Текст книги "The Gilded Chain"

Автор книги: Lauren Smith

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Текущая страница: 16 (всего у книги 21 страниц)

Chapter 20

Hang in there, you’re doing great,” Hayden whispered into Callie’s ear. Callie exhaled in relief and put a hand to her stomach. The little fleet of butterflies were starting to settle down. Finally.

“Little devils,” she muttered.

“What’s that?” Hayden asked before she took a sip of her champagne.

“Oh, nothing,” Callie covered quickly.

Both she and Hayden were clinging to the outskirts of the party. The large gilded ballroom was full of people, all dressed exquisitely. A jazz band played at the back of the ballroom, but no one was dancing. Everyone was mingling and talking. Callie’s feet hurt and she was hungry. If she ate more than a few finger sandwiches she’d bust out of the dress, which would not be a good thing.

Across the room, Wes was engaged in conversation with a few men who appeared to be in their thirties, or perhaps forties. He leaned in, whispered something, and one man nodded eagerly and shook Wes’s hand. Callie wondered if he was spreading word of the painting. As though he sensed her gaze, he looked in her direction. Those cobalt blue eyes cut deep into her and she felt raw, exposed. How could he do that all the way from across the room? Make her feel naked and vulnerable? Her skin tingled with awareness.

“Callie, you’re blushing.” Hayden’s gentle cautionary tone reminded her she wasn’t alone.

“Sorry.” She tore her focus away from Wes and tried to look at Hayden. “So how’s the wedding planning going? We didn’t get a chance to talk yesterday before your parents and that awful woman showed up.” Callie grimaced at the mere memory of Wes’s parents and Corrine. Three of the most unpleasant people she’d ever met.

“You mean Corrine? Yeah.” Hayden brushed a lock of her red hair over her shoulder. “Total bitch. And I don’t use that word except in rare circumstances. She’s been panting after Wes for years but he doesn’t like her.”

“He doesn’t?” For some stupid reason, she really needed to hear Hayden say Wes didn’t like Corrine. She picked up on the fact that Corrine and Wes had a past, but she didn’t know how serious it was.

“Corrine wants the Thorne name, and the family money, but not really him. He knows that. I think he let her join the Gilded Cuff as a joke. I hate to say it but he used her.”

“Used?” The idea that Wes used Corrine left a bad taste in her mouth.

Hayden snorted. “No one ever said Wes was a saint.” Then she sobered. “You can’t let him use you either.” She set the champagne down on a passing tray and clasped Callie’s hand in hers. “I know my brother. He’s not the kind of man you settle down with.”

A little stab of pain shot through her chest but she forced a smile. “I never thought Fenn would settle down, but you’re marrying him.” Callie didn’t mean for her comment to come out like a barb, but Hayden winced.

“I guess men can surprise us. I know Wes likes you. I just want you to be careful. Promise you won’t let him break your heart.”

Callie shrugged, trying to hide the rapid fire of emotions that tore through her. She was in love with Wes, and it was up to him not to break her heart. He did own her. The weight of the chain necklace felt permanent, like a branding iron had been pressed to her skin and Wes’s ownership was irrevocable. Her heart was his, her soul was his, and her body longed for his. She couldn’t just go back to being the woman she was. Too much had changed. The life she’d always longed for, one of beauty and art, was so close to being hers, and at its center was the man who’d made her dreams come true.

His eyes were focused on her again and she grinned at him, unable to stop herself. A faint smile flirted with his lips and he raised his glass of champagne in a silent toast from where he stood. His red hair had been combed back and his elegant suit made him the most attractive man in the room. He was the only man in the room. When he looked at her, everything else faded away.

A masculine voice interrupted her thoughts. “Excuse me.”

Blinking, Callie recovered herself and found that Hayden had wandered off while she’d been day dreaming. In her place, an attractive man with raven black hair and light toffee-brown eyes was watching her. His lips curved in an apologetic smile as he held out a hand.

“I didn’t mean to startle you. We haven’t met. I’m Stephen Vain. I’m a friend of Wes’s.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Vain. I’m Callie Taylor.” She released his hand and her gaze darted around the crowd again. Wes was gone, probably somewhere spreading the painting news.

“I hate these parties,” Vain said and chuckled. “I saw you hiding out here in this spot and had to see if I could join you for a few minutes.”

Callie laughed, knowing exactly how he felt. It would be nice to have someone to talk to while she hid in an alcove for a little while longer.

“So you and Wes are friends?” she asked.

