Of course, unlike her, he believed in modern-day reading. Pulling out the rolling chair from underneath the desk, he sat down at the computer. Following the book’s link, he downloaded the first story in the series to his e-reader. In a matter of a few clicks, he owned his first McKenna Jones book. He read a few lines aloud, attempting to get a feel for her writing style.
“I first encountered the devil on All Hallows’ Eve. The moment our gazes met, I recognized his depravity. In a single glance he caused me to fear for my sanity, pray for my soul.”
He settled deeper in his chair. “Oh. This would be good.”
Chapter Two
Checking her email was always an adventure. One McKenna had learned was best done first thing in the morning while the coffee still flowed hot. The delicious smell of new books and lattes filled the air of the G. Richards’ Bookstore. Claiming a table and Wi-Fi access in the overcrowded store was the easy part of her morning routine. In her usual one eye closed and cringing fashion, she logged on. It had been a few months since she’d received any video clips of men masturbating, but the damage was done. She was scarred for life. The first ten emails were ads for promotional materials. She had two requests for an interview on book blogger sites. Twitter managed, as usual, to fill her account with notifications from people who sent out those awful “welcome” direct messages. One day she’d remember to turn her email updates off for that site. Scanning the rest of her inbox, she spotted a contact form notification from her website. Those were her favorite.
“I promise I’m not a stalker. After arriving home, I decided a formal apology was in order. Here it is. I, Kurt Travis, do hereby withdrawal my earlier statement. You—most likely—are not crazy. Even if you are, you did nothing to deserve my rude behavior. Please accept my humblest apologies.”
“I couldn’t sleep last night.”
McKenna blinked in surprise as the man who’d sent the message appeared across from her. She’d be damned if she’d let him see her shock.
“Is it because you’re a pen thief? I’ve heard a guilty conscience can interrupt sleep patterns.”
“No.”
“I thought you weren’t a stalker.”
“Oh good. You got my email. I have a problem with your book.”
“I have several books. You’ll have to narrow it down.”
“The first devil book,” he answered as if it should have been obvious. “I read it last night. You should stick to writing what you know.”
She worked at keeping her face blank. “I’d prefer a stalker. Admittedly, there’s a chance I’d end up dead in their basement but—in all likelihood—they wouldn’t insult me as often as you.”
He merely blinked, as if she’d spoken a language he couldn’t understand, before continuing, “Anyhow, it’s obvious when you write emotion, it comes from the heart. Those bits are very good. Unfortunately, it’s immediately obvious to anyone who has ever been tied to a bed that you have not.”
She waited for more. Four hundred pages that he’d supposedly read in one night and he’d walked away with one thing.
When she didn’t say anything, he added. “It’s the little details.” He stared at her as if everything should now be clear. Nope. She had nothing. He released a heavy sigh.
“Okay. On page 173, Celeste’s hands were bound to the rungs of the bed with rope. Every other scene, up to this point and after this one, is done in great detail. I find it hard to believe you meant this bit to be an exception. Following my theory, it stands to reason you said exactly what you intended. Only masochists would allow themselves to be treated in such a way and Celeste didn’t strike me as such. Even if someone chose to use rope, there would be either something wrapped around it or around the wrists to protect the skin from damage. Generally, a softer material is used in bondage.”
“Wow.” His smile was a bit too triumphant for her liking. “You remember the exact page number it was on.”
“I have a photographic memory,” he explained, waving off her statement. “Can I expect similar nonsense from the rest of the series?”
She shrugged and took a sip of her coffee before answering. “Only if you read it.”
“Didn’t I say as much?”
It seemed useless to point out he had not, in fact, said as much.
“I’ve decided you need my help.”
She took another drink in an attempt to hold her smart assery on the inside before responding. “How so?” She almost high-fived herself for sounding so adult-like. Her big-girl panties were on and she’d not kicked him in the balls or anything.
