His normally smooth jaw was dark with a night’s beard growth, and he looked daring and dangerous and absolutely delicious. His short hair stood up in places, lending a boyish look to his otherwise wholly adult appeal.
Christ, he was something else. And just the thing to take her mind off the panic of—
No. She wasn’t going there again. It hadn’t been real. She was fine. Half-naked in Gabe’s kitchen with a half-naked, fully aroused Gabe, but fine. Looking at him, all she could think of was dropping to her knees in front of him, reaching under his shorts and taking him in her mouth. Thinking of sex instead of paralysis had to mean she was fine, right?
Or somewhat mentally disturbed, but she liked the sound of fine better.
When she finally stopped looking at his bare chest and the bulge in his shorts, she looked at his face, which wore a tiny smile that was wicked even in its barely there appearance. Her face flooded and the smile widened into a grin. Wisely, though, he said nothing.
“I’ll be back down in a minute,” she muttered, pushing herself up from the table. “After I put some clothes on.”
She fled, but his voice trailed after her, amusement ripe in the words. “You can stay like that all day if you want. I like the view.”
* * *
Gabe made his own quick trip upstairs to change into something a little more appropriate to be wearing around a woman he wasn’t sleeping with. Cargo shorts and a loose T-shirt to hide the bulge of the erection that wouldn’t subside should do it, even though she’d already seen it, even though what he really wanted was them both stripped naked and horizontal.
One fucking week, and she had him turned inside out.
He glanced out the window, frowning. She was already outside, working on her physical therapy. The first day she’d been here, she’d done basic PT. Every day this week, she’d added more into her routine. He wasn’t sure if they were prescribed changes or if she was ad-libbing, but she was pushing herself way too hard, way too fast. He knew how PT worked. After he’d blown out his knee, he’d been cocky and sure that more, harder and faster would make him heal better, stronger and quicker. But he’d wound up reinjuring himself, and he was lucky he hadn’t done more permanent damage than had already been done. Olivia had injured her spine, and you didn’t screw with that. Slow and steady was what she should be doing. Several days this week he’d seen her moving carefully as she’d sat down to breakfast, as if her back was bothering her.
Today, something had happened with her, something bad, and she was punishing herself out there even more than she had these past seven days.
Any minute now he was going to go out there and order her to stop, damn the consequences. He was trying to not crowd her, to give her the space Marcus told him she desperately needed. She wasn’t a child by any stretch, but in this, she needed a keeper. And who better to hold her to certain limits or push her over them than a Dom?
Him, specifically.
He carefully cleaned up the shards in the kitchen sink. Since the house was empty but for the two of them, he had heard her door slam open, then feet heavy on the stairs. She was normally ultra-quiet, as if she didn’t want to disturb him or give him any reason to not let her stay, so he’d been concerned and followed after her.
The thin T-shirt she wore hadn’t quite hidden the bikini panties that barely covered her shapely ass. The pink superhero logo on them had made him smile, but then he’d heard the shattering glass. Two long steps later he’d been behind her, steadying her trembling hands, concerned about the shudders racking her slim body.
He didn’t know if she knew she’d even done it, but the minute his arms went around her, she leaned back against him, full-body contact. She was ice cold, but that didn’t keep his always-there-around-her erection from growing even harder still. Washing her hands was sheer torture, but in the best possible way.
In spite of a week’s worth of self-admonition, it wasn’t only his body that was aroused. She called to his protective instincts in a big way. He was a caretaker and a protector by nature, and it played a big part in how he lived life as a Dom. It was why he always refused entrance to anyone who wouldn’t follow safe, sane and consensual rules of play, and why he’d ordered Olivia to eat after exercising that first morning she’d been here. But he wasn’t her Dom. He had to remember that.
His resolve to keep things with Olivia on a mostly impersonal to casual-flirting level was weakening. He was charmed by her on a daily basis, inspired by her motivation, and frustrated with her stubbornness, which made him want to make things better for her, easier. Or, at the very least, make sure she didn’t get hurt any further.
He glanced out the window again and swore. Game over. He was out the door in nothing flat, the sharp slap of the screen door making Olivia’s head jerk up. Her eyes widened.
He smiled, but it wasn’t an easy smile, and she flinched. Good. He hoped she was nervous. “What the hell are you doing? Are you trying to put yourself back in the hospital?”
Her jaw got that stubborn tilt he was getting to know well. “I’m exercising. And I’m fine.”
His teeth ground together. “Not anymore. You’re done for the day.”
Her jaw dropped. “Excuse me?”
“You’ve already done your full set of PT today. I watched. You started over again, and enough is enough.” When she continued to stare at him as if he’d grown another head, he relented. Slightly, reminding himself again he wasn’t her Dom. “Please. Breakfast is ready and you look wrung out.” He held out his hand. “Besides, I need your help with something today.”
He had no idea what, but he figured it might be the best way to gain her acquiescence without having to resort to brute force. He was tempted, sorely tempted, but he restrained himself.
She stared at him, silently, mutinously, for what seemed like an hour but was probably under a minute. Then she ignored his outstretched hand and stalked into the house with the tiniest of hitches in her step.