Vain nodded, leaning one shoulder against the wall, his back to the room as he faced her.

“I’ve known him since we were ten years old. Did the whole prep school thing together.”

“What do you do? If you don’t mind me asking.” Callie wasn’t one for small talk, but Vain was friendly and his smile genuine.

“I work at the Long Island Art Museum as the curator.”

“Really?” She couldn’t believe it. An actual curator! It would have been a dream job for her.

“I heard from Hayden you are quite the artist. I’d love to see some of your work.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a silver engraved card case and handed her a crisp white business card.

“Thank you.” She slipped the card into her small black clutch purse.

“Do you mind if I ask a personal question?” Vain prompted, his eyes darkening with a slight seriousness.

“Uh…sure, I guess.” Callie wasn’t really sure what someone like him would want to know about her.

“Are you and Wes together?” His gaze dropped to somewhere below her chin and she realized he must be looking at her collar with the clearly visible pendant with Wes’s family crest.

“Well, sort of. I don’t know,” she confessed, her cheeks heating.

Vain took pity on her and smiled. “It’s okay. I didn’t mean to pry. I’m a member of the Gilded Cuff. I’m sure Wes has mentioned it.”

“Yes.” She nodded, cleared her throat, and continued. “You’re a member?”

“I am. Wes was my sponsor membership. He provided my recommendation when I submitted an application a few years back. It’s also why I know the significance of your necklace. It’s a collar with his family crest. A claim that runs very deep for a dominant. He must really care about you to collar you.”

His words made her blush furiously, but she didn’t dare ask him more about how much Wes might care about her.

“So you’re a dom like Wes?” She couldn’t picture it. Vain had such an easygoing smile, none of the brooding seductiveness that Wes had, which frightened and excited her in all the right ways.

Vain grinned. “I am. But I keep that part of myself hidden. Wes loves to flaunt that side much more than me. I like my secrets to be kept secret.” He winked at her. An irresistible giggle escaped her.

“Well, I’ve bothered you enough for the evening. I wouldn’t want to make Wes jealous. Maybe I’ll see you at the club soon. I hear Wes is finally going to show off his Monet in a few days. You should ask Wes to bring you.”

“I don’t think he’d take me to the club.” Callie sighed. Wes had been closed-lipped about the Gilded Cuff, but her curiosity was piqued.

“He’s a dom. All you have to do is act real sweet and beg him. No dom would be able to resist a lovely woman like you if you begged.” Vain snickered. “I’d pay good money to see Wes refuse anything you asked. I bet he couldn’t say no.”

“Bet?” a new voice said, interrupting. Royce joined them. “Vain, you’d better not be corrupting Wes’s sweet little cowgirl.” He shook Vain’s hand and turned to face Callie. “Wes is looking for you, sweetheart. He’s ready to leave.”

“Thanks, Royce.” Callie said good-bye to Vain and started weaving through the crowd of people. Once she’d gotten out of the ballroom, she went in search of her coat. A butler had taken it to a library near the front door and hung it on a portable rack. The hall was empty and the sounds of the gala were muted now that the doors had closed again. She didn’t have too much trouble locating the library. The door had been cracked open, and gold light spilled out in a bright slim shaft through the opening. She caught a glimpse of books just beyond it.

Gripping her skirts in one hand, she nudged the heavy oak door open and slipped inside. The library was lit with several lamps on reading tables, making the room warm and welcoming. Two long metal coat racks were at the back of the library near the stone fireplace. Callie hunted for her coat, searching through the expensive furs and designer-label jackets. She nearly laughed as she remembered her own coat was an expensive black velvet wrap.

Suddenly a hand brushed against her waist and the hiss of an angry breath caressed her ear. The thick cloying scent of brandy was overpowering.

“So you’re Thorne’s flavor of the month?” a man sneered and jerked her back against his body.

“Let go of me!” Callie dropped her coat and rammed an elbow into the man’s stomach on pure instinct.

“Why you little…”

Pain exploded against the back of her head as fingers dug into her hair and jerked. A scream worked its way to her lips, but he clasped a hand around her throat, squeezing that cry for help into a strangled whimper.

“Shut up, we’re just gonna have a little talk,” the man growled while keeping pressure on her throat hard enough that her vision began to spot. The strong alcoholic fumes suggested he was drunk.

She dug her nails into his arm, trying to claw and scratch but as her lungs burned, panic took over.