“By offering to take you back to my place. I’ll tie you up the right way, purely for scholarly purposes. You’ll be completely safe and I swear I will not accost you in any manner. I love to read and you need better research before attempting this type of scene again.”
McKenna closed her laptop and slid out of her seat. “Okay. Let’s go.”
His expression made her wonder if she’d grown a second head. “I didn’t expect you to agree.”
“Why? As you said, it’s purely for scholarly pursuit. I’ve done a lot of crazy stuff in the name of research. Why should this be any different?” She headed for the door. “Oh. Hold on for a second.” Changing directions, McKenna moved to the counter and handed her laptop to the girl working behind it. “Would you take care of this for me?”
Flipping her red hair over one shoulder, the woman relieved McKenna of her burden. “Of course.” Flashing a grateful smile, McKenna moved back to Kurt’s side.
“Okay. I’m ready.”
He shot a glance over her shoulder before meeting her stare once more. “Did you just give your computer to a complete stranger?”
His question confused her. “Why would I do such a thing?”
Kurt shook his head. “I have no idea,” he muttered after a second of gawking at her.
Really? The man acted as if she had no sense. He was the one taking her home with him. For all he knew, she was a serial killer.
* * * * *
His apartment was like something out of a horror movie. His bookshelves were not only alphabetized, they were also separated by size. The bottles of cologne resting on his dresser were color coded and facing in the same direction. She was willing to bet money his canned goods all had their labels facing out. The final straw for McKenna was when she caught a glimpse of his shoes lined up perfectly at the end of his bed. Bending over, she pretended to inspect the titles on the shelf while intentionally rearranging the books.
“You have a wild variety of books. Most of these aren’t in English.”
“I speak seven languages.” His explanation caused her to turn.
“I noticed you have an odd accent but when I asked where you’re from yesterday, you never answered me.”
He nodded but his eyes were locked on the bookcase. A frown appeared between his brows. “I was born in Russia where I lived in foster care until I turned eight when a German couple adopted me. The arrangement lasted two years before they abandoned me on the streets of France.”
“They abandoned you? How awful!”
He shrugged. “Life is hard for everyone.”
“What happened then?” McKenna asked. Moving to stand at the end of his bed, she waited until he wandered over to the shelves in an obvious attempt to decide what was wrong with them. The moment his back turned, she used her foot to scatter the perfectly aligned shoes, even going as far as to kick a few underneath the bed. It was for his own good. This level of organization wasn’t healthy for anyone. Leaning over, she went even further by reaching beneath his comforter and pulling the sheet off the bed. Only on one corner so he wouldn’t discover it until he went to bed.
“I lived on the streets,” he answered, dragging her back on topic. “I learned to fight and survive. I moved around a lot. Eventually, I made my way here.”
“That’s a terrible story. Now would you like to tell me the truth?”
He threw his head back on a roar of l
aughter. The sound caught her by surprise. “What gave me away?”
“Only every single detail. I tell stories for a living. You had the same awkward tone to your voice as I do when I’m attempting to tell someone what my current work in progress is about.”
Deciding he simply didn’t want to tell her about his life, she took pity on him. Pointing at an electric guitar plugged into his computer. “Do you have a program keeping track of scoring your notes? I’ve heard of those before but I’ve never seen one in action.”
For the first time since meeting him, Kurt looked uncomfortable. “Um. Yeah. Music is a bit of a hobby.”
Plopping down on the bed, she waved in the direction of the guitar. “Would you show me how it works?”
His features shifted. It was instantaneous. A mask fell into place and McKenna found herself staring at a version of Kurt she didn’t like. It was the one who enjoyed wasting her time. A wicked glint lit his eyes. His voice became sultry. “I have other things I could show you. You wouldn’t regret it.”
