Bound Page 6
A large group of our best girlfriends gathers in a gyrating sea of bodies, dancing away the night with the buzzed levity that only comes from a memorable evening. While I try to focus on my friends, Blake always ends up in my line of sight. He is smooth and knows all the ridiculous line dances. I caught him popping and locking to Timberlake. He hovers nearby but is never close enough to touch me. When I turn to him, he glides away. His one dance is obviously on his terms.
An hour after the party starts, Dane taps me on the shoulder. “Hey!” I try to get him to move with me, but he’s rigid. Images of C-3PO trying to drop it low filter through my brain.
“I’m going to go to bed, Kat,” he says.
“What?” I push him backward, off the dance floor. “It’s only,” I look at my naked wrist, “eight thirty!”
“It’s nine and I’m tired. I’m getting the feeling you don’t need me here anyway.”
“Come again?” Slightly inebriated good-time girl gets irritated when her fun is poo-pooed.
“You’re enjoying yourself, dear. I’m going to go. We can talk tomorrow.” Dane gives me a tight smile and, without any more discussion, walks out of the reception hall.
My date just ditched me?
My date just ditched me?
My date just ditched me!
No fucking way! I shake off the weak desire to chase him. If I were honest with myself, it’s a relief he’s gone. I can be myself. I can have this moment without worrying about him. Maybe Reagan is right, that minivan can’t handle this Jag.
I walk to the bar for another drink as the repetitious facts bubble up and sting. I have to modify my behavior for all the guys I date. Every man I’m with has an issue with me. I’m too loud. I curse. My penchant for sex outside is too risqué. I work too hard. I sleep too late on a Saturday. I don’t work out. I can’t make baklava… Who the fuck wants to make baklava when you can buy it and enjoy your treat with a nice cup of coffee you didn’t brew?
I grip my fists, screaming at the barrage of internalized war wounds that always reopen when someone finds fault in me for the umpteenth time.
Maybe I’m not meant to have the dream. I’m a Jag with a subwoofer. I rattle the windows. I’m the girl that’s too ballsy to have the shimmering dress and the perfect hair. Perhaps I’m destined to be the woman who is never better than mind-blowing sex in a janitor’s closet and always better on her own.
For tonight, I will accept that my fate is filled with one-night stands and that I might never move out of my one-bedroom condo. Since I’m sans-Dane, I need to enjoy this moment.
After slipping past some of Reagan’s work friends with quick hellos, I order a double vodka tonic. While waiting for the bartender to fill my order, a roar of laughter turns my attention to the back corner of the bar. The Reign crew has taken over one side of the bar, chattering, ribbing each other, with Caleb at the center of it all.
I’ve never seen him so happy, even when he finally learned all the moves for the wedding dance. His high-five nearly blew my arm from the socket, the hug cracked my ribs. But this, his smile, is… I’m a total sap… It’s love. My mostly black heart cracks a little, happy for my friend to have found such a wonderful man. When the bartender returns, a fancy lemon curl garnishing my drink, I slide him a twenty, grateful for his craftsmanship throughout the evening.
As I turn away from the heavy mahogany bar, I catch Ax looking at me over Nick’s head. They are engrossed in a conversation. Nick seems to be doing most of the talking; Ax appears to be interjecting sporadically. Ax narrows his eyes, gives me a tight nod, confirming that we have a rendezvous in the near future. I return the gesture and feel the sick urge to suck down my drink in one gulp. I can’t think about Kink 101 with Ax or the fact that I’m not good enough for anyone or that my date left me. I need to enjoy this evening. I need to be free and move my body, even if it means having to tango with Blake Roman.
*
By the end of the night, despite my focused attempts, Blake has evaded my efforts to weasel one dance from him. At the start of every slow song, he grabbed someone else and burned up the dance floor. Show-off. I tried to tell myself it didn’t matter, but each time the latest pop sensation bled into a romantic slow song, I yearned for him to take me. It’s not good, and against all the corrective action I’m trying to take, but I quickly gave into craving the decadent beast that is Blake Roman. Throughout the evening, he was in my periphery. Blake watched every move but never came close enough to touch. It was a game; he baited me and watched my transparent hunger grow as the hours ticked away.