“Here’s what I want to know. How come Thorne always gets everything I want? My jobs, my school, anything I wanted, he took from me. I should be the premier art expert in North America, not him. It should have been me.” His grip squeezed tighter and her hands dropped as all fight in her began to die. She couldn’t breathe. She expected her life to flash before her eyes, but all she saw was Wes. A distant roar of rage chased her into the fast approaching blackness.

Callie hit the floor with a thud and air rushed into her. The world came back into focus. She was lying on the library floor in a crumpled heap, throat sharp with pain. Raising herself up on her hands she saw Wes grappling with a man, the one who’d been choking her.

“Stonecypher, you piece of shit!” Wes snarled so viciously that Callie tensed. Cool, calm Wes was gone. In his place was a warrior, a bloodthirsty creature who scared her, but he was fighting for her. Wes threw a punch. The other man flew back, hitting a table and crashing to the ground. He groaned but didn’t rise. Wes’s predatory gaze stayed on the fallen man a second longer before he looked about the room. When he caught sight of her, he rushed over, his breathing hard as he bent and scooped her up in his arms.

“Oh darling,” he murmured. He pressed his forehead to hers, his eyes closing briefly. “Are you all right?”

She managed a nod, then winced at the stab of pain in her throat.

“Who was that?” She croaked out.

“Thomas Stonecypher. An old schoolmate. Not a friend.” Wes’s menacing glare frightened her enough that she trembled in his arms, even though she knew logically it had nothing to do with her. Stonecypher stayed limp on the floor.

“Is he dead?”

“No. I just knocked him out. He’s got a thick skull. He’ll just have a headache when he wakes up.”

“That’s a pity,” she grumbled. Painful shards dug into her throat and she rubbed it. Wes’s necklace had pressed into her skin and left dents in the shape of chain links. He noticed, and with a gentle touch, he removed the necklace and slipped it into his coat pocket before his fingers returned to her neck and massaged gently.

“Let’s go home.” Wes lifted her up but she pressed against his chest.

“I can walk. I don’t want anyone to see you carrying me.”

“Very well, but once we’re home, it’s my rules and I’m going to make sure you’re okay.” Wes wrapped an arm about her waist and escorted her to the front door. After he handed a valet his card, he helped Callie into her coat.

“He just squeezed my throat a little and yanked my hair.” Her hand touched her scalp and the flash of pain made her cringe. Yikes. That’s going to hurt tomorrow.

When she glanced up at Wes, his face was stony, his lovely blue eyes full of winter fire.

“I’m so sorry.” He kissed her lips and rubbed her back with his hands, warming her up.

“It’s not your fault. That man’s insane.”

“Thomas is…well, he’s always been the jealous type. We were friends as boys, but he didn’t have as keen an eye as I do for art and didn’t handle it when I came out on top. Not every man can handle being second. Thomas is one of them.”

Callie didn’t speak for several long moments. She wanted to change the subject.

“Did you tell everyone about the Monet like you planned?”

Wes sighed. “Yes. All the prominent members know, even Thomas.”

“What?” Callie froze. “He’s a dom at the club, too?” Something about that bothered her.

“He is. He doesn’t come that often. Usually when I’m out of town. We tend to avoid each other.”

Wes led her down the steps as the valet pulled up in Wes’s Hennessey Venom GT. He slipped the valet a twenty dollar bill and then opened Callie’s door for her.

“You don’t think he’s the art thief, do you?” Callie asked. It made sense. The man who was jealous of Wes was the one who could do the most damage. She buckled herself in and waited for Wes to get inside the car.

“I hadn’t considered that,” he admitted. “You think he might be?”

Callie shrugged and then ticked off the evidence on her fingers.

“He’s an art specialist like you, he has a serious jealous streak, he has all the same connections as you do, and he’s a dom at the club. Seems like he should be added to your list of suspects.”

“You could be right. I’ll call the FBI and have them alerted. They can probably dig into his financials and put a surveillance team on him. If he does go for the Monet, then he’ll get caught.”

“Good.” Callie settled back in her seat and neither of them said a word until they were back at his house.

“Wes, can I see the Monet?” she asked, tugging on his arm.

“I’d be happy to bring it tomorrow morning for you to look at while you work.”

“Why not now?” she demanded.

His eyes narrowed speculatively. “It’s somewhere safe and I don’t want to jeopardize its location.” He was shutting her out, closing down. The stab of pain at seeing him build barriers spurred her to action.

She reached her hand into his coat pocket, stealing back her collar and showed it to him.

