Bound, #3

by Shandi Boyes

  My steps freeze halfway into the kitchen, shocked when Lexi simply slumps her shoulders before picking at a blueberry muffin sitting in front of her. This isn’t right. That's not how my confident, sassy-mouthed sister would usually react.

  I watch the trio for a moment, taking in their unique kinship. Although Jackson's attention reverts to Lexi as quickly as it left, it only takes a matter of seconds before Brodie once again interrupts them. Every time he does, the vibrant gleam that regularly sparks Lexi's eyes fades more and more.

  Brodie’s interruptions happen another two times before a solution for Lexi’s predicament formulates in my muddled brain. Lexi’s head lifts from her hacked muffin when I ask, “Hey, Lexi, do you mind if we skip Sunday roast night this week?”

  Lexi peers at me, blinking and confused. Sunday roast night has been a regular event in the Garcia household from the week my parents were married. Although I hate breaking tradition, the thought of my sister’s heart breaking pains me more. I also didn’t meddle in her life for years to watch all that hard work unravel the instant the magic starts to happen.

  “I’m getting a little claustrophobic being holed up here, so I thought I might head out for a few hours. Maybe watch a movie and grab some takeout?” I explain to Lexi’s confused expression.

  “Just you, or all of us?” Lexi waves her hand around the table she is sitting at, lingering on Brodie’s half a little longer than Jackson’s.

  “Me and Marcus. . .” I trail my words off on purpose, not missing the opportunity to return some of the feistiness she always gives me.

  Lexi is quiet, but I still hear her muttered whine at my reply.

  Happy she has stewed long enough, I add on, “Oh, and Brodie, since he pretty much goes anywhere Marcus goes.”

  Lexi vaults out of her chair, her excitement uncontainable. “Oh, yeah, sure. We can do roast night any night of the week. Who says it has to be on a Sunday?”

  She mouths a silent “thank you” as she stalks across the room, her eyes growing larger with every step she takes. “I friggin love you,” she mutters into my ear before wrapping me up in a huge hug. “Brodie is a great guy, and he has an ass that nearly puts Jackson’s to shame, but his idea of privacy is partially closing the bathroom door when he pees.”

  I giggle at the last half of her statement. “Not when Marcus is here,” I jest, my tone full of wit.

  Lexi draws me to arm’s length. “If only Marcus were here last week,” she grumbles, faking a gag.

  When Lexi moves to stand beside me, I catch the curious glance of Jackson. His eyes bounce between Lexi’s for many heart-clutching seconds. I can tell the instant recognition dawns on his face on what our little tactic is about—the most prominent, sultry grin tugs his lips high.

  “Give me twenty minutes to pack, and we’ll be out of your hair for the weekend.”

  Mortified at the gleam of lust rapidly forming in Lexi’s eyes, I shift my gaze to Brodie. “Will you be ready to leave in twenty?” I ask him.

  He stands from his chair. “Yes. Will we be taking one car or two?”

  My brows furl. “Umm. . . give me five minutes, and I’ll let you know.”

  When Brodie nods, I spin on my heels and stroll to my room where Marcus has been detained the last two hours. From the way Lexi forced him out of the living room when Anna arrived, anyone would swear I was selecting my wedding dress, not a ball gown.

  Hearing Marcus’s clipped tone vibrating under the doorjamb, I knock on my bedroom door, endeavoring not to interrupt him if he’s on a private call. With no pause in the conversation, Marcus unlocks my door and swings it open. His hard-lined lips tuck into the corners of his mouth when he spots me standing behind the door, but the thigh-quaking glint in his eyes remains stable. His contradicting emotions have me wondering who is standing before me. Is he Marcus right now or Master Chains?

  With his other hand, he gestures for me to enter. “So what exactly does that mean?” he asks his caller as I pace into the room.

  I feel sorry for his caller; I'm not on the receiving end of his curt tone, and my pulse still quickens from his furious undertone.

  “That doesn’t make any sense. You said it was adequate.”

