Текст книги "Dangerously Bound"
Автор книги: Eden Bradley
Соавторы: Eden Bradley
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They reached the back of the room, where long couches and a few overstuffed chairs made cozy conversation areas. He stopped in front of one of the couches, set his play bag down on a table, nodded at her, a sharp lift of his chin that made her focus on the chiseled edges of his features, all pure masculine man.
“Down on the floor, Allie. On your knees. And wait for me.” He turned away to unzip his bag.
“I . . . what?”
He turned back to her, his gaze narrowing. “This is standard drill, Allie. I thought you were an experienced submissive,” he said, doubt lacing his tone.
“I am.”
“Then what’s going on?”
“I just . . .” She had to pause, catch her breath. “It’s because it’s you. Well, you and me. I guess I thought . . .” She trailed off, shaking her head.
“You thought what? That because it’s us things would happen differently than they would with any other play partners we may have had? That I’d handle you with kid gloves because of our history, despite the things you and Jamie have told me about your experience in the scene? Despite our negotiations?”
There was an edge to his voice she found a little frightening, yet at the same time knowing he was the full-on Dom with her was reassuring—that he wouldn’t cut her any slack he shouldn’t in these circumstances.
Remember who you’re dealing with. Remember this is what you’ve always wanted.
“No. No. I’m just . . . making a mental adjustment, I guess.”
“Well, make it fast, girl, because if you’re not down on your knees in about ten seconds I’m putting you there myself.”
Really love to have him do just that to me.
She almost groaned aloud. But she wasn’t going to give him that. Not yet.
She sank to her knees on the Persian carpet in front of the sofa, her gaze on his as he watched her, trying to assess his response. Was he pleased with her? Or was he still so pissed that she’d forced his hand in the situation that she’d have to really stretch herself to satisfy him? To make him see she could be the perfect submissive for him. That she could be perfect for him.
She sank back on her heels and clasped her hands behind her back. Waited.
“Eyes on the floor,” he said gruffly before turning back to his big black bag as if nothing had happened, as if their little exchange hadn’t left her heart slamming into her ribs.
She tried to breathe as she’d been taught—in, exhaling slowly through her mouth, concentrating on telling her limbs to relax. Soon it was working and she was able to spread her focus to the sounds around her: the dungeon music, the moans and cries of the others being played, a little laughter from somewhere, the lovely sound of a leather flogger hitting flesh.
She’d always loved that sound, the simple knowledge of what it meant. It made her want to feel it herself. To smell the leather. She inhaled, letting the scents of leather and anticipation sit in her lungs—and gasped when his fingers sank into her hair and pulled. Pulled her hair back unto she was forced to meet his gaze.
He bent low over her, brought his mouth almost to hers and whispered, “I thought you could do it, Allie. After we talked I had a pretty good idea that you really could submit. But seeing you down on your knees tells me everything I need to know. For the moment, anyway. We’ll have to see what else you know, what else you can do. But this trick . . . oh, yeah, you have this one down.”
She didn’t dare say anything. He was all Dom right then, and she didn’t want him to be anything else. His hand gripping her hair, his imposing presence, his whispered threats and words of encouragement, were making her shivery all over. Wet between her thighs.
“Arms up while I get you undressed,” he ordered.
She raised her arms high, let him pull the dress over her head, leaving her in her scant black mesh lingerie and her heels.
“Very nice,” he murmured, moving behind her and reaching out to sweep her hair aside. “I’m going to start with your hair.”
“What? My hair?”
“Is this an argument?”
She swallowed. “I . . . no.”
“Then quiet now.”
He swept her hair back from her face with both hands, and began to work some slender rope into it. She’d had this done before—had her hair bound into a sort of ponytail of corset lacing. She didn’t know what had surprised her into speaking out a moment before. In a few minutes he was done. He swung her bound hair over her shoulder, then drew one finger slowly down the back of her neck, sending a trembling warmth down her spine. She tried to curve into his touch, but he stilled her with a palm flat between her shoulder blades, pressing just enough to make her feel it. Strength. Command.
“Oh no you don’t, my girl. You move when I tell you to. Right now you are to be my toy to play with. Mine to move and shift around as I please. And I will please. Know that. Know it’s coming. That you are. Eventually.” He moved around her, tracing the line of her jaw, the side of her neck, over her collarbone, down the side of her breast, making her ache. “But now . . . now I’m going to sit down here on this couch and relax for a few minutes and just watch you. I want you to hold very, very still. Can you do that for me? Don’t speak—nod yes if you think you can without me binding you yet.”
