by Violet Heart
His breathing grew steady and deep and his hand slid off her back to the armrest. Melony carefully climbed off his lap and sat on the edge of the sofa bed to study him. He looked so boyish in his sleep, like when he grinned, and she wondered how old he was. She guessed around thirty, though with his timeless features, he could be anywhere between twenty-five and forty.
His dark hair, only an inch long, stood in stylish wavy spikes above his forehead but laid down everywhere else. With his head back, the cords of his neck stood out thick and hard. She wanted to touch them, kiss them. His broad shoulders and chest filled the chair's width, and his shapely arms led to hands with long, strong fingers that could easily have belonged to a surgeon. Those arms had made her feel safe and cared for, and those fingers had made her cry out with pleasure.
Damn him. What was he doing to her? She wanted to hate him. She had wanted to hurt him, make him pay for her pain the way she punished all her partners. But now… He stirred, shifted a little, and rolled his head to the side as he continued to sleep.
He made her smile. At the same time, he made her regret—regret her past, regret her pain, regret all the things that made her unworthy of him and the healthy, loving relationship he deserved. He was so handsome.
She watched him sleep for a while then changed the sheets on the sofa bed and cleaned dust out of the coat closet. She located the easy-latch collar and leash and hung them from a hook on the coat rack. When the doorbell rang and he bolted upright, rubbing his eyes, she smiled. He looked adorable.
"How long did I sleep?" he asked.
"A couple hours. You had a good nap." She went to the door and saw Frank through the hole.
"I didn't sleep very well last night," he said.
"Understandable," she agreed. Opening the door, she couldn't stop her mouth from gaping.
Frank stood with three suitcases on each side and a stuffed suit bag thrown over one shoulder. "Your slave's got more clothes than a damned woman," he grumbled, picking up all six cases with his meaty fists.
Melony stepped out of the way so he could enter. "He warned me."
"Oh, yeah? He didn't warm me." He glowered toward the living room.
Chip stood and scratched the side of his head. "It's not like you gave me much of a chance."
Frank's face relaxed at that bit of truth. "Well, you're checked out." He set the cases in a line next to the coat rack.
Melony took the suit bag. Unprepared for the weight, she almost dropped it. "Good Lord."
"Let me get that for you," offered Chip, meeting her at the door and taking the bag. "It's heavy.
"No kidding." She turned to the older man. "Thanks for doing this. It was so thoughtful of you."
"Yeah, thanks, man," Chip said dryly.
Frank pointed at the suitcases. "Where do you want these?"
"Don't worry about it. My slave will do all the work," she said with a smile.
"Any errands you want me to run?" the biker asked. "I've got the pick-up if you need me to go to the store."
Standing on tiptoe, she kissed his cheek, cringing internally. "You're so wonderful. No wonder Velma loves you so much. I'm going to use a trip to the grocery store as a training session. I'll make him follow all my commands, then he has to cook dinner tonight." She winked.
"You're a good girl," Frank said.
Chip had his back to them, unpacking and hanging his suits, but she imagined him making a funny face. She fought laughter. "Thanks, Dad," she teased.
"Anytime, sweetheart. Well, if you're all set here, I'm going to head over to the bar. I'm meeting some buddies for drinks." He patted her shoulder and walked out.
"Thanks again," she said before closing the door. She shook her head, glad he had gone so easily.
Chip joined her. "It's good to have clothes." He squatted down and checked the contents of the cases.
Melony chuckled. "Boy, do you ever."
He grinned, and her heart went pitter-patter. "Let me get dressed and we'll go to the store. Are you really going to boss me around?"
"No. I just told him that to make him feel good about leaving."
He pulled a pair of jeans and a red polo shirt from one suitcase, underwear and socks from another, and tennis shoes and a small, brown leather case from a third then disappeared into the bathroom. She went to her own room and used the master bathroom. Before leaving, she caught her reflection in the mirror and stopped short.