  Not wanting Marcus to think I’m eavesdropping on his conversation, I saunter to my closest to gather my suitcase. Marcus’s eyes track my every move as I place my suitcase on the bed before picking up his overnight bag, which is resting on my office chair. I put them side by side, advising my intentions without speaking a word.

  “And the requirement for that would be?” I smile when his voice doesn’t come out as stern as the one he was using earlier.

  Incapable of ignoring the way his heated gaze makes me feel, I pack my more risqué clothing first, mainly the items from the top drawer of my dresser. The naughty ones I prance around in every night after a shower when I’m striving to unleash his dominance. The ones that have seen us experimenting with hot wax, freezing ice, and the sinfully wicked pinwheel we used last week. The pinwheel was just as stimulating the second time around, if not better, since Marcus didn’t withhold my climax the second time.

  My room has seen more action the past week than it has in its entire life. I’ve been spanked, bound and gagged in this room, and I’ve loved every goddamn minute of it. Although, I’ll admit, keeping the noise level down has been a real struggle. Not only is this weekend going to be a blessing for Lexi and Jackson; it will also be a godsend for Marcus and me as well. I wasn’t being facetious when I said I love Marcus's dominance; this weekend getaway will be the perfect opportunity to have it unleashed in a natural setting—his playroom.

  Like he’s intuited where my thoughts strayed, Marcus bands his arms around my waist and presses a kiss to my temple. Before I have the chance to nuzzle into his embrace, he retreats even more quickly than he arrived.

  “What type of consequences can we expect if we chose that route?” The angry snarl of his words has my temperature rising.

  A lewd smirk etches on my face when my eyes lock in on a pair of clothespins sitting on my bedside table. Aiming to brighten Marcus’s surly mood, I gather two clothespins in my hand, then spin around to face him.

  “Do we need these or do you have spare ones in your playroom?” I mouth, waving the pins in the air as my teeth slowly scrape my bottom lip.

  Marcus’s head slants to the side as he glances into my eyes. The angry cloud hindering his alluring gaze weakens with every second we stand across from each other in silence. When he reads the statement my heavy-hooded gaze relays, the temperature in the room turns stifling, fired by lust so potent it hisses and cracks in the air.

  “I’ll call you back,” Marcus snaps into the phone.

  He disconnects his call and returns his cell to the pocket of his trousers before he stealthily paces toward me. He walks slowly, building the sexual tension bristling between us with nothing but an amorous smirk.

  “Are we going somewhere?” .

  “Yes,” I reply, my voice coming out in a lusty purr. When I spot the quickest glimmer of hesitation in his eyes, I add on, “As long as everything is okay? We can stay here if you want. I just thought we’d have access to more. . . equipment at your house.” There is no way he could miss the sexual innuendo laced in my reply. It's drenched in it.

  Marcus scrubs his hand along his five o’clock shadow as he contemplates a response. The longer he takes replying, the more my worry surfaces. He’s mentioned numerous times the last week how his creativity is being stretched only having standard household instruments to use, so I thought he’d be chomping at the bit to go to his house. That's his domain. The one place he has access to all his fancy BDSM toys and gadgets.

  I take a step back, needing some distance between us so I can adequately access his eyes. I can barely breathe let alone think straight when he is standing so close. His usually forthright eyes leave me more dumbfounded. Although they are void of the suspicion they held the last two times he was deceitful, they still have
my apprehension rising.

  Just as I’m about to ask what his phone call was about, Marcus asks, “Where are we going?”

  The excitement in his tone smoothers my curiosity, but it doesn’t entirely erase it. “Why did you hesitate?” I ask, realizing the only way to get answers is by asking questions.

  His tempting body and alluring eyes may make me daft when I stare at them too long, but my attempt to keep our relationship on an even keel have seen me using a more direct approach in our conversation the past week. What I said to Lexi last week was right: I know Marcus and Jackson had a reason they kept the details of Richard's investigation quiet, but that ruse should have ended the instant Richard plunged to his death. There was no reason for them to continue pretending Brodie was Jackson's cousin. . .unless there is more to the story than he is telling me?

  “Was that Shian?” I ask, my tone bossy. “Was she giving you an update on Richard’s investigation?”