Oh, Jesus! He was going to make her lose her mind. But she found herself nodding her chin.
“Good girl.”
Heat shot through her system.
From the corner of her downturned eye she saw his booted foot as he settled onto the furniture. She swore she could feel him watching her, as if his hand were still on her bare skin.
“I think I’d like it better with your hands clasped behind your neck.”
“Mick . . .” she whispered, her throat going tight, her body resisting being that vulnerable with him.
“Allie, the correct answer is an immediate agreement to do as I ask you by simply doing it. Or the answer is no. I’m not going to play these games, which I believe I’ve already told you.”
She drew in a deep breath. She wanted to comply. And she wanted to fight it. But the part that wanted—needed—to be taken over by him was winning as her muscles went loose at the tone of utterly inarguable dominance in his voice.
“I’m sorry, Mick. I can do it. I will.”
His voice softened, and she understood why he was such a good Dominant—he knew exactly when to be tough, and when to show tenderness. “Take a breath, then. And try it again. Yeah, that’s much better.”
She knew being in that position arched her back, made her breasts stand higher. It made her feel as if she were on display. It made her feel more submissive.
She waited. And waited. Until the waiting itself seemed almost unbearable, even more so because it was him. Hadn’t she already waited for Mick long enough? Tears burned at the back of her eyes, but she swallowed them down. She would please him, damn it. Do as he said. Show him she knew what his game was all about, that she could play it, too.
She had to calm down, to still herself for the ropes, his favorite form of play.
She closed her eyes, pulled in a long breath.
The rope slipped around her wrist so fast she wasn’t even aware of it until he’d already pulled it tight and started to tie what felt like a quick half-hitch knot. Then another and another, until he’d made a brace of rope that covered her entire forearm. He dropped the end of the rope, and without breaking contact through one hand on her shoulder, he grabbed another piece and started on her other arm, then finished it off by tying her wrists together.
She had a small moment of panic when she realized this was it—he’d effectively rendered her helpless in mere moments.
“Flex your fingers for me,” he told her, and she did, knowing he was checking for circulation. “They feel okay? Good blood flow, still? You can answer me.”
“Yes.”
“Yes what?”
She swallowed. “Yes, Mick.”
“That’ll do for now. But it might be ‘Sir’ later. Be ready for it.”
He slid a length of rope over her shoulders and let the ends fall down her back.
“You particularly attached to this lingerie?” he asked her. “Shake your head yes or no.”
She shook her head no, wondering what he was going to tie her up with that would damage the delicate material. But before she had time to really consider it she felt the cool touch of metal against her skin and glanced down to see him slipping a pair of safety scissors under the front band of her bra. She gasped as in one snip it fell open, and in two more the straps were cut and the remains of the filmy garment fell to the floor.
She knew what was coming, but all the same it made her breath catch when he cut her underwear off her and pulled the fabric away, leaving her in nothing but a few feet of rope and her heels. But she was proud of her body—she only arched her back, raising her bare breasts higher.
She heard a small chuckle from him. “Very good, princess. That’s exactly what I want to see. I can tell you like it, being naked, on your knees.” He leaned over her and fisted her bound hair in his hand once more, yanking hard, and she pulled in a sharp breath. His face was right next to hers, his cheek pressed against hers. He said quietly, “Now we’ll find out just how much you like this.”
She closed her eyes as he pressed two fingers right into the damp heat between her thighs, sliding in her juices. Pleasure lanced into her.
“Christ, you’re wet, baby. Do you know what that does to me? Entices the beast to come out of its cave. But we can’t have that. Not yet, that’s for sure. We’ll just have to do something about it.”
He let her hair go, pulled his fingers from her, leaving her shivering with need and heat, and returned with more rope, which he laid on the floor next to her, coiled into bundles. With quick hands he began to fashion a harness around her breasts, the rope sliding and slinking over her skin like a snake, sending small vibrations through her system. She loved every moment of it—the sensation of being slowly decorated, of being rendered helpless, being in his hands.
His hands.
As he drew the ropes tighter around her breasts, one rope across the top, another beneath them, she felt the pressure, making them even more sensitive, the sinuous slide of the rope across her skin making her nipples hard. Making her shiver. He worked the rope between her breasts, making a series of knots in the center that pressed painfully against her ribs, but she loved it. Wanted it.