She looked different. Something in her eyes looked brighter, her mouth looked softer. She actually liked the loose curl, admiring how it made her seem more feminine. With a critical eye, she considered how she could make herself prettier for Chip. She opened her make-up drawer and chose clear lip-gloss and a bit of dark brown mascara. Satisfied, she went to wait for him in the kitchen.
When she passed his bathroom, she heard the hum of an electric razor. She hoped he found his wallet and car keys, which she had removed from his pants pocket before giving them to the cleaners. While he napped in the chair, she had taken them from her nightstand and placed them on the bathroom vanity, under his hanging toothbrush.
She went through the cabinets and refrigerator, jotting a few items to get from the grocery store. Behind her, Chip cleared his throat and she turned on her heel. He stole her breath. A red shirt brought out the darkness of his eyes, the slight tan of his skin, and allowed a hint of chest hair to show at his unbuttoned V. His jeans made his hips and thighs look downright delicious. His face, clean-shaven and fresh, enthralled her. She forgot to inhale and didn't want to take her eyes from him.
His lips moved.
Did he say something?
"Melony? Are you okay?" His lips shifted into a smirk.
"Uh, yeah. I'm really good. How are you?" She sounded like a moron.
He laughed. "I'm fine. Come on. Let's go see what kind of trouble we can find at the store." Reaching past her, his face coming nose to nose with hers, he took the list from the counter. He didn't step away. His eyes met hers, and with a serious expression that made her insides quiver, he lowered his lips to hers. Gentle and wrought with an unspoken meaning, the kiss moved her to tremble with sorrow.
She put her hand on his shoulder and broke away, fighting for control. He offered her a quick smile then took her hand and led her to the door. On the way out, she collected her keys from her coat pocket, grabbed the collar and leash, and lifted her purse off a hook on the rack. She couldn't have him, so this madness needed to stop before it broke her heart.
Chapter 14
"You surprised me," Chip said, clutching two bags of groceries and admiring Melony's ass while she unlocked the door.
"Did I?" She pushed open and held the door for him.
"Yeah." He went in and set the bags on the kitchen island. "I didn't think you were old enough to buy wine. When you offered to go next door and get some from the liquor store while the cashier bagged our things, I thought you were joking."
"Seriously?" she asked, hanging her purse on the rack and coming to help him unpack the food.
"I honestly thought you were about nineteen." Why couldn't he take his eyes off her? Those shiny lips positively begged him to kiss her. Imagining them around his cock again had him straining against his jeans.
"I'm twenty-six." She retrieved two wine glasses and a corkscrew.
"Really." Somehow, that changed everything.
This weekend no longer had the appeal of a passing diversion. With her level of maturity and sense of adventure, she began to peak his interest. He couldn't ignore his curiosity about what the boxes contained, either. Before he could make the decision to pursue her in earnest, he needed to learn a few things.
"Twenty-six, huh? Ever been married?" he asked.
She issued a sound of disbelief. "Please. I've never even been engaged."
Such a fun and beautiful woman? He removed the wine cork and handed her the bottle. "Have you had any kids?"
"No. You?" She pushed a half filled glass of red wine along the counter toward him and took a sip
of her own.
"No. I've been busy with my studies and career. I made the decision right out of high school that I wouldn't get seriously involved with anyone until I had my career in a good place." He finished pulling food out of bags and balled the plastic to shove into the trashcan.
"That worked out for ya, did it? Sounds pretty lonely." She leaned over the counter and examined the roast. "Pans are in the drawer under the oven."
Chip chose a deep sauté pan, set it on the stove, and poured a light olive oil into the bottom. "I was too busy to be lonely."
"So what are you making?" She picked up a red bell pepper and turned it in her hands.
"I don't know that it has a name. My sisters and their husbands came unannounced to visit me shortly after I started practicing in Boston, and I threw some things together that I had in the kitchen. It was a big success, and they ask for it whenever they visit." On a cutting board, he used the side of her carving knife to break cloves free from a bulb of garlic. He tossed them into the oil with salt and pepper and set the burner on low.