“You claimed me as yours, Wes. If you ‘own’ me, then there can’t be any secrets, not between us. That’s a hard limit for me. I’ll walk away. Do you understand? Don’t shut me out.” Her edgy tone softened as she gripped his hands and squeezed.

“I want to belong to you, but secrets would wound me and I know you don’t want to hurt me.”

His eyes softened and he grasped her hands back, squeezing lightly as he leaned down to kiss her lips. The gentle pressure of his mouth against hers made her feel light enough that a spring breeze could have blown her away like the fluffy white seeds of a dandelion. She’d never understood how women could talk about a man sweeping them off their feet. Yet, now, with Wes’s gentle, sensual kiss, and the way it scattered her senses and destroyed her resistance, she knew what it meant to be swept away.

When he drew back from her, he nodded as though to himself.

“If you want no more secrets, then you need to trust me completely. There’s a part of me that’s dark, Callie. I can’t hide that once you’ve seen it.” He studied her face, apparently waiting for her to protest or turn back. But she wouldn’t. She loved him, all of him. Even his secrets.

Chapter 21

Very well.” He took her by the hand and led her down the hall. They stopped in front of a wall with a lovely painting of the Seine River. He used a small key from his pocket, not connected to his other keys, to unlock a hidden door behind the painting. Callie carefully memorized how he found the key hole and opened the door. As she followed him into the darkness behind the painting, she shivered. This must be what Royce had called the black room.

A sudden bloom of gold light filled the room and illuminated the black, sleek furniture. There was a black leather couch, a dark grenadilla wood desk, and a massive four-poster bed with a black silk comforter. The walls weren’t black but painted a storm-cloud gray and decorated with art. Her gaze jumped from piece to piece. A Monet, a Renoir, her sketch of him in bed asleep, the gypsy lovebirds, and her portrait that the artist had drawn of her in Montmartre.

There was nothing particularly shocking about the room, except for the deep sense that everything in this room was only for him, and he wouldn’t have to share it with the rest of the world. She understood that need for a private sacred place. This was his private world and he was sharing it with her, a room no one else¸ save Royce, had seen. In a way he was sharing himself with her.

“I was wondering where the sketches went.” She grinned at him. The tension in his body eased and his shoulders lowered.

“This is my black room.” He waved a hand around it. “Some of my most treasured possessions are kept here.”

“Why call it the black room?” Callie wondered if the name came from the decorations or for some other reason.

“It’s not a room listed on any blueprint. You can’t find it unless you know exactly where to look. No one else knows about it.”

Callie nearly confessed that Royce knew, but she kept her mouth shut. Somehow her gut told her that that wouldn’t be a good idea.

She lifted her skirts and walked over to the Monet. She got within a foot of it and the painting drew her in. The cool palette of blues, purples, and greens, not a hint of warm color was unique. The scene depicted the bank of a river, just after dawn when mist crept along the shore and clung to the thick copse of trees on the left side of the bank. The perfect brush strokes and the way the water and mist melded together was true mastery. It was one of the most beautiful things she’d ever seen. True art. Her throat worked and her nose burned as she tried not to cry. She never thought something could be so lovely.

The heat of Wes’s body warmed her from behind.

“This piece soothes me,” he whispered in her ear. His hands peeled her coat from her shoulders. “Ever since Emery and Fenn were kidnapped as children, something inside me has been…broken. No, that’s not the right word.” He let her coat drop to the floor.

Callie lifted her head and stared at him over her shoulder. He was gazing at her back and then reached for the zipper of her dress.

“Scarred. That is the right word. Everything about my life was shattered by their loss and when Emery was found, he wasn’t the same. Some bonds go soul deep. Royce and I…we took his pain into our hearts and his scars became our own.”

The zipper slid down to her lower back and she shivered as the cool air kissed the skin he bared as he parted her gown and let it fall to the ground in a pool of crimson at her ankles. She wore no bra and only a pair of red lacy bikini-cut panties. Not her usual style of sensible cottons, but the dress seemed to demand sexiness. Still, being bare, she had to fight the urge to cover her breasts, but she knew better now. Wes liked her body, especially when he was stripping her of expensive clothes.

“You are so lucky not to have scars.” He embraced her from behind, wrapping her arms around her waist and nuzzling her neck as he spoke. She tilted her head to the side, giving him more room to lick and nibble his way to her ear. The hard press of his erection against her bottom showed he was as turned on as she was. His hands slid up her stomach and cupped her breasts, kneading them. Wetness pooled between her thighs, and her clit pulsed to life. Callie squirmed against him unable to stop herself. He chuckled and stepped back, dropping his hands.