The evening eventually winds down and guests pack up their families, strips of photo-booth pictures, and elegant floral centerpieces. Scores of loved ones carry physical reminders of the vows Caleb and Reagan exchanged into the world.
The DJ begins packing up his stuff, playing low-key songs to signal the night is ending. I buzz around, saying good-bye to family and friends while collecting the items I need to take home until the newlyweds get back from their honeymoon. Making the decision to load everything into my car instead of going upstairs is a blissful break. Cool, clean air fills my lungs as a horrible thought crosses my mind. I hope that I can sneak in bed and not disturb Dane. I pause, the words are true but they still make me feel like a bitch. He’s a sweet guy and he agreed to accompany me tonight, but…
I slam the trunk closed, resolving to talk to Dane. I need some time to figure this out. To figure me out. I inhale the scent of a calm, beautiful night and bolster myself for the conversation in the morning.
Back inside the reception hall, Caleb’s parents are the last to leave, hugging their son, daughter-in-law, and Blake in turn when I approach the group.
“Well, that was a very successful evening,” I say as Reagan envelops me in a tight hug. “You still look amazing.”
“I’m so exhausted!” She laughs and looks at Caleb. “I really need to get these bobby pins out of my hair. My head is killing me.”
“I will happily get my wife out of her bobby pins and whatever else she needs help removing.” Caleb pulls her in and kisses her so passionately I have to look away. Blake shifts beside me before thumping Caleb on the arm.
“Enough, man. Save some for the honeymoon,” he issues to his friend.
“You got it.” Caleb takes the cue, scooping up Reagan and carrying her toward the door.
“Bye, kitten!” she hollers over Caleb’s shoulder. “I’ll see you in four weeks! Don’t forget to do that thing I asked you to do! Love you!” She squeals with happy laughter as she is whisked around the corner and out of sight.
For a moment, I flip through the assignment. She needs me to set up a special gift for Caleb at Reign. Separate pieces will be delivered to my condo and Caleb’s office. I need to set the scene once everything arrives. She’ll be back in a month, so I have some time to think about the actual setup. I run through the basic layout of the room as Reagan described it to me. Her descriptions seemed intentionally vague, but she gave me some clues. Visualizing the pieces coming together to execute the plan falter the instant I remember where I am, the events of the night hit me like a freight train.
My date left me. My best friend is married. I am alone with the man I have been avoiding and secretly wanting all night long. I sweep my eyes to Blake, hands in his pockets, as he looks me up and down like a lion ready to pounce.
“Are you ready, doll?”
“To go? Yes.” The second I try to turn on my heel, he grabs my arm.
“Oh no, you don’t,” he admonishes. “I get one dance, Katya.”
My full name falling from his lips, the Russian accent perfectly pronounced, makes my stomach plummet. “The DJ is all packed up,” I protest, my voice as weak as my will to walk away.
“I slipped him a hundred for one more song.”
“That was an obscene waste of money, Blake,” I scoff. His bravado is dangerously charming.
“I disagree.” He takes my hand and leads me to the center of the dance floor, his right ha
nd gently cupping my waist, his left held up awaiting mine. Formal, elegant, ballroom stance. “I would have paid him a grand.”
My mouth falls open as the slow, sultry beat of the song begins. We step in time to Bruno Mars crooning about our bodies full of liquor and wanting it all. He moves, strong and smooth in time to the music. My body falls into the motion of the tango, legs brushing, arms pushing and pulling. His hand caresses my back, leaving a burning trail of heat that spreads across my skin with a reckless pace. The words, wanton and erotic, flow around me, punctuate the heady sensuality.
“Look what you’re doing. Look what you’ve done…”
Blake shifts, pressing our bodies together and allowing me to feel his stunning erection against my belly. My body softens, seeps with desire, and I fall into the moment. The music, his scent, the deeply romantic gesture to make this moment for me. The rational parts of my mind screaming that this is wrong are drowned out by the wild beat of my pounding heart. In this moment, none of the reasons why I shouldn’t be with him matter. The restraint is gone. It’s us. It’s him. My fantasy has come to life and forced me to take the only action I can.