"You're confident."
He gave her a cocky grin. "That's what makes me a great lawyer and a great lover." He exaggerated a swagger and waggled his eyebrows at her.
"I meant in the kitchen. You're a confident cook."
He laughed. "I was just kidding. My mom started me cooking when I turned fourteen. I had to make dinner once a week. I think it's fun. It gives me a chance to be creative."
"Can I help?" she asked.
"Sure." He scraped the garlic leavings into the trash and handed her the knife and board. "Dice an onion while I wash the vegetables. Tiny—like you'd see on a MacDonald's hamburger."
"That is tiny."
She washed her hands then picked up an onion from the counter and began peeling the brown outer layers. He came over to stand behind her.
Like this," he said quietly in her ear, taking her wrists in his hands. "Take the knife and cut one end, not all the way through. Now the other side." Her hair rubbed, smooth and silky, along his cheek. Her back expanded with every breath she took. This woman turned him on like nobody he had ever met. "Okay, now make a slit from end to end and peel off the entire outer layer in one piece."
She removed the layer and held it up then set the perfectly prepared onion on the board. "That is so cool."
"Tell me about it," he said, returning to the sink. "I learned that on a cooking show." If he did that again, he wasn't going to make it through dinner before jumping on her. "Where are your bowls?"
"In the cabinet above your head," she said, bent to her task.
He took down a large, clear glass bowl and set it next to the chopping board. Melony looked up, a single tear rolling down her cheek. "My God, Melony, what's wrong? Did I do or say something?"
She smiled. "You're so sweet. No, it's the onion." She wiped the moisture away.
Of course, it was the onion. He was a nughead. He pretended she had stabbed him in the chest. "The 'you're so sweet' charge. I've been sentenced to nice-guy-dom. I'm doomed."
She laughed. "You're silly. Do you want the onion in the bowl?"
"No, I'll put it right in the pan." He took the knife from her, picked up the board, and scraped the pieces into the warming oil. "I'll rinse these under cold water so your eyes won't sting anymore."
"Thanks." Taking a kitchen towel out of a drawer in the island, she wiped the water off them before asking, "You want me to cut the peppers, too?"
"Sure. But bigger. Pieces the size of postage stamps." He found the cooking utensils and chose a wooden spoon to stir the ingredients in the pan. Suddenly, he imagined using the spoon on her bare bottom. Shit! Where did that come from? Uncomfortable, he adjusted his pants before checking on her progress. "How's it coming over here?"
"You're right. This is really interesting. I've never been into cooking, but this is fun. That smells great already." She beamed him a bright smile, the most honest one he'd seen from her yet. It actually reached her eyes.
It occurred to him that she didn't smile much. Keeping his observation to himself, he found a large bowl made of textured green glass in her cabinet and got started making a simple salad. "It's amazing sometimes to combine foods you wouldn't think go together and come up with the most tasty concoctions. Your chicken salad was really good at lunch. Some of my most fun memories with friends in college were spent in the kitchen experimenting with homemade pizzas."
"I'm a pizza fanatic." Her eyes lit up.
He went still, unable to move. Suddenly, more than anything in the world, he wanted to cause that look in her eyes. He wanted to do or say something that made her look that way. At him. For him. He blinked. He was losing his mind. Was he going through some kind of brainwashing?
"Are you okay?" she asked, her eyebrows raised in concern.
Turning his attention to the lettuce in his hand, he answered, "I'm fine. Just getting hungry, I guess."
"Me, too," she said, putting the chopped peppers in the bowl. "You wanted these in the bowl, right?"
"Yes, that's good. Do you want to cut the meat?" He began to wonder if he had gotten into something he wasn't ready for. He showed her how to cut the meat into one-inch squares, stirred the garlic and onions, then excused himself.
