t a terrible idea. As long as he stood behind her, no one else would be able to see the delicate line of her shoulders and the handfuls of blonde hair that said angel at table nine. Or whatever the hell number they’d been seated at. God, did she have any idea how sexy she was? Tonight in particular, it was almost too much to bear.
He leaned down beside her. “I can’t decide. If I move, your naked back will be showing. If I stay here, I have no way to see your face, unless you keep looking up at me in a way that’ll snap your neck.”
“And you…want to see my face?”
“What kind of a ridiculous question is that?”
More pink joined the party on her neck. “One that’s meant to disguise the fact that I’m basically fishing for compliments.” Her shoulders lifted in a shrug. “You haven’t said a word since we left the building and I’m trying to figure out if I did something wrong. Like, besides my whole Sharon Stone pussy flashing act, which seemed way cooler in my head.”
“I see.” An odd twist in Blake’s chest made him straighten. After a moment of debate—and another glare at the men sitting behind Autumn—he took his seat. Autumn was so beautiful in the warm pendant lighting, he had to take a moment to untie his tongue. “Only an idiot wouldn’t want to look at your face.”
Autumn went from tense to bemused. “Do you have a third career as a greeting card designer? It’s never too late.”
Christ, he was too goddamn old for this, wasn’t he? No, that wasn’t right. Even as a young man, dating had been as unnatural to him as flavored coffee. “Was that a shitty compliment?”
“It was…the best compliment, actually.” A smile curved the edges of her mouth and she picked up her menu and practically buried her face in it, apparently already having forgotten he’d decided seeing it was necessary.
“Oh my God. No. They can’t be serious with these prices. A hundred dollars for chicken? Appetizers? But it’s chicken. It’s barely even a meat…”
“Why are you worried about the prices?” Blake said, snapping open his own menu. “You’re not paying.”
“Is that because you’re old fashioned or you’d rather not see me cry when the bill arrives?”
His mouth surprised him by twitching. “Both.”
He caught her staring at him over the top of her menu and quickly put the kibosh on his almost-smile. “Stop doing math in your head. Order what you want.”
She dropped her menu to the table. “How did you know I was doing maths?”
“Your mouth moves when you add.” Blake settled on the beef wellington and put down his own menu. “You did the same thing when you wrote out the check for the security deposit, plus one month’s rent.”
“On the day we rented the apartment?” It took some determination not to snarl over her use of the word we, but Blake nodded.
Autumn shifted in her seat. “How close have you been watching me, exactly?”
Jesus, he’d have to be blind not to notice her sudden arousal. She probably had no idea her behaviour had changed, but he did. He watched hungrily as her fingertips traced down the center of her cleavage, her tongue sneaking out to wet her lips. He leaned toward her, his gaze scraping over her firmly budded nipples. “Do you like being watched? Is that why you left the door to your bedroom open, so I could catch you changing?”
“No,” Autumn breathed, staring at his mouth. “I left the door open because I thought we could skip the date and go right to you, you know…sexing me up.”
“The idea of a date with me is so terrible?”
“No, but I haven’t been on a first date in six years. I’m like a prisoner who just got out of jail and I’m gagging for it, but I don’t know how dating apps work or how to tell chicks I can’t go more than thirty kilometers from my house because I’m wearing an ankle tracker. What I’m trying to say is, I’m flying blind here.”
“I haven’t been on a date in over a decade.” Blake was instantly disgusted with himself for revealing something so pathetic—when Autumn’s jaw dropped, it only got worse. “Forget I said anything.”
“Wow,” she said, her pale eyebrows raised. “You’re the ankle tracker guy.”
“This metaphor is annoying.”
“Sorry.” Blake watched as Autumn reeled herself back in, fixing her hair and licking her lips in a way he knew had nothing to do with arousal. “So, um, what are you getting?”
Blake opened his mouth to tell her the metaphor was fine, he was just being an unrepentant asshole out of habit—or maybe remind her she’d liked his compliment about her face—but the waiter chose that moment to approach and Blake decided it wouldn’t be polite to shout at him to fuck off. The last time Blake was on a date, he’d ordered for himself and his fiancée. It was a week before the accident that led to the injury of his leg. And everything else that followed. His hospital stay. The revelation that everyone he trusted was laughing at him behind his back. It was all so long ago, but the wounds never quite healed. Mental and physical. No, the effects hung around and made mockeries of his efforts to try again. Like tonight with Autumn.
Although, this date wasn’t about him trying to be a normal, functioning human, was it? It wasn’t about him at all, which was how he’d talked himself into doing it. He didn’t want Autumn’s ex-boyfriend’s actions to send her running back to Australia without a fight. He was living proof of where that kind of thing led. Someone needed to put on a fucking tie and make Autumn feel important. God knew he wasn’t qualified for the job, but he sure as hell didn’t want someone else doing it. Hence the suit and small fortune he’d spend on dinner at the fanciest restaurant he knew. He’d wanted her to go to sleep tonight with the understanding that… she was worthy of better. So much better than the cheating dickhead, or even himself.
After Autumn ordered the roasted duck with honey and lavender and Blake, the wellington, they settled on a bottle of Brunello
and were left alone again.
“So…” A sip of red wine left a sheen on her lips and Blake’s hands fisted under the table. “I’m guessing you haven’t been to this place before,” she said. “What made you choose it?”
“The owner is a client of mine. His newest wife is a collector.” Blake couldn’t hide his irritation. “He thought he was being original, cutting a hole in the center of a first edition Beatrix Potter—a sentimental favorite for her—and planting the engagement ring inside. She accepted the proposal, then socked him in the jaw.”
A laugh bubbled out of Autumn. “She sounds like a keeper. Did you fix it?”
“With ease.”
Wine glass pressed to her lips, Autumn looked around the room. He followed her gaze, wondering if she was enjoying the view of Madison Square Park or if she’d rather be home sucking nitrous out of whipped cream cans. “You must be very good at what you do to have a client of his caliber. Do you have an office where you meet with them?”
“You’ve seen my office.”
“Yes, but I never see anyone coming and going from your place.”
“You’ve been watching me closely as well, Ms. Reynolds.”
Her chest dipped on an exhale, the glass shaking a little in her hand, but he didn’t wait for her to respond. “My uncle died a while back and left me the building. The books came with it. Literally. His apartment was filled with half-finished projects. I was only going to complete them to tie up his loose ends, but it went from a necessary pursuit to a profession.”
“I’m sorry about your uncle.”
Blake took a pull from his own drink and shrugged. “Been years.” Ignoring the jab in his chest, he set down his glass. Due to some differences between Blake’s father and uncle, they’d never been close. But he’d liked the man. Respected him. And he’d never gotten a chance to thank him for the unexpected gift of the building. “The reason you don’t see people coming and going is I go to them. While you’re cozy in your little bed, I’m out doing deliveries or having meetings.”
Captivated Page 6