“You want me, Callie. All of me. Well, you’ve got me. Even the darkest parts.” He moved over to his desk and opened one of the drawers. He pulled out two leather cuffs lined with fur inside and a strip of black cloth. When he came toward her, Callie stared at the items in his hands and then with a slow breath held out her wrists.

“Good girl. From now until we leave this room, I am Master. You will call me that. Do you understand?”

Callie tried to swallow but her throat was dry, so she nodded. He brushed his knuckles over her cheek, an approving gleam in his eyes. She leaned into his touch and he kissed her. The gentle claiming turned rough, the moist softness of his mouth turning wild, as it sent spirals of desire coiling deep into her belly, burning low and hungry.

Then he fastened the cuffs around her wrists. The leather was soft and the fur against her skin even more so. He slid a finger between her wrist and the cuff, testing to make sure it wasn’t too tight. Then he lifted the black cloth. She expected him to blindfold her, but instead he parted her lips and stretched the cloth across her mouth and tied it snuggly behind her head. It was an effective gag, but not one that affected her breathing in any way. Just like he promised when they’d talked about this in Paris.

Wes hooked her cuffs together with a small chain and then he hit a small red button on the wall by the foot of the bed and a silver hook lowered from the ceiling. He raised her arms and when her wrists were level with the hook, he secured the chain on the tip of the hook, and then raised the hook one inch. Just enough to keep her from standing on tiptoes to unhook herself.

Helpless. She was completely helpless, in a room that couldn’t be found with a man who warned her of his inner darkness. A little panicked whimper escaped her, muffled by the gag.

Wes walked around from behind her and cupped her chin, his eyes fathomless, except for the heady lust gleaming there.

“Breathe, Callie. It’s just us. And pleasure, so much pleasure.” He leaned in and nuzzled her cheek. She jerked against the cuffs and chains, struggling to get closer to him, but couldn’t.

He was in complete control.

Wes tilted her chin back, exposing the column of her throat, and then he licked and nipped a path down to her collarbone, worshipping each inch of flesh he encountered. Each kiss and nip lit a fire in her blood and she prayed he wouldn’t stop this sweet torture. Callie dropped her head back. Every part of her was focused on his mouth. She panted against the gag and her back arched.

“So impatient,” he said and chuckled as he stepped back, his gaze raking down her naked body so heavily that she could feel invisible hands on her. She huffed against the gag as he walked over to the dresser by the bed. The rasp of wood opening and Wes’s broad back before he turned around to face her was all she could see. In his hand was a long leather-wrapped stick about two feet long with several ribbons of leather dangling from one end.

A flogger.

Every muscle in her body tensed and she gasped against the gag. He was going to flog her.

She tried to calm down, but fear and excitement chased each other through her veins until she was dizzy from the rushing blood.

“This is a light flogger,” Wes explained as he drew the ribbons along the palm of his left hand, and then with a quick flick of his right hand, he snapped the ribbons down over his left palm. No trace of pain crossed his features. Maybe it didn’t hurt…or he had a really high pain tolerance. Callie gulped.

“You remember in Paris, when we talked about this? How I can make you burn and your skin heat up, but without real pain?”

She managed a shaky nod. She did remember.

“We are going to try that.” He reached back into the drawer and pulled out a golf-ball-size silver bell. “This is what you will use to give me your safe word while you’re gagged. Clench it in your fist like this and the sound is muffled. I will know you are fine. If you need me to stop, open your palm more and shake the bell.” He approached her again and settled the bell in her right hand.

“Go ahead, shake it for practice.”

The bell jingled as she shook it. There was plenty of wrist flexibility for her to easily shake it. That made her relax. She had part of her control back. He’d respect her if she used that. She trusted her feelings for him and relied on that to feel safe with him.

“Remember, Callie,” Wes spoke softly in her ear as he settled one hand on her waist. “Trust me. I will stop if you use the bell, but know that my goal is not to hurt, only to arouse you. Do you trust me?”

She nodded. As insane as it was, she did trust him. The initial wave of panic had faded and she was calm again, as calm as she could be considering that she was chained and strung up for Wes’s pleasure. A little thrill rippled through her.