He slid his hand under the rope there, pulled hard, pulling her up onto her knees. Ah, this was good, being handled this roughly. She didn’t dare look up at him, keeping her gaze on the floor. But oh, how she wanted to. Wanted to see that animal banked and burning in his gray gaze.
“Very good,” he murmured. “I like seeing the rope on you, the way it presses into your flesh. What do you feel in them, Allie? Tell me.”
“I feel . . .” She had to pause, to take in a breath, which was a bit harder to do with the chest harness in place, just as it was when she wore a corset. “I feel . . . as if I’m being held. Hugged. I feel . . . excited. And safe, somehow.”
“You are made for this, Allie girl. Made for my ropes, aren’t you? Stay right there.”
The ropes were sliding again as he worked them through the chest harness and down around her body—her ribs, her waist, across her back, and finally, between her legs. The rope slipped between her thighs, against her aching sex, and she almost cried out, her thighs shaking.
He was quiet as he worked, but she could hear his breath, almost as heavy as her own, felt the pressure and easing of hands as he moved the rope, tied knots, stopped to pull on the harness for no other purpose than to make her feel commanded. To make them pull hard against her swollen clit, to tighten there until the rope sank painfully between her pussy lips.
Oh, God, she loved it.
When he tipped her over onto her side she didn’t protest, she just went down onto the floor, the rug a bit scratchy against her bare skin. He rolled her over onto her stomach with rough hands. She had always loved being manhandled a bit while in scene. But when he pulled her ankles up and she understood he meant to hog-tie her, something in her rebelled, her legs going stiff.
He was on her in a moment, his knee in her back, one hand pulling her torso up off the floor by the ropes crossing between her shoulder blades. She felt utterly helpless, taken over, which was exactly what she wanted, yet was also what was making her panic now.
“Allie, I’m going to give you a chance to tell me what this is about.”
“I can’t, Mick,” she started, but tears lodged in her throat and she had to stop.
“You can’t what?”
“I can’t be . . . humiliated. Not with you. Please don’t.”
“This is not humiliation. This is beauty,” he said, his tone low, quiet. Reverential in a way she understood. In a way that calmed her instantly. He ran a hand over her spine between the ropes. “The graceful angles of the body. The level of submission it signals. Seeing the flesh bound in my ropes is pure art to me. Your flesh . . . well, I’ve been waiting a long time to do this, which I believe you already know. That’s . . . almost indescribable. So damn beautiful.”
She felt her limbs loosen. His grip on her softened, and he let her back down onto the floor, where she turned her cheek, resting it on the wool rug.
“You’re ready now,” he told her. Told, not asked. It didn’t matter. It was true.
He drew her ankles up once more, wrapped them in the sensually sliding rope, making her acutely aware of the bones and flesh there, then he tied them off with a few knots. He slipped a length of rope under the knots between her ankles and led it to her body harness, where he worked it through the ropes across her back, and pulled on them until they drew her ankles up a bit more.
She was truly helpless now, except for her safe words, of course. But she didn’t need them. Her head was sinking deeply into subspace, which she realized distantly she hadn’t quite expected without more pain play. The only pain was the slight throbbing of her bound breasts pressed against the carpet, her nipples grazing the wool, and the rope that pulled hard against her sex. But she was soaking wet.
Mick’s big hand wrapped around her bound wrists, which were clasped behind her head. She heard the soft snick of moving rope as he bound the corset tie on her hair to her wrists. Then he pulled up, lifting her chest off the floor, raising her head with it.
“Tell me that you’re doing okay, Allie.”
“Yes. Yes,” she whispered.
“Are the ropes too tight anywhere? Cutting off circulation? Pressing too hard into bone?”
“No. The ropes are . . . good.”
She tried to just keep breathing, to keep her body loose. When he slipped some rope between her wrists and tied it to her ankles, drawing her body up, making it bow, shock coursed through her. The discomfort of the position was a part of the power of it all, she understood, but Jesus, she’d never felt so utterly helpless. But it was for him.
Him.
Mick.
He began to run his hands over her flesh, so gently she wanted to cry. Her skin was alive, every nerve ending in hyperdrive. She felt his touch like fire. Like nothing she’d ever felt in her life.
“You feel so damn good, Allie girl. Skin like fucking silk. I love the way the ropes press into your body.”