Her obvious discomfort made him wince, but it also made him feel better about barging into what really was her own decision to make, much as it galled him to admit. He followed her inside.
Once again, she sat at the kitchen table in what he now thought of as her spot, glaring at him, her face bright with exertion, or maybe with anger. Anger, he thought wryly as she drew in a deep breath. Definitely anger.
“You know, I really appreciate you opening your home to me, but that doesn’t give you the right to make decisions on my behalf.” She crossed her arms and sat back, giving him a death stare.
“You’re right.” He almost laughed at the comical look of surprise on her face. “What, you were expecting me to argue? You’re absolutely right. That decision isn’t mine to make, it’s yours. But you’d better believe if you were mine, we’d find another way to deal with your stubborn streak. You over my knee would be a good start.”
Her eyes widened and she opened her mouth, but nothing came out.
“Speechless? Good. Then you can listen. I’ve been through PT, and you’re going to hurt yourself if you don’t slow down. This is not a race. I nearly did irreparable damage to my knee by insisting I knew better than the doctors and the therapists. I wound up back in surgery, and back in a cast, because I was impatient. Don’t do that to yourself.”
She sagged back against the chair, her anger deflated. He hated to see that look of defeat on her face and was sorry he’d been the one to put it there, but he’d come to care for her too much in the week they’d spent together to ignore it.
He set a plate of French toast and bacon in front of her, along with a mug of tea fixed the way she liked it. “Eat. And don’t push me on this. You won’t like the consequences, whether you’re mine or not.”
He sat across from her in silence, eating his own breakfast while watching her. She sat there silently as she ate and he wondered wh
at was going on in her head. She was probably composing a “fuck off” speech, and honestly, he couldn’t blame her. Sometimes it was damned hard to turn off the Dom living inside him.
She finished everything on her plate, carried her dishes to the dishwasher and headed for the door, all without a single word. At the doorway leading upstairs, she stopped and turned to him, her face wiped of any emotion. “But what if I wanted to be?”
With those words, she turned back and headed up the stairs.
He sat there, as shocked as if she’d hit him upside the head with a baseball bat. “Wait, what?” he called out, but she was already gone.
He considered following her upstairs, but the ringing doorbell nixed that. And by the time he was done talking with his insurance adjuster, her SUV was gone. In a moment of panic he used his master key to open her bedroom door, but he refused to acknowledge the sense of utter relief he felt when he saw that her things were still there.
She was scarce most of the day, and by five in the afternoon, between her bombshell statement and the constant pounding from the laying of the floor in the dining room, his patience was at an end. She’d throw out that kind of statement and then leave? He didn’t think so. Not without consequences. He sent the guys home, and then he sat on his front porch, waiting.
* * *
Liv pulled into the driveway of Bondage and Breakfast with both relief and trepidation coursing through her. She’d spent a good portion of today with her family, so why did this feel like she was coming home? And her words from this morning had been taunting her all day. What the hell had she been thinking? She should never have thrown that dare out at Gabe.
Gabe, who was sitting on the porch, back against the banister, long legs stretched out across the steps, reading a book in the waning light. He wore glasses, a look that was sexy as hell on him.
When she got out of the car, he took them off and set them down on top of the book. He didn’t stand, didn’t come down the stairs to meet her. Instead, he sat there, his face expressionless as he watched her.
Her heart did a flip-flop.
From the backseat, she pulled out a large tote bag filled with a few personal things from home. She hefted it over her shoulder and forced back the groan. It was heavy, and her body ached in so many places, but she wasn’t going to tell Gabe that. She’d been to the doctor’s and the physical therapist’s and both had given her hell. Twice was enough. She didn’t need a third reminder she’d been so bloody stupid.
Jesus, why did she care so much about what Gabe thought? She sighed. She’d tossed that over in her head so many times today she was tired of thinking about it. She’d tried to see Marcus or Bella but hadn’t been able to connect with either of them. She’d been hoping they had some insight into Gabe for her.
She started up the walk and he stood, coming down the steps to take her bag from her. She didn’t argue. “Thanks.”
“You okay?” he asked gruffly, his eyes hooded. He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, swiped her cheek with his thumb.
She nodded. “Just tired. I think might use the tub and go to bed.”
He frowned and stroked her cheek again. “It’s only seven-thirty. When was the last time you ate anything?”
His genuine concern nearly undid her and made her voice thicker than normal. She had to get out of there before she made a fool of herself. “Late lunch, but I’m not hungry, thanks. If you’ll excuse me?”
To her complete surprise and utter relief, he simply nodded. “I’ll carry this for you.” They walked upstairs in silence and it wasn’t until her door was nearly closed that he spoke. “I’ll see you in the morning, princess. Sleep well. And let me know if you need anything.”
She left everything she’d brought from her apartment in the bag, went into the hedonistic bathroom she still couldn’t believe she was allowed to use every day, and ran water for the tub. She tossed in a handful of bath confetti that scented the room with vanilla as soon as it hit the water. As she waited for it to fill, she peeled out of her clothes, which took far longer than it should have. Her muscles were one big knot, even after the heat treatment at physical therapy.