In the bathroom, he locked the door and paced the tile floor. From shower stall to door and back, he ran his hands through his hair. All afternoon, she had seemed so normal. So agreeable. Except for her panic when she thought he would look in a box, she acted like his ideal. He couldn't discount her behavior last night and that morning. With the leather, and the whip, and the cuffs, and the whole 'do as I say, slave' attitude. And Frank. Holy shit!
Did she have multiple personalities? Somehow, he didn't think so. He had seen her break, show her weakness during her dominatrix act. He suspected she longed to be a tough-as-nails bitch who got off on torturing men, but her true self interfered. Something had happened to her. It threatened to change her. In fact, he thought maybe she wanted it to change her so she didn't have to live with fear and anger.
For him, he had to deal with whether or not he had the gumption to take on all her baggage. Was she worth it? He just didn't know. He'd only known her twenty-four hours. It had been a hell of a twenty-four hours, but he couldn't avoid the fact that not much time had passed.
He could walk out. From a legal standpoint, he could handle Frank and snuff that threat. He didn't want to, though. He couldn't figure out why. He used Frank as an excuse to stay, which made no sense. Yes, he had reached a point in his life where he could consider beginning to search for a wife. And plenty of pretty, well-adjusted, normal women searched for husbands and would probably date him. So why did he stay?
He looked forward to finding out what she liked to do, besides inflict pain on restrained men. He released a crazy laugh and went to the mirror. Bracing his hands on the sink's edge, he studied his reflection. He wanted to learn what she liked to eat, read, and drink. He wanted to know what kind of movies she watched. Listen to her childhood memories. Find out what music she preferred.
Beginning to think he was a glutton for punishment, he went back to pacing. He could make this easy and leave tonight. After he talked her into taking him to his car, he could go to Bob's house and stay there a few days until he got his own place. The office might prove awkward, since Melony worked as his secretary. After a while, they'd get past what had happened and become good co-workers. Maybe even friends.
The idea depressed him. He craved her. Not just sexually, though that was a big part of it. No, he needed to give her a chance. He wanted more time. Yeah, he was definitely a glutton for punishment. He would take the hard way and stay. What was wrong with him?
"Do you want me to put the meat in the pan?" she called.
He smelled the browning garlic and onions. Much longer and they'd start to burn. "Go ahead," he called back, not ready to face her.
Sitting on the toilet seat, he rested his elbows on his knees and lowered his forehead to his h
ands. If he did this with her, he had to set goals and limits. For one thing, he refused to let her cuff him to anything ever again. He had to admit, however, the ropes had been serious fun, and wondered if she would let him bind her. For another, she had to let him in, had to start answering some of his questions. He wouldn't require her to tell him what happened that screwed her up so badly, but she had to open up and share part of herself. He would give them one week, and if he couldn't see a realistic future with her beyond dating, he'd walk away.
Chapter 15
When Chip returned from the bathroom, he didn't seem the joking, fun-loving man he'd been at the grocery store. He had lost his smile and the bounce in his step. Melony wondered if he found her less appealing because of her age. He had told her he thought she was nineteen, and perhaps he preferred his women that young.
"Feel better?" she asked.
"A little," he said and sent her a tentative smile.
He finished making dinner and filled the apartment with heavenly aromas. While he transferred food from pans to plates, she set the table and opened the loaf of Italian bread he had purchased. Even with his darker mood, she enjoyed the teamwork. When they sat, she gazed proudly at the meal they had prepared.
"Everything looks so good," she said, wishing she knew what bothered him but not sure how to ask. She couldn't remember experiencing this level of comfort with a man. Chip needed something from her, but she couldn't comprehend what.
"Dig in. I think I made too much."
She held out her plate and he dished some of the main course onto it. "We'll have leftovers, which are good after a long day of work when cooking seems like too much trouble."
"Cooking too much trouble? Never." He winked and grinned.
Encouraged by his attempt at banter, she tried to draw him out further by asking questions. "You said you made this the first time for your sisters in Boston? Do they live in Massachusetts?"
He gave her a startled look then shook his head with a thoughtful expression. "They live in northern New York with their families."