“If you’re intent on introducing me to the world of perfectly pressed pants and color-coded sock drawers, I’ll pass. On the other hand, if you meant your statement as a sexual reference, I feel moved to remind you I write erotica. I have no doubt you’re skilled. Look at your apartment. If you put half the effort into satisfying your partner as you do in organizing your shit, then I imagine you could ruin a person. With all that said and my scatterbrain nature aside, I would rock your fucking world.” She allowed her words to hang in the air between them, enjoying the sight of his shock for a moment before adding, “I don’t like people who waste my time. If you’re uncomfortable playing in front of an audience, say so. No one understands exposing their soul for public ridicule the way I do. Please be genuine or leave me alone. It’s not necessary for me to leave my house to enjoy a bit of make-believe.”
He leaned against the edge of the desk, eyeing her as if attempting to decide how determined she was. It was equally possible he was searching for a new way to manipulate her. She acknowledged the truth with an inner sigh.
“Fair enough,” he agreed after a moment. “I’m from San Jose, California. Although I was raised in the States, my mother was German. My father, a Texan. It’s almost impossible to avoid gaining a hint of accent when it’s part of your upbringing, except the differences between the two intonations obviously left me confused. I ended up an odd cross between the pair. Not to mention, my ability to speak several languages fluently has influenced my pronunciation of English words. A year and a half before I was due to graduate from Stanford, my parents were killed in an accident while visiting family overseas. I dropped out and moved here.”
It was partially true. She could hear it in his words. Unfortunately, she couldn’t decide which parts were a lie. She let it go.
“And the music?”
“I’m not very good,” he admitted dryly.
“Do you love it?” He gave her a short nod. “Then you will be,” she assured him. She pushed backward on the bed until she could spread out and rest her head on his pillow. After lifting her arms above her head, she grabbed hold of one of the oak rungs of his headboard. McKenna awaited her fate. Unfortunately, even as his eyes darkened and he moved to give in to her silent demand, she couldn’t remain quiet. Her nervous habit of chattering kicked in.
“In some aspects we are very similar. We both have creative minds and both of my parents are gone, as well. Of course, there wasn’t anything tragic behind their passing.” She paused to think it over before adding, “Unless you consider the fact I am now alone in the world. They had me late in life and weren’t in good health. Once my mother was gone, my father simply faded away shortly after.”
McKenna assumed Kurt was listening. It was hard to tell since he didn’t allow it to slow him down. In short order, some form of velvet material encircled her wrists. His chest hovered two inches from her face. All she needed to do was lift her head. She could flatten her tongue over the rings outlined against his tight t-shirt. He smelled like cinnamon. She really liked that particular spice. Her nipples hardened. Letting her breath out slowly, McKenna worked at breathing though her mouth instead. This man would eat her alive. Hadn’t she learned her lesson yet? Men such as him decimated people like her, leaving them with nothing. The reminder gave her strength even as the binding tightened.
*
McKenna’s scent filled his lungs. Even the fact she wore her shoes on his bed couldn’t distract him. Her supple body caused his stomach to clench with hunger. The way she willingly submitted called to his wild nature. Her unquestioning trust wrecked him. He wouldn’t let her down. With her hands bound, he ignored the pounding of his erection against the zipper of his jeans. Sitting at her side, he silently awaited her judgment. Her face screwed up in thought. Tugging the material, she curled her nose. It was adorable.
“This is unpleasant. I think I’ll skip it in the future.”
He huffed. It wasn’t intentional. She wasn’t getting the full experience. “You’re missing the point. This is completely different when you’re turned on. Arousal steals away the discomfort. Handing over control frees your mind to enjoy your partner’s plans without plotting your next move. You’re looking at this from a scholarly point of view. Bondage isn’t one dimensional.”
She gave up her struggle and met his gaze. “This isn’t real control. It’s the illusion of domination.”
He was willing to debate. “I’m listening.”
She rolled her eyes. “There are some particulars you can’t express in words. I need to demonstrate. Kiss me.”
The demand almost caused him to fall off the bed. “Are you being serious?”
Her expression gave nothing away. “Yes. Kiss me.” There wasn’t a hint of heat in her tone. She was still in educational mode. It was unacceptable.
