by Rynne Raines
“He’ll be done with you by the end of the week.” A set of French manicured fingernails dug into Bianca’s upper arm. “Might wanna give up now and save yourself the humiliation. A sweetheart like you won’t hold his attention for long.”
The doors of Halo slammed behind Karlie and emotion slammed into Bianca.
Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
The street signs blurred, blended with the early morning traffic. As the pavement tilted under her feet and the fingers of nausea seized her stomach, she refused to double over and vomit.
In extra-slow-motion, slideshow images of last night drifted through her mind—Cade’s passionate mouth, his strong hands, his tender words that had brought her so much pleasure. They were now the jagged blades twisting in her chest.
She tried to control her breathing—couldn’t. She tried to fight back the water in her eyes—failed.
History repeating itself, she thought with a sardonic laugh, then pressed her quivering lips together. It was bound to happen. Part of her knew that. Men like Cade did not change.
However, she had.
Time strengthened her. She was not the emotionally fragile, lovestruck fool he had manipulated four years ago. At least that was what she told herself as she dried her eyes, took a deep breath and flagged a taxi.
****
Sweet Christ.
Cade exhaled a long stream of breath and shook out his arms as he stared at the closed door to Bianca’s studio. Is this what love did to a man—made his palms sweat and fingers tremble? For fuck sake, it was as if he were back in his uncle’s pickup at his first drive-in with head cheerleader Claudia Pearson.
But even then, during that humid summer night, when he’d used his slickest move and managed to get his hands up Claudia’s soft cream sweater and discover a bra more impenetrable than Fort Knox, his heart hadn’t pounded this hard.
If memory served correctly, he mused, a grin tugging at his mouth, it’d been worth the twenty-five bucks he owed Claudia the next day for tearing it off. But the thrill of copping a feel from the hottest girl in high school paled in comparison to the adrenaline he was feeling now. He wasn’t sixteen anymore, and Bianca sure as hell wasn’t the rich girl who got her kicks slummin’ with the bad boy.
No, Bianca was a woman of substance, driven and passionate about her future, willing to do anything it took to get what she wanted. He could appreciate that. In fact, when it came to something he wanted, he was just as driven. Last night, that drive had paid off.
Delight filled him.
He’d never known a sensation more excruciating and heavenly, but imagined opening the door and seeing her for the first time after the night they’d just shared, it would become a hundred times worse. Cade scrubbed his knuckles in a circle over his heart, softly laughed, and shook his head.
You’re done for, Sinclair.
True enough.
He shoved a hand into his front jeans pocket and pulled out the jeweled choker he had spent the entire day tracking down. As he stared at it, his chest tightened. The white gold was fine and delicate, like the neck it would be worn on. The gentle dusting of diamonds would catch in the light and sparkle like Bianca’s eyes when she spied a slice of New York cheesecake. It was perfect for her.
Although he’d never seriously considered collaring a woman, he couldn’t think of anything that would make him happier than Bianca wearing the glittering article around her neck. It would signify their connection and their devotion on an entirely different level.
In the world of BDSM, the collar held more significance than a gold band.
He took a deep breath and slipped it safely back inside his pocket.
When Cade finally eased the door open, it was just as he’d suspected: a hundred times worse. His heart clenched, but he shook it off and savored the long line of her neck, her half-naked back, those shapely stilts fashioned on a pair of red stilettos. Beautiful.
After realizing she didn’t hear him come in, he took full advantage.
“You’ve got me at a crossroad, angel.” She jumped, but he flashed his palm across her bare midriff, pulled her back into him and nudged her ear. “I was growing partial to the mini and boots. However, semi-sheer red skirts and glossy heels are apparently another weakness of mine.”
“Don’t suppose you’ve heard of knocking, Sinclair?”
“Knocking, hmm. Polite custom before entering a room?” He stroked his fingers across her flat tummy and relished her shiver. “I prefer a good stealth attack.”