“Blake,” I beg, my voice catches on the jagged edge of my deep longing.
“Yes, doll.” His response a grunt, his lips pushing against mine, tongues muffling the satisfied groan emitting from his throat as he pulls me closer. Breaking away too quickly, he resumes his plan, the rhythm of the music becoming the pulse of our bodies, as he guides us through warm, fluid steps. It’s overwhelming and enchanting. The heady sensuality is everything I’ve missed and all I’ve wanted since our last encounter.
With our bodies pressed together, the scent that enticed me in the church courtyard weaves its way around us, drawing me deeper. His cologne mingles with the musk from dancing the night away to create an intoxicating scent that bends my iron will. When he whispers naughty lyrics about what he’s got for me, his plump lips teasing the shell of my ear, my feeble attempts at resistance buckle.
Blake Roman is lethal and I’m throwing myself directly into the crosshairs. Knowing he can handle my weight, I wrap my arms around his neck, his hands cradling my rear end as I lock my ankles together at the base of his back. Blake’s tight grip on my backside relents for a moment to signal the DJ that he’s earned his extra cash as he carriers me out of the ballroom. When his hand returns to its hold, I sink into the sensation of being cradled by his strength.
Blake rushes us to the main elevators, kicking the button with his heel before pressing me against the wall. Deep guttural moans emanate from our chests, the sounds trapped behind our mouths exploring the taste and texture of each other. He is decadent and deviant and everything I have craved.
“My perfect doll,” he grinds out, curling his body closer to mine, fingers pressing into my skin and making my gorgeous formal dress feel a little too restrictive for my liking. After imagining him for months, I finally have him and I need as much of Blake Roman as I can get. I take the liberty of wiggling my hips, trying to grind away some of the persistent ache that only he can soothe. The action is fruitless, only ratcheting my desire higher, making me howl like a cat in heat as he carries us through the opening elevator doors. Before we are fully closed in the box, I catch a glimpse of the front desk clerk, a pale young man with ruddy cheeks. From the gape, I’m sure he’ll need a few extra minutes on his break after watching us. Frankly, when the doors close us in the capsule of the elevator, I couldn’t care less. Have fun rubbing one out, buddy. You’re welcome!
Blake pins my body against the wall with his before pulling back, his hand cupping my chin and forcing our gaze to meet. My soft skin is caressed by the rugged edges of his calloused fingers playing across my cheek. His roughness awakening the pliant pieces of my being.
“Tell me you aren’t committed to that guy.” His voice deep and rough shakes me from the gauzy haze of lust.
“No,” I whisper. “He wanted that but…” I couldn’t because of you.
“I need to be clear on this, Kat. Does he think he’s your boyfriend?” he presses.
“Would I be here if he was?” His accusation stings, piercing the moment with ugly possibilities.
“No, you wouldn’t, doll.” His eyes flicker with sadness for a moment. “I just can’t stand the thought of someone else having what I want.” His fingers graze the edges of my updo; the look of longing on his face is almost unbearable.
“For now, you have me.” It’s selfish, but I need him. I want the fiery passion that overwhelmed me months ago and lodged itself firmly in my psyche. I can’t promise beyond right now. If I did, I would never be able to walk away from him.
The elevator dings, doors opening with jerky efficiency to a hallway that does not house my room.
Blake sighs, his gaze glowing with firm intention.
“Well then, my beautiful doll, I’ll just have to make for now last a really long time.”
Chapter 4
Kat
Inside the dark hotel room, my skin tingles, chilly from the shock of separating from the blazing heat of Blake’s body. The soft light of the bedside lamp deepens the color of his hair to inky black. The thick swaths sticking up in jagged relief, deliciously messy from my greedy fingers. His pins me with a look of dark seduction. The deep blue color of his eyes sinks into obscurity, consumed by the midnight depth of his iris. I watch him move around the room with graceful, precise steps. Blake’s confidence, his sheer presence is, in a strange way, enchanting. The shimmer of calm relief soothes the fringes of my mind. Is this what I’ve been missing? Is Blake who I’ve been searching for? In this moment, I feel oddly connected and comfortable under Blake’s heavy gaze and all his unspoken devious intentions. It’s only for tonight. Maybe if I have one more touch I’ll be able to move on.