He reached down then and slid a hand under the knots at the small of her back, making the rope press harder against her sex.
She moaned.
“Yes, I like that, my girl—to hear how it hurts you, how you love it. Oh, yeah, I understand perfectly well it’s both pleasure and pain. And make no mistake—that is my intention. Because as much as I love rope, I am a bit of a sadist. But you already knew that. You wanted it, or you wouldn’t be here, would you?”
He moved his hand between her thighs, his fingers sliding in her juices.
“Christ, but you’re soaked.” His voice had turned to raw gravel, low and full of desire. “Makes me want to just . . . yeah.”
He was quiet for several long moments, giving her time to wonder what he might do to her next. To crave it. To fear it. To fear how he would break her down.
But it was Mick. Finally. And she was his in this moment. Relief and emotion and an almost unbearable pleasure suffused her. For the moment, that was enough.
CHAPTER Five
MICK LOOKED DOWN at Allie’s body. A part of him could barely believe it was her bound in his ropes. The fantasy image raging inside him all these years was nothing compared to the perfection that was this reality. And seeing her here . . . it was some small epiphany. Small, but enough to cause a crack in the glass wall he’d erected around his memory of who and what she was to him, like some fucking fairy princess in a castle. Maybe he was the one who’d put her there, but it had always seemed to make sense. Until now. Now he might have to question his perceptions. Because this Allie was real. This moment was real.
Too real.
He flexed his fingers, had to actually take a step back.
Calm the fuck down.
He pulled in a breath, then another, but his heart was beating like a drum and he was hard as steel.
He’d have to find a way to distance himself a little until he regained the control that kept him—that would keep them both—safe from the primal thing inside him, the dark shadows that drove him.
He reached into his bag and found what he was looking for: a small croplike implement that was really more like a slender wire rod with a few inches of black sandpaper at the end—the perfect tool for his intentions.
He stood at Allie’s side, leaned in and listened to her breathing. It was slow and regular, and he knew she was slipping deeper into subspace simply from being bound in this way. He paused to check circulation in her hands and feet, found the flesh pink and healthy. Then he bent over her and swatted the bottoms of both bound feet with the sandpaper crop.
“Oh!”
“Shh. Stay quiet, Allie girl. Quiet and as still as you can.”
He swatted her feet again, and this time, although he felt a small jerk in her body, she didn’t pull too hard against her bonds.
He began a regular cadence, then, smacking the bottom of one foot, then the other, playing over the arches, the balls of her feet, the heels, the tips of her toes. He loved it when her breath began to come harder, loved it when she was quietly squirming in the ropes, her toes curling and uncurling. He could see she was processing the sensation well. He knew it didn’t hurt too much—this particular toy used on the feet hit all the acupressure points, and often tickled more than hurt. But he didn’t want to play her any harder than this right now. He simply wanted to bring her sensation, sensation that didn’t come directly from his own hands. It would be too much to touch her.
He let himself relax into the rhythm, watching her breathing, visually testing the tightness of the ropes. He went on for a good ten minutes while the world around them shrank into the bubble in which it was just the two of them. Mick and Allie. The way it should have always been.
Fuck.
He stopped as his pulse began to race, fast and choppy. He tossed the toy at his bag, being far more careless with his equipment than he ever was. But he had to stop. Now.
He was topping out.
He’d heard a Top could drop the same way a bottom did. But he’d never expected it to happen to him—it never had before.
He’d never scened with Allie.
There was a small rage building in his chest. Rage that he hadn’t held it more together. That he’d allowed his so-tightly-held control to slip.
He pulled his safety scissors from where he’d tucked them into his belt and snipped the rope holding her hair to her wrists, then the one holding her wrists to her ankles. He caught her across the chest in time to lower her head safely to the floor, and her feet at the same time. Her warm flesh burned into him like fire.
He kept cutting, tearing the ropes from her body, rolling her onto her back to work faster. He caught her confused gaze and cursed himself. It wasn’t right, the way he was handling her, taking her down without any explanation.
“Mick, are we . . . I’m sorry for talking but are we ending the scene?”
Hurt in her voice. It cut him to the quick. But he couldn’t take this any further. Not tonight.
“Yeah,” was all he managed to say.
He pulled her into a sitting position, careful to be more gentle with her, then to her feet so he could finish cutting her out. She swayed, and he caught her with one arm around her waist. Lord, she felt like a china doll in his arms, and he was a bastard for doing this to her.