“I’m sure you do.” She turned in his arms but didn’t meet his gaze. “I wasn’t expecting you.”
“That was the idea. Figured the least I could do is buy you dinner, since I didn’t get to buy you breakfast—are you okay?”
“I’m fine. A bit confused is all.” She shook her hair back and met his gaze head on, but he didn’t recognize her eyes. They lacked emotion, somehow appeared darker in shade, and were far too cool for his liking. He cocked his head and retracted his hands from her waist.
“Confused about?”
“Well, if I recall correctly, you said if I gave you last night, the terms of our agreement would be fulfilled. I gave you last night, but here you are.”
Although he didn’t get a good look at the truck that hit him, Cade imagined it was easily a three-quarter ton. He stayed his fingers from clenching into fists, stayed the muscle in his jaw from flexing. Now, it wasn’t only her eyes he didn’t recognize. It was everything about her.
“I hadn’t realized you’d decided you didn’t want to see me again.”
Had the circumstances been different, he might have followed when she broke eye contact and leisurely strolled across the room for her purse. However, his temper was already dangerously skimming the surface. The pain in his chest had gone from excruciating and heavenly to just plain excruciating. He needed to keep his distance.
“Don’t suppose you’re gonna enlighten me on what brought about this decision?”
She swept up her purse and cast a casual glance over her shoulder. “Please don’t make parting ways any harder than it already is.”
“Funny, doesn’t seem very hard for you.”
She retrieved a tube of lipstick from her purse, plucked off the lid, rolled cherry red over her bottom lip then pressed them together. “I had a good time last night and won’t deny it.”
“That’s all it was to you, a good time?” Sand filled his mouth and scraped his throat.
“Okay, you’re right. I had a very good time.”
“Dangerously skimming the surface” had bubbled over into a full-blown eruption and he couldn’t keep his distance any longer.
“What the hell’s gotten into you?”
“Hmm,” she tapped the tube against her palm, “I don’t remember our agreement having an explanation clause.”
“Fuck the agreement.” He grabbed her by the shoulders and gave her a firm shake. Emotion flashed in her eyes—hurt, disappointment, anger. However, it didn’t last long before her lashes swept down, then up, and the thick walls of detachment surrounded her once more. “I don’t believe this has anything to do with the chess match we’ve been playing over the past few days, Bianca.”
“That’s where you’re wrong,” she shot back. “This has everything to do with the chess match we’ve been playing. You wanted closure and so did I. If you haven’t reached it, that is not my problem—let go of me.”
“No.” He tightened his grip and shook his head. “You’re lying to me. Why?”
“Just because you’re not satisfied with my response doesn’t make it a lie—I can’t talk about this right now.”
“Got somewhere to be?”
“As a matter of fact, I do.” She squared her shoulders. “I have a date.”
The knife sank, twisted.
“Oh, yeah? Who’s the lucky guy?”
“If it makes it easier for you to move on…” she paused, swallowed hard and eventually lifted her eyes to his. “…Donavan Carver.
”
He swore under his breath and fought the urge to shake her like a ragdoll. The head of Eden’s legal team was renowned in the community as the playboy every sub cooed over. Even though he had nothing personal against him, or the way Donavan carried himself as a Dom, the idea of another man’s hands on Bianca pushed him over the edge.
“I’m going to be late, so if you don’t mind—”
“Fuck that.”
His mouth crushed hers. The sonic wave of frustration, anger, and desire exploded through Bianca and she couldn’t breathe. Under the hunger of his mouth, she curled her fingers into Cade’s shirt and weakly shoved him away, then desperately jerked him back against her. His weight shifted and slammed her into the wall, trapping her under his massive frame. The momentum knocked the wind from her lungs. But the pressure of his mouth increased, his tongue plunged, searched, commanded a moan.
She couldn’t stop it and didn’t try.
The vibrations rumbled from low in her throat as his thigh rode high between her legs, pressing against her throbbing clit. A frenzy of emotion clutched at her heart as her lips bruised under the force of his mouth. However, through the anger, the hurt, and the betrayal was her undying need to feel him. The need to feel him won out over common sense every time.