Wes set the flogger down and he plucked the silver cuff links out of his dress shirt and set them on the dresser. Then he removed his expensive suit coat. As he rolled up his shirt sleeves he exposed his muscled forearms. There was something disturbingly beautiful about the way Wes looked half-undressed. His dark red hair fell across his eyes and he brushed it back with one hand before he retrieved the flogger and walked behind her.

“Relax into the blows,” he instructed. It was her only warning.

The first blow landed on her upper back. She gasped loudly, but more from shock than pain. She had a few seconds to realize it didn’t hurt. More like a slightly heated stroke of leather upon skin. How many times had she smacked a set of leather reins against her thigh while riding? This was exactly the same sensation. No pain. Another strike hit her lower back, then her ass. Her body, once a little chilly, heated up beneath the flogger’s caress.

It seemed to go on for hours, the light blows, the delicate slaps of soft leather to bare flesh. She closed her eyes, surrendering to the anticipation and the following release of tension after each strike. She clutched the bell, loosely, no need to shake it. She was safe here in this blackness, with Wes, her dark protector, setting her free with each delicious kiss of leather to hot skin. Her mind slipped into a strange place, half euphoria, half heighted awareness.

The touch of the flogger disappeared, and strong hands clutched her hips. The gag was tugged down from her mouth and suddenly Wes was embracing her. She still hung from the hook, but he’d opened his trousers and freed his cock, clearly intending to make love to her standing. His hands cupped her ass, lifted, and her legs curled around his hips. He cupped the back of her neck and kissed her hard while he positioned himself to enter her with his other hand.

Then he thrust up, hard and fast, but she was so wet that he entered smoothly. Callie cried out at the feel of him filling her, stretching her to the point of almost painful tightness. He could fuck her like this, pulling her down on his shaft as hard and fast as he liked. An orgasm exploded through her. The flogging had primed her so well that she hadn’t been aware of how on edge she’d been until he’d pushed into her.

Wes’s lips claimed hers as he rocked against her body. Her nipples, so achingly sensitive, scraped against his fine dress shirt and Callie moaned. A second orgasm rolled through her, so brutal it left her shaking and struggling to breathe. She was limp and boneless but Wes kept driving into her, seeking his own pleasure. There was something wild and raw about him, the way he stared into her eyes as he pumped into her over and over. One of his hands held her up by her ass, and the other still held the back of her neck, keeping her still. When he finally came, he shouted, hoarse and guttural.

Her skin burned lightly as he stroked her back, up and down with one hand. He wrapped one arm around her waist and his other hand slid down to caress her bottom. The touch almost hurt, in a good kind of way, like after a hard day’s work on the ranch, when every muscle was exhausted, and she collapsed into bed. Two mind-numbing body-exploding orgasms at Wes’s hands had that same effect on her.

“How do you feel, darling?” he asked in a faint whisper against her ear. His warm breath made her shiver and the light sheen of sweat from their lovemaking cooled her skin.

“Like I died and went to heaven.” Her words were almost slurred with exhaustion and she dropped her head to rest on his shoulder. It was hard to think beyond the fuzzy sense of safety and the warmth of his touch.

“Stay strong enough for a moment longer.” He released her body and she sagged in her restraints. The faint whir of chains from the ceiling lasted a few seconds before she slumped. His strong arms caught her, like a ragdoll. She let him unhook her and remove her cuffs. Then he lifted her into the cradle of his arms and carried her over to the king-size bed.

She used the last bit of her energy to crawl beneath the blankets and snuggle into the pillow. Her entire body was sensitive at his touch, but she had no energy left to show it.

“Wes, you won’t leave me?” She yawned and tried to open her eyes. When she managed to find him, he was stripping out of his clothes. The sight of his sun-kissed muscular body sent little aftershocks through her. Her inner walls fluttered in an echo of an orgasm as he climbed into bed beside her and curled his body around her. The lights dimmed and she let herself drift away. Her last memory of that night was the ghostly faint murmur of his response.

“God help me, Callie. I can’t ever let you go.”

*  *  *

It took only a few minutes for Callie to fall asleep in Wes’s arms. He held his breath, counting the seconds before he left the bed and quickly returned with a small lotion bottle. She snuggled right up against him again and he warmed a drop of lotion on his palm before he slipped it beneath the sheets and rubbed it over her back in slow circles. It would help her skin to soften and heal. Not that he’d marked her, a few red lines that would fade in a day. No welts, no pain. That was what she needed, just a hint of darkness, a hint of something close to the edge. And giving it to her had been euphoric. She had given him what no other woman had been able to give him before. Complete trust and surrender.