He’d like to think she didn’t need to tell him twice except she already had. Refusing to miss his chance, he was determined to chuck every ounce of skill behind it. Throwing his leg over her body, he straddled her hips, pinning her in place. Leaning in, he paused a hair’s breath away from her lips, hoping to build anticipation of his touch. She closed the distance. The moment their lips met, hers parted. Teeth sank lightly into his bottom lip before McKenna swiped her tongue over it, as if apologizing. He opened for her. She didn’t hold back. The taste of coffee and some form of mint greeted his taste buds. The tip of her tongue stroked the roof of his mouth. He chased her. She probed the stud in his tongue. She’d known it was there he realized, even though he took great pains not to show it when he spoke. A moan rose in his throat. She was incredible. Every subtle move she made bespoke skill. Each brush of her lips, tongue and teeth went straight to his cock. He needed to possess her. More importantly, he wanted her hands free. Reaching up, he worked the knots at her wrists loose without breaking their kiss. If her mouth was this skilled, her hands had to be ten times as talented.
The moment she was free to do so, she pushed until he was on his back. Her hot center cradled his hard dick as she straddled his hips. She ran her fingers through his hair, deepening their kiss. Easing up, she held his bottom lip between hers. Her breath fanned across it. The tip of her tongue swiped it one final time before letting go. She hovered less than an inch away from his mouth.
“I told you to kiss me and you did because your idea of bondage is not control. I say this is an illusion because your velvet binding secured me with the promise of pleasure. A devil’s domination would be tangible, with rope and a sure knowledge of pain if you disobeyed.”
Realization slammed into him at her words. He’d been wrong. She had done this before. Even though this wasn’t her first time, she’d still gone along with his plan. “I don’t do anything without a purpose.” With her taunt hanging between them, she pushed away. Moving across the room, McKenna picked up a stack of blank sticky notes from his desk.
“Can I use these?”
“Wouldn’t you rather have paper?”
“No. These.”
Her gaze was slightly unfocussed, her hair mussed. It was fucking sexy. His dick twitched. Realizing she was waiting for an answer, he cleared his throat. “Yeah. Go for it.”
Even to him, Kurt sounded ravaged. As he looked on, she chose a pen from his desk before rejoining him on the bed. There was no way she was missing the line of his erection. He couldn’t move. The fear of permanent injury kept him pinned in place. She settled in close enough that he could feel the heat of her body against his hip. With the notes balanced on her knee, McKenna bent over them and set to work. It was as if she disappeared. The change in the air was almost tangible. One moment her fire blasted his body and the next she turned inside herself, leaving the real world behind for her metaphysical planet.
Sucking in a deep breath, he sat up. In an attempt at calling his body under control, he put some distance between them. His mind stayed behind, lingering over their kiss even as his body wandered across the room. McKenna’s disconnection felt so complete, Kurt picked up his guitar without thought. The notes floating across his brain flowed through the instrument. His laptop fired to life recording each one. Tiny details from their encounter became sharper as his mind cleared. There were too many factors. Her actions couldn’t have been calculated. His fingers paused. The music fell silent. Rearranging the timing in his head, he started over. Following the path of every possible scenario, Kurt still couldn’t decipher the logic behind her actions. She was simply fascinating.
It took Kurt a moment to realize, he’d been staring blankly at the wall without playing a single chord long enough so his computer screen had gone black. He glanced over his shoulder. Several lines of yellow sticky notes covered the wall above his headboard. On her side and facing him, McKenna slept silently with her head pillowed by her arms.
Setting the guitar aside, Kurt did his best not to wake her as he climbed onto the bed. The moment he settled in behind her, McKenna snuggled against his chest. Although he knew she was asleep and therefore not responsible for her actions, her words were still fresh on his mind. I don’t do anything without a purpose. Why then had she kissed him? If he was being honest with himself, she’d not shown any real interest in him before the moment her lips met his.
Unbalanced Page 2