Before she knew it, he’d shoved down his jeans, hiked up her skirt and jerked her soaked panties aside. There was no tender caress or the slow, steady build-up that Cade was famous for in her mind. But there was need. He hooked an arm under one of her knees, pinned it up, and drove his cock inside her slick pussy. There was no warning, no sweet whispers—only two desperate souls teetering on the edge of sanity.
They met each other’s demand with equal intensity. Hands and limbs entwined. Hearts pounded. Fear slipped away and the uncertainty of tomorrow, of next week, of forever slipped with it. There was only this moment, a moment neither of them were willing to relinquish.
Balanced on one narrow high heel, she clung to his shoulders. Each time he slammed up and ground his pelvis against her swollen cleft, she sobbed against his lips. He tore his mouth from hers, rested it next to her ear, his voice a rough whisper. “He’ll never make you feel like this.” He thrust again. “No one will.”
He was right, Bianca dizzily thought as he raked his teeth lightly over her jaw, her throat, down across her collarbone. There wasn’t a man alive who could make her feel as good as he did. But when she convulsed in his arms, when the climax violently pulsed through her, she remembered there also wasn’t a man alive who could hurt her as he could.
In a perfect world, the aftermath of furious sex would follow with a warm bath, elegant flutes of champagne waiting next to a turned-down, king-sized bed, and two people confessing their undying love for each other until the sun rose on the horizon the next morning. But the world was far from perfect. And, in reality, furious sex generally followed with ragged breathing and the whisper of crumpled clothing shifting back into place.
“Tell me,” he whispered as he framed her face in his hands and lowered his forehead to hers. “Tell me you don’t love me.”
Tears lodged in Bianca’s throat. She squeezed her eyes shut against the assault of emotion, knowing if he saw one trickle of moisture drip down her cheek, one quiver of her mouth or heard a hitch in her voice, she was done for.
“Cade.” She clasped his wrists in her hands to prevent her fingers from trembling. “I don’t love you.”
The audible sound of his swallowing cut her so deeply she had to bite the inside of her cheek to stop a burst of violent sobs. But she held her ground, thought of self-preservation, and prayed for lightening to strike her down, if only to stop the pain.
“Thank you.”
“F—for what?”
He wrapped her in his arms, lightly brushed his lips against her temple, and murmured, “Closure.”
Chapter Eleven
“Eden, please.” Bianca murmured to the cab driver as she quietly settled into the deeply worn cushions of the backseat. The portly old man whose belly nearly reached the steering wheel gave a silent nod and she was relieved when he did not engage her in polite conversation. After a night of crying into her pillow and eating three pints of chocolate fudge explosion, the last thing she felt like doing was enduring casual chit-chat with a stranger.
They pulled away from the curb in front of her house and she winced as early afternoon sun glared through the window, irritating her puffy red eyes. She fished through her purse for sunglasses, barely managed to get them on for the trembling of her hands. God, you’re a mess.
She had spent the night second-guessing her actions, unable to escape the bittersweet memories of Cade’s lips against her neck, his hands on her body, the way he looked at her so intensely it stole her breath. She imagined the process was similar with any couple ending a relationship. However, that didn’t make it any less painful.
Closing her eyes against another wave of tears, she reminded herself that it wouldn’t feel like this forever. The scent of cologne faded. Mutual locations were avoidable. And radio stations that had a habit of playing Love Hurts on the top of every hour could be silenced by jabbing a button.
It wouldn’t be easy to bounce back from this. She had learned that the first time around. But she took comfort in knowing she had done it before, maybe not completely, but had gotten to a point where every time she took a breath, it didn’t hurt as much.
Small steps, she thought and swiped at the tears as the cab came to a gradual stop in front of Eden. Her first step. Making it through the day without publicly breaking down.
****
“Dill pickle! How hard is it to remember dill pickle?”