  Just like they have numerous times the past week, Marcus’s eyes spark with amusement at my stern tone.

  After running his index finger over my furrowed brow, he admits, "I hesitated as Anna messaged to apologize for any uncomfortableness she may have caused us. She is afraid referring to you as my sub will cause a rift between us. I assured her we will be fine. Then you started packing. Your actions had me worried you were concerned you weren't filling my requirements."

  He steps closer to me, increasing the hunger for friction on my skin running rampant through my body. “You are.”

  If I hadn’t heard the honesty in his reply, I would have probed his response further, but since he is telling the truth, I steer our conversation back onto an even playing field. “So that was Anna on the phone?” I ask, nudging my head to the pocket where his phone is.

  “No.” Marcus’s finger glides over my forehead, removing an unruly hair stuck there. His touch is basic, but his touches are always meticulously placed. He knows I can barely withstand the temptation of his alluring eyes, so I don’t stand a chance when he is staring straight at me while also touching me. “But I don’t want to discuss who that was. Not yet.”

  His tone ensures I know his statement was not a request; it was a demand.

  “Does it have anything to do with Lexi or me?” I continue to probe, my Garcia stubbornness not allowing me to stand down without a fight.

  “Cleo. . .” Marcus growls out in warning, his eyes not holding the amusement they did mere seconds ago.

  “Marcus. . .” I reply, sneering his name with the same intensity he said mine. “We agreed no more lying, so tell me the truth.”

  His stares into my eyes, his ticking jaw the only audible sound. “Fine, but we are going to negotiate first.” Not giving me a chance to respond, he continues. “I want an entire week with you— alone.”

  Ignoring the pleas of my heart to accept his agreement without any added stipulations, I utter, “What about Brodie?”

  “What about Brodie?” Marcus mimics, his tone not as high as mine. His is more gruff and menacing. “I have a week until I’m scheduled to return to the studio. I don’t want our time interrupted by any outside sources.”

  My heart slithers into my gut. I didn’t realize our private bubble had such a short expiration date. I shouldn’t be surprised, though; Marcus has spent nearly every waking moment with me the past two weeks. Although he is an extremely wealthy man who can absorb the loss of production, it's selfish of me to take up so much of his time. He doesn’t just have his bandmates to factor into his decision; he also has many other prominent businesses, such as Chains and Links.

  My eyes snap to Marcus when he says, “Since I only have a week to convince you to come with me, I want an entire week without interruptions. Just you and me. Sunday to Sunday.”

  “As your sub or your girlfriend?”

  Marcus’s brow arches high. “Have you ever considered the possibility of having the best of both worlds?” he instantly replies, quoting part of a saying I said to him weeks ago.

  I try to hide in my smile. I miserably fail. Who could in these circumstances? I’m swooning so severely, my head feels giddy.

  “Okay,” I agree, nodding.

  The lust in Marcus’s eyes grows tenfold.

  “I was agreeing to spend the week with you, not to have the best of both worlds,” I inform his lust-sparked eyes.

  The desire in his eyes remains firm, not the slightest bit put-off by my reply. He knows as well as I do that a week of solidarity won’t just be a blessing for Lexi and Jackson; it will be a godsend for us as well. There are only so many hours you can spend holed up in a tiny room before your feet get itchy with cabin fever. For a man who has traveled the world, I’m confident Marcus’s feet are well overdue for a scratch.

  “On one condition.”

  Marcus's eyes snap to me, waiting for me to continue.

  “I need to attend my meeting tomorrow morning with Mr. Carson. I want to hand in my notice in person. It's the respectful thing to do,” I advise his questioning expression.

  “I understand.” Marcus steps closer to me so he can cradle my jaw in his hands.

  He isn’t surprised that I’m handing in my resignation at Global Ten Media, as we have discussed it many times the past two weeks. Although I’m fearful of leaving a position that has offered me stability the past five and a half years, I’m eager to see what life has in store for me next.