Soon the ropes lay in tatters on the floor, and he grabbed the small blanket he kept in his bag and wrapped it around her before leading her to the sofa and sitting her down. The panic was roaring in his ears as he settled next to her, needing to keep away from her, but knowing he couldn’t do that—that if he couldn’t manage an explanation, the least he had to do was offer some aftercare. But instead of leaning into him for comfort, as most bottoms did after play, she sat there woodenly. He didn’t blame her.
“Allie . . . fuck, I know the energy is off . . .”
Why the hell couldn’t he think straight?
She pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulders. “Off? It’s all kinds of fucked up, Mick.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“What?”
“I’m sorry.” He paused, shook his head. “Believe it or not I’m able to apologize when I’m wrong.”
Her brown eyes welled with tears, and he felt even more like an asshole.
“Mick, what are you talking about? I’m the one who should be sorry. I forced you into this. How could I possibly have expected the dynamic to work? It’s my own fault. I just wanted . . .” She paused, sniffed, wiped her cheeks with her palms. “Well, it doesn’t matter what I wanted. I was wrong to do this.”
“Allie, you are my responsibility right now, and I’m doing a lousy job. This is not your fault. You’re just bottoming out.”
“Maybe I am a little—I don’t know—but I do know that I screwed this all up, or the scene wouldn’t have gone wrong. We wouldn’t be here doing this at all. I’m sorry, Mick. I really am.”
Another tear slid down her cheek and he reached out, brushed it away with his thumb—he couldn’t help himself. But when her face just crumpled there was nothing he could do but pull her into his arms and hold her. She was stiff at first, but in moments she was curled against his chest, crying softly, his shirt gripped in her hand.
Her body was all warmth and softness and the scent of summer. His pulse was still racing, hot and hard in his system. His mind was spinning, numb.
This was Allie, his Allie. He didn’t know how he could think of her any other way.
He couldn’t do this to her.
But I can’t stay away. Not anymore.
He held her tighter, and she melted into him for a moment, then she started to pull away. He tightened his arms. She pushed at his chest. He let her go.
Fuck.
“Mick, don’t. Please just . . . don’t. I shouldn’t have done this to you.”
“You haven’t done anything to me,” he insisted.
“Oh yes I did. I manipulated you. It was wrong of me, and now you’re trying to comfort me. You don’t have to do this. Okay? You don’t have to. Just . . . take me home.”
“We should talk. I don’t want you going home alone like this.”
“I’ll call Marie Dawn. I promise. I know you feel responsible as the Top. I get it. But I’m really the one who put myself here, and I’ll see that I’m taken care of. I’ll handle this myself. Which is what I should have done all along, instead of trying to pull you back in. You were right. I’m caught up in the past. I’m sorry, Mick.”
It tore at him to see the expression on her face. He didn’t know how they could resolve things tonight. They were both too raw. And he needed some time to understand what had happened to him.
“All right. Let me get your dress. But Allie . . . I’m sorry for a lot of things. You should know that.”
She just shook her head mutely, and he handed the dress to her. She slipped it over her head, let the blanket fall. When he tried to help her into her shoes, she waved him away and did it herself, then sat in silence while he packed up his bag. She remained just as silent as they went back through the club to the front and got their coats. He was grateful that Pixie gauged their mood and kept quiet as they left.
He helped Allie step up into the truck, a hand on her elbow, but she was shut off to him. He went to the driver’s side and got in, started the engine.
“Are you not talking to me at all?” he asked her.
“I just can’t, Mick. I’m sorry. I don’t know what else to say, and if I say anything more, I’m only going to make it worse.”
“You need to stop apologizing.”
“Because I’m completely blameless? Come on, Mick. We both know that’s not true.”
He scrubbed at his goatee with one hand, the other firmly on the wheel, when all he wanted was to stop the damn truck and take her in his arms again.
He knew she was right. He had felt manipulated the other day, but he’d accepted the situation as inevitable. But tonight everything had shifted once he had her in his ropes, under his hands. It wasn’t the sight of her bare flesh, although that was pretty damn spectacular. It was her. Stronger than she used to be. Braver. What had it taken for her to get him to do this?
“I didn’t think you’d be able to argue with that,” she said quietly.
“No. I mean, I was thinking.”
“It’s better if we don’t think, Mick.”