“Doll,” he growls, pulling at his tie and unbuttoning the sleek dress shirt, “lift up that dress and show me what’s underneath.”
His words make me shudder, my fingers shaking under the tingling sensation creeping across my limbs. Gathering the fabric of the dress in my hands, I lift the fluffy skirt to reveal the panties I bought to spice up this outfit. It was a purchase designed to make me feel like a seductress, my naughty undies hidden beneath a polished, sophisticated exterior. I bought them and thought about how much they would entice the man currently staring me down.
Blake exposes the deep ridges of his muscular shoulders, chest, and the lean lines of his abdomen as he pulls off his shirt. A rumble rolls from him when he eyes the bright red lace barely covering the space between my thighs. It’s a sound that hovers on the edge of hunger and deep satisfaction.
“Please say you wore those just for me,” he says, shucking his pants and dropping to his knees before me. I can’t answer him, my words drowning in the thick lust flowing through my body as Blake runs a gentle thumb over my piercing. “Hello, little friend,” he croons, his voice blanketing me with sharp tingles, “I missed you so much.” Blake’s lips press gently against the fabric, the pressure making the pulsing beat of my clit feel like an earthquake. If his strong hands weren’t gripping the backs of my thighs when he pressed his tongue against the thin lace, I’d be on the floor.
“Blake,” I whimper, hands crushing the stiff crinoline of my gown, pulling it higher.
“Take the dress off, doll,” he commands through precise assaults to the flesh between my legs.
I nod my acceptance and rip the thing over my head, not caring about the sound of popping seams, or the painful tug of bobby pins ripping from my scalp. Once the restrictions of formal wear and having to maintain a level of decorum are nothing more than a lump of black satin on the floor, I feel free. The desire to push him backward, knocking him to the floor with the sole purpose to mount him seems like a worthy cause right now. I just want him.
As if reading my mind, he stands, taking an eyeful of my breasts before cupping my chin and pressing his tongue into my mouth. Taking my hands, Blake loops them around his neck, allowing me to bala
nce myself as he sets to the task of removing my bra and panties with efficient, powerful tugs. My undergarments lay on the floor in a pile of expensive crimson confetti.
Naked, bound by my own entwined fingers, I feel Blake everywhere. His body pressing against mine makes me yearn for him, moaning as I rub my belly against the ridge protruding from his boxer briefs. His fingers caress the lines of my body, the slope of my hip, and the curve of my rear end. Blake’s touch dances across my pussy, my needy flesh pouting, eager for more than his passing touch.
“Please,” I whisper into his neck. “Please, Blake. I need…this.”
“What?” He curls his pelvis, grinding his cock against my clit, forcing me to bite my lip, teetering on the edge of orgasm. “Tell me what you need, doll.” His grin is salacious. “I want to hear words. Dirty words.”
Moaning, I writhe against him. “I want your mouth and your cock,” panting my desire, “all over me.”
“There’s my naughty doll.” His satisfaction radiates. “And what about my hands? Do you want them too?” A single finger breaching my aching pussy highlights his question.
“Yes,” I whisper, angling my hips and pressing down to get more of his body inside mine.
Chuckling, he curls his finger, changing the sensation ever so slightly before withdrawing. He holds up the single digit, wet with my arousal, before sucking my essence off his hand. I gasp; shocked by his transparent delight and the deep, wanton desire it stirs.
He hums a satisfied sound before looking down at me, my arms still encircling his neck. “I can’t wait to have more of you,” he says before planting a chaste kiss on the tip of my nose. “I want you on top of the bed, on your hands and knees, facing the headboard.”
I step up on the mattress, kicking away the comforter to reveal crisp white sheets. As I kneel on the soft bedding, my mind reels. Being taken from behind has to be one of my favorite positions. It’s naughty and fun. I couldn’t get Dane to do it. He said it was undignified.