  My resignation in no way means I’ll live the high life with Marcus as his sub—or even worse, his live-in groupie. It means I am opening up to the possibility my high distinction grades from NYU could award me with greater opportunities than the ones I had at Global Ten. I studied my ass off in college to ensure I was at the top of my class three of the four years I was there. Now I write obituaries for a living in a toxic workplace that negatively impacts me more than it encourages me to succeed. A change in career has been long overdue. With Marcus’s encouragement, I’m finally going to bite the bullet and do something I should have done a long time ago.

  My decision was not made lightly, but a heap of weight lifted off my shoulders the instant it was made. It will be a scary couple of months, but because I’ve had no social life, I have plenty of accrued paid leave to fall back on if my plans go to shit. Even if Marcus decides tomorrow morning he’s reached his quota on bratty Garcia women antics, Lexi and I will survive at least six months before things get uncomfortable. There are also plenty of opportunities for me to do freelance work while searching for a new position. So, I’m confident we will be fine no matter which direction my relationship with Marcus takes—I hope.

  Breathing out my nerves, I connect my eyes with Marcus. “One week, Sunday to Sunday with a slight intermission tomorrow morning. . . and I get to take you on a date when the Chains investigation blows over. A proper date.”

  “A date?” Marcus queries, his brow inching high on his face like it's a foreign word he’s never heard before.

  Giggling, I nod. “Yes. A date,” I jest.

  "You just negotiated an intermission into our agreement; you can't add a second stipulation without me first adding a term," Marcus argues, his tone a mix between playful and serious.

  “Why not?” I ask, my voice as high as his bowed brows. “You do realize you’re dealing with a brat? The normal rules don’t apply to me.”

  Not waiting for him to respond, I pivot on my heels and make a beeline for my closest. The giggles shuddering my frame turn into a shiver of lust when Marcus curls his arms around my waist and draws me back into his embrace. My breathing pans out when I feel how excited my little tease made him. His cock is strained against the zipper of his trousers, struggling to break free. I sink deeper into his embrace, my brattiness evaporating more quickly than my morals when the stubble on his chin drags down my neck.

  “An entire week of ironing out your kinks in my playroom,” he murmurs into my ear, sending a flurry of goosebumps rushing to the surface of my skin. “Where no one will hear your screams.” My knees pul
l together when his rich, chocolatey smooth voice ramps up his efforts to seduce me. His voice is so delectable it could coerce any woman into his bed without even needing to see his handsome face.

  A husky purr rumbles up my chest when his teeth graze the shell of my earlobe. His bite is hard enough for slickness to pool between my legs, but not hard enough I’m worried I just made a deal with the devil. Only one devil is standing in this room. It isn’t Marcus. It's my lust-driven heart that's allowing Marcus to play its strings as well as he performed his guitar last week.

  One beautiful twang at a time.

  13

  We climb the platform stairs of Marcus’s New York residence in silence, our composure more restrained than the last time we arrived at one of his properties. That has more to do with Brodie’s eagle eye watching us from the driver’s seat of his car than anything. Even with Marcus’s assurance he was capable of driving us to his property, Brodie tailed us the entire way, even following us into the McDonald’s drive-thru we visited halfway through our trip. Brodie’s watchful presence did nothing to dampen the lust sizzling between Marcus and me the past two and a half hours. Nothing could ever dampen that. It's so strong, it hangs heavy in the air, slicking my skin with a misting of sweat.

  In silence, Marcus punches a six-digit PIN into the security panel at the side of his property. When a buzzer shrieks loudly into the crisp winter air, he pushes on the floor-to-ceiling glass door, then gestures for me to enter. Just as eagerly as they did the first time I was here, my eyes absorb the opulent starkness of his property. Its pristine marble tiles and floor-to-ceiling glass panels are breathtaking against the modern, slick furnishings, but it doesn’t compare to his Florida property. The sheer lavishness of this estate ensures you can’t mistake it's Marcus’s residence, but his Florida property is his home, making them so starkly contradicting, they can’t be reasonably compared.

  With the air set to a warm temperature, my hands instinctively dart down to remove my coat. My pulse quickens when Marcus mutters, “Let me.”