“This time I remembered it. You just didn’t say it loud enough!”
Bianca pinched the bridge of her nose against the migraine forming behind her eyes. At least with John and Vanessa as her last clients of the evening, she wouldn’t have to deal with goo-goo eyes and kissy noises.
“Okay, look.” She got in between them. “Forget the safe word.”
They gawked in unison.
“Safe words…are…” Bianca searched for words, “…are not for every couple. Vanessa, if you want to be a good Mistress, and I know you do, then pay better attention to John’s needs, his expressions, reactions.”
“That’s the alternative!” John snorted. “Better up my health insurance now.”
“Oh, yeah, and your sarcasm is really helping matters.” Vanessa toyed with the laces between her fingers. “Maybe what you need is a good thrashing.”
“Already had one today. Why not make it another?”
The uproar escalated like thunder between Bianca’s temples. Before she could stop herself, she lost it. “Stop! Stop, damn it. Just shut up for one minute.”
Four wide eyes. Two gaping mouths. Silence.
With a bitter moan, she scrubbed her hands over her face. The two hours of broken sleep last night apparently hadn’t been enough. “Seriously, what are you guys doing together?”
They looked at each other, then back at her, and stared as if she’d spouted six arms.
“We’re in love, of course.”
“Hmm.” Bianca held back a cackle, folded her arms under her breasts, and clung to diplomacy. “Suppose I’ve never seen people in love argue with as much…passion…as you guys do.”
Again, she had six arms and maybe even horns now.
“The passion comes from loving each other,” John started.
“Because we care so deeply,” Vanessa finished. “We both want to please each other so badly sometimes it gets a bit intense. Especially when things aren’t going as planned.” She stroked John’s shaggy bangs off his forehead and he grasped her wrist, placing a kiss to the inside of it.
“But you scream at each other.” Bianca’s chest tightened at their display of affection. “You call each other names.”
“Every couple fights and communicates differently.” John rose and hooked an arm around Vanessa’s waist. “No relation
ship’s ever perfect. Guess we think as long as we’re still communicating, through any means, it’s better than not doing it at all. Aren’t you the one who said communication, honesty and trust are the keys to this lifestyle?”
Now it was Bianca looking at them as if they’d grown horns. “Yes. I believe I did say that.”
Honesty. Communication. Trust. Her gut churned again as the words sank in. Had she given Cade those things, ever, or had she stuck her head in the sand and run for the hills when things got uncomfortable and messy?
“You all right, Miss Alexander?”
Bianca glanced at John and nodded quickly. “Yeah. Oh, yeah, I’m fine. Sorry. Let’s continue.” She gave her head a scratch and cleared her throat. “When dealing without a safe word, Vanessa, you’ll need to learn John’s body language, focus on the limitations you’ve previously set, the sounds he makes. Treat this as a time to learn each other without role-play. If you’re not sure if he’s okay with what you’re doing, ask. Ask how he’s doing, if he’s all right. Once you do this a few times, it’ll get easier to read him.”
“I would kind of like it if you asked.” John shrugged and weakly smiled.
“Really? So many times I’ve wanted to ask but I was scared of ruining the mood. I never want to hurt you…well,” she flashed a wicked grin, “not in a bad way. I do love you, Johnny. No man has ever made me orgasm like you.”
“Love it when you say shit like that. God, I want you.”
“Oh, boy.” Bianca leapt back as they pawed each other, knocked over a chair, then landed sprawled across the floor. “Right…well, no one’s booked the studio for tonight so feel free to…yeah, you know what, forget it.” She backed towards the door. “See you next Friday.”
If you both haven’t suffered brain damage from lack of oxygen.
They didn’t acknowledge her, nor did she expect them to. Rather hard to respond when you had a tongue down your throat. She exited the studio as quickly as possible and threw herself back against the door. So much for no goo-goo eyes or kissy noises, she thought and groaned. Oh, yes, she loathed them.
“One of those days?”