Bound With Pearls (5 page)

His exploration of her body continued after a long stop at her breasts. Daniel kissed his way to her navel and skated his hands down the sides of her waist. She shuddered under his touch.

He looked up her body. “Ticklish?”

“Yes Sir.”

“Mmm. Good.”

“Oh god,” she muttered.

He ran his hands up and down her sides, using light touches. She squirmed, biting her lower lip. She didn’t like it but she wasn’t going to tell him no. Interesting, since she’d been all about telling him no previously.

“Is there something you want to tell me?”

Her lower lip quivered. “I’m not exactly fond of that, Sir.”

“What do you say when something hurts or you’re uncomfortable?” He coasted his hands over her sides.

She squirmed, trying to twist away from his touch. “Yellow.”

“Do you want to say that now?”

Her face twisted up. “Yes and no. I really don’t like being tickled, but it doesn’t hurt. Sir.”

The sadistic part of him wondered how long it would take to push her to the limit, but for now he left her ticklish bits. He bypassed her hips and pussy, nibbling down one thigh. She had fantastic legs.

He stood between her spread legs, a hand on either ankle. She was complicated. There were things about her that irritated him, but she sure as hell attracted him, made him think about the future organically, without leading him there with catty suggestions or manipulative ways.

He unbuckled the straps at her thighs and helped her bend her joints. The silence grew heavy. She groaned and bent at the knee.

“Oh, thank you,” she sighed.

He cleared his throat and her eyes snapped open.

“Sir. Thank you, Sir. Sorry, I’m usually better about that, but my mind is a little scrambled, Sir.”

“Scrambled?” He quirked a brow.

She opened her mouth and shut it. “Not scrambled in a bad way.”

“There’s scrambled in a good way?”

“Scrambled eggs?” Her smile transformed her face. She was beautiful, but with the color high in her cheeks, her eyes glazed with lust and her hair tousled, she was stunning.

He chuckled and leaned over her to press a kiss to her stomach. “Point proven. And?”

She glanced away and her smile grew. “You weren’t what I expected, Sir.”

“Well, you weren’t what I expected either. It’s been a pleasure tonight.”

Her gaze caressed him and stirred a desire for more. He held her gaze and planted a kiss to the top of her mound. Her little gasp was music to his ears as he sank to his knees, her pussy at the perfect level for his mouth.

“I’m going to fuck your pussy with my mouth, Christine.”

She whimpered.

“If you want me to stop, you can tell me.”

“Noooooo,” she wailed. Her thighs clenched around his shoulders.

Spreading her open, he inserted one finger, sliding into her depths all the way to his knuckles. She clenched around him and her thighs hugged his shoulders.

“Damn, you’re so fucking responsive.” Pressing a kiss to her clit, he arranged her legs over his shoulders. The restraint at her hips would keep her where he wanted her, but he liked the feel of a woman’s legs wrapping around him.

He spread her folds and thrust his tongue into her, slow and easy, tasting her unique flavor. He left her clit alone, fucking her with his tongue instead. If her tits were bruised, what the hell had he done to her lower regions? He would be careful.

Her legs squeezed. He could feel her calves crossing across his back. Her hips shifted slightly against his mouth in an attempt to move with him.

“Ohgodohgodohgod,” she chanted.

His hand spread over her lower stomach. He could feel the tightening of her muscles. Dipping his fingers through her thatch of curls, he found her button, swollen and slick. He circled it with his thumb and her entire body reacted, drawing tight around him, close to the edge of release.

Thrusting into her, he worked her clit gently with his fingertips until she screamed, legs holding him prisoner as her body convulsed around him.

Minutes later, he lifted her from the cross bench and carried her to the bed. He laid her in the middle of the mattress and spooned her back to his chest. He used a lock of her hair to trace the lines of her tattoo.

It was a work of art that fascinated him, as did the woman who wore it. It was a graceful part of her. She was the firebird that danced and glowed with an inner light that drew him and made him want things. One of which was a sketchpad. The longer he examined the feathers and the way they moved on her back, the more he wanted to design something similar, yet completely different. A piece to be worn. For the first time in weeks, he felt the bite of inspiration.

As much as he wanted to allow himself to nap with her, their time was almost up.

“Hey.” He tugged on the lock of hair until she turned toward him. “They’re going to kick us out of here in a few minutes.”

She groaned and wiped her face.

“I know.” He kissed her cheek when she tried to snuggle back into the pillows. His stomach did a flip and his fingers tingled. He wanted this, he was man enough to admit it, but damn if he didn’t feel like a teenager asking a girl out for the first time. “I was thinking, come to my place. Not for sex, to sleep. I’m not ready for tonight to end.”

She parted her fingers, studying him through the digits. “I don’t understand.”

He sighed, frustrated with himself and nervous about botching this. He settled his hand over her breast and the purple bruises. “Have you ever wanted to just be with someone? Do you like sleeping with someone else beside you?”

She nodded.

“That’s what I mean. Come home with me and let me put you to bed.”