He glanced at her profile, her high cheekbones, the tips of her long lashes gilded by the streetlights. So damn beautiful. Stubborn as ever. And closed to him.
And not a damn thing he could do about it.
* * *
IT HURT HER heart to shut him out, but she had to do it. The guilt was eating her up inside.
She’d come so close tonight to living out her wildest dreams, only to have them come crashing down around her. She’d handled this horribly.
She bit back the tears as the truck moved through the dark streets, and soon they reached her house. Mick came around to let her out, but when she would have moved past him, he grabbed her arm.
“I’m walking you to the front door like the Southern gentleman I’m supposed to be. Like the responsible Dom, damn it.”
Oh, he was mad. She didn’t blame him.
She turned and together they moved up the front stairs.
“Hand me your keys.”
“Mick, I—”
“Just do it, Allie. Stop arguing with me.”
She exhaled on a sigh as she pulled the keys from her purse and handed them to him. His large fingers wrapped around her hand for a long moment, and she looked up to find his gaze on hers, dark and glittering in the pale light of the porch.
“Mick . . .”
“Shh.”
“We’re not in scene anymore.”
“No. We’re not. We’re just two people saying good night. And this we’re going to do right.”
He leaned in, and even though she knew what was coming, she couldn’t pull away. Her body wouldn’t let her. She breathed in his scent mixed with the cool night air, which only made him seem darker, sexier.
His arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her closer. She tilted her chin, blinked hard as he lowered his face toward hers until his breath was warm on her lips.
He moved in closer and the breath just went out of her, her body melting in anticipation. His hand gripped her waist, his fingers digging in. She closed her eyes. Waited.
He gave her one more squeeze before he pulled away.
“You know, everything that happened when we were younger . . . I remember what it was like between us. Don’t think I’ve ever forgotten. Tonight kind of brought it back to me, made it fresh again. Real.”
Her chest pulled into a tight, complicated knot. “What are you saying, Mick?”
He shook his head, his eyes shadowed. “I don’t know.” He paused, repeated, “I don’t know. And I don’t know exactly what’s going on in that pretty head of yours, but I felt like I needed to say something.”
“And . . . ?”
He shrugged. “That’s it.” He was silent for several moments, then he reached out, drew one finger across her cheek, his gaze on her face. He whispered, “Good night, Allie.”
“Oh . . .”
His brows drew together and she thought he might say something more, but he only stepped back, let his hand fall from her side. He stuck it in the pocket of his jeans.
Her pulse was fluttering, hot and thready.
“Good night, Mick,” she managed to get out.
“I want you to call me tomorrow.” His voice was rough and low. “We don’t have to talk. Just check in, let me know if you’re okay. And call Marie Dawn tonight. Call Jamie. Someone. No arguing.”
“I will.”
“Promise me you’ll do it.”
“I promise.”
He stood watching her for a moment. Her heart thundered in her chest. Finally he took another step back.
“Okay. Good night, Allie.”
“Good night, Mick.”
She waited but he didn’t budge.
“I’m not leaving until you’re safely inside.”
“Oh. Oh.”
She made a useless fluttering motion with her hand, realized what she was doing and turned away from him, went into the house and shut the door behind her. She leaned her back against it, her gaze on the plaster ceiling as she let out a long, sighing breath.
Jesus, this man! How could he have come so close and then not kissed her? Pure torture, and not even the kinky kind, she felt certain. But it was all her own damn fault. Her body was buzzing with need, but her mind was buzzing even harder. With doubt. Guilt. Questions.
She would do as she’d promised—for herself as well as for him. She moved from the entry hall into the living room and emptied her small purse onto the low coffee table, found her cell phone and dialed Marie Dawn.
“Allie? What’s up, chérie?”
“I’m sorry. I know it’s late.”
“Never a problem, honey. Talk to me.”
“We went to the club, Mick and I. And at first everything was just flowing. It was too perfect being there with him. Knowing it was finally happening. But Marie Dawn, I fucked up.” Her breath caught, and she curled her free hand into a fist, letting the nails bite into her palm. “I shouldn’t have tried to con him into this.”
“Well, there may have been other ways to go about it, but we both know Mick Reid is one of the most stubborn human beings on the planet, so really, this may have been the only way.”
“That was my thought, too. That was how I justified it.” She paused, swallowed the tears that burned in her throat. “He was so damn nice about it, apologetic, but the scene was ruined.”