Of course, that probably had more to do with the conversation with her parents, where she’d felt like she’d gone three rounds with a professional boxer. Her mother’s words ran through her head again. I don’t understand why you’re pushing yourself so hard to get back to that horrid job. It’s not suitable, Olivia. Your father agrees with me. And why won’t you tell us where you’re staying? What if you need medical help? If you need someone to stay with, you should stay here with us, at our house. She loved her parents, but never in a million years. The thought made her muscles tighten even more.
She reached for a hair tie sitting on the vanity and caught sight of her face in the mirror, giving herself a jolt. Christ, she looked exhausted and wrung out, with circles under the circles under her eyes. That would explain why Gabe hadn’t read her the riot act or called her bluff. He probably didn’t want to deal with a hysterical woman. He didn’t have to worry about that. After the day she had, she didn’t have the energy to throw a fit.
When the tub was half-filled, she climbed in and sank down into its depths. It was big, definitely big enough for four, and didn’t that put some interesting thoughts in her mind? She wondered whether Gabe had a bathroom like this in his apartment, which she’d discovered was in the attic. She’d explored much of the house, but hadn’t gone near there. Too personal.
She almost laughed, but it wasn’t funny. They’d been plenty personal for two people not involved in a relationship.
She closed her eyes, allowing the vanilla-scented steam to seep into her senses, and let out a deep sigh. Now that she’d thrown down the gauntlet, would he pick it up? And did she want him to, when so much of her life hung in the balance?
Chapter Four
They were sitting at the kitchen table surrounded by a mountain of paperwork, and Olivia was frowning.
“What do you mean, ‘what does this say?’ You can’t read your own handwriting?” she asked, that wicked, faint accent and sharp tongue of hers making him grin.
He squinted at the paper, tried again with his glasses, then shrugged. “Nope.”
She shook her head. “And you said this is a successful business?”
The dubiousness in her voice made him laugh out loud. “Yes, it’s successful. Brat.”
She grinned, but then it faded. “Tell me what it is we’re looking for again?”
He grimaced. For the past few days, ever since she’d come home looking like she was going to fall over, he’d been keeping her from overdoing things by inventing busywork tasks. They’d sorted and organized years of business receipts, something he’d always said he’d get to but never had. So it was real work, but it hadn’t had to be done at any specific time.
This task, however, did. “The handwritten notes I took when I registered everyone for that seminar a few months ago. The seminar that started this whole mess rolling. The lawyers have a few questions, but I need those notes to answer them.” He stood, stretched. “Want something to eat or drink?”
She looked up at him, exasperation in her eyes. “You seem to have a difficult time staying on task.”
Immediate, aching arousal kicked him low in his gut. He kept his eyes locked on hers as he spoke. “Princess, trust me. I have no trouble staying focused.”
Her eyes widened as she realized what she’d said and how he’d interpreted it. She dipped her eyes, looking down at the papers in her hand, her cheeks a warm pink.
Every fucking time he said anything that could be taken in a sexual way, either intentionally or accidentally, her reaction was classic submissive. It was intensely satisfying yet maddeningly frustrating at the same time. He wasn’t even sure she realized she did it, but he did, and it was killing him by degrees.
It didn’t matter, though, that she could be the perfect foil for his dominance, because he knew what he liked in a sub, what he need from her, and Olivia was far too physically fragile to handle the type of play he favored. He wasn’t willing to take that risk with her health.
The problem was, nearly two weeks into her stay, his resolve was fraying around the edges. As a Dom, he was used to leashing his desires, so it should’ve been easy to keep a lid on things, but every minute they spent together—talking, eating, working, whatever—wound his arousal higher.
He grabbed a bottle of water for himself and one for her as well. When he turned back, he caught her sidelong glance at him before she turned her eyes back to the papers on the table. With a war going on inside his head, he came up behind her and leaned close, whispering in her ear as he set the water bottle down next to her hand.
“Would you like to see an example of how well I can maintain focus, princess?” He moved her hair off her shoulder and drew small circles on the skin below her collarbone with his finger, dancing closer and closer to the neckline of the tank top she wore. He didn’t get any closer to her breast than that, but from this viewpoint, he could actually see her nipple through the material of her shirt as it hardened from arousal.
Her body was completely still, her breath raspy. “W-what are you doing?”
“Proving a point.” He nipped at the velvet skin between neck and shoulder. “I could do this for hours, until you were begging me to do something more, anything more, than what I’m doing right now. In other words, never question a Dom’s ability to focus.”
She shuddered, and he laughed lightly, moving her hair back where it had been, as if nothing had just happened. Nothing, which was a complete joke. He was as hard as the granite countertop, and it took everything he had in him to not haul her out of the chair and drag her up to the attic to play. Instead, he squeezed her shoulder lightly. “Come on. We’ll get back to this later. Let’s take a walk. It’ll do us both good to get away for a little while.”
Forbidden Obsessions Page 4