“Um.” She took a deep breath and his stomach almost bailed ship. “Well, the deal was to spend the evening with you, wasn’t it? It’s not over yet.”

His grin was goofy, the boy getting exactly what he wanted. Her answering smile was big and bright.

Chapter Four

Christine turned her face into the sheets, inhaling a tropical scent as she stretched. She had to be careful not to fall off the mattress. Daniel was a sprawler and took up most of the bed. His leg was thrown across the back of her thighs and his hand was flung out toward her. If she wanted, she could nuzzle his palm, maybe twine her fingers with his. She shut her eyes and tried to go back to sleep. Truth was she wasn’t ready for it to be over.

He’d been true to his word last night. He’d driven her to his loft, undressed her and after a little kissing, which could easily have become more, put her in bed. They’d slept and it had been nice, even though he seemed to have a thing about touching. He had to be in contact to sleep.

It was hard to fight down the warm fuzzy feelings. They’d had one amazing night and, try as she might to keep it in context, it was hard to not be drawn to him.

No matter how much she tried, she wasn’t going back to sleep.

Twisting to lie on her back, she managed to roll without disturbing him. His leg slid down to cross at their ankles, his hair tickling her.

Propping herself up with a pillow, she examined her surroundings. She’d been too nervous last night to take it all in. She’d expected something simple—masculine and a little anemic on color. The jewel tones and bright hues of the room surprised her. The deep-sapphire coverlet was the most subdued thing about the bedroom. A bright-green afghan was tossed over a paisley-patterned sofa, and bright-magenta throw pillows lay haphazardly on the floor.

Last night she’d been grateful he’d only turned one light on, but maybe it was a tactic on his part to not scare her away with the almost orange-colored brick. It was a riot of modern colors. It wasn’t something she would have expected a man to design. Her heart took a nervous dive. Was there someone, a woman, in his life? What kind of a man had magenta pillows?

She turned to the bedside table, looking for any feminine signs, a hair tie, pictures, something out of place. The table was bare except for a small lamp and a candle.

Still unsettled, she decided to explore a little on her own. Her emotions were chaotic enough. If he was with someone else, she would prefer to leave quietly. She took care to slide her leg out from under him and scoot off the bed without jostling. She held her breath, standing next to the bed and watching him. When he didn’t move, she relaxed.

Light flooded the room from two large windows on the left wall. There weren’t drapes or even blinds to block it out. If it weren’t for the glass being artfully clouded, anyone could see straight into his bedroom and, given what she knew about his tastes, it could be quite a show.

She wrapped her arms around her breasts and tiptoed with all haste around the bed. She considered her discarded jeans and t-shirt for a moment, but Daniel’s t-shirt beckoned her. She snagged it from the bench and pulled it on. It smelled of the oil she’d rubbed into his skin last night. She grabbed her panties and stepped into them before going exploring.

His home was unique. The bedroom made that clear enough, but the loft was just as modern and different.

There wasn’t a door separating the bedroom from the rest of the space, only an archway, which put her at one end of a galley kitchen. She hadn’t realized how huge the space was. Shadows and darkness had cloaked the height, the far-flung corners and the staircase leading to a set of double doors.

While the colors were more subdued, showing off natural woods, bare brick and whitewashed walls, it was the accent décor and small touches that drew her attention. Over the counter space that served double as a bar was a hanging light with a chain created to imitate water drops. On the wall was a sculpture of swirling metal with glass gems set into the design.

Everywhere she looked there was a treasure, something beautiful, like nothing she’d ever seen before. It was overwhelming, like something out of a magazine.

Creeping past the stainless steel kitchen, she put her back against the bar and tried to wrap her head around it all.

Men didn’t decorate like this. Was this the work of an ex? Was he divorced?

A collection of photographs hung in a nook created by a support column. She padded nearer and peered at the faces. An older couple had their arms around a thinner, younger-looking Daniel and a graceful young woman with a curly afro. They all wore khaki pants and white shirts. The other pictures showed holidays and a range of ages. He had an adopted sister? She bit her lip and turned away from the glimpse into his personal life. It wasn’t her business but she was curious.

She toured the rest of the spacious loft, noticing knickknacks and trinkets. What kind of man had tchotchkes? Women bought useless crap that looked pretty, not men.

She refused to contemplate Daniel being in a relationship. It was a possibility she didn’t want to think about. Some men had an understanding with their partners, allowing their kinky side out to play, but he would have told her. She believed that.

But would he tell her if he’d recently come out of a relationship? No, she didn’t think so. But what did she know about him? She didn’t know what he did for a living or who his friends were. She could probably count the things she did know on both of her hands and have fingers left over. It wasn’t a comforting truth. She didn’t know him, but she wanted to. Was she willing to take the chance he’d been married or in a relationship recently? Yes. The only thing she wasn’t willing to be was the other woman.

She wanted to stay, at least until Daniel woke up. If she left now without getting some feeling for what there could be, she’d never stop wondering.

But she couldn’t leave, could she? Her Jeep was still at the club. She muffled a giggle with her hand. Ginny would kill her if she knew she’d gone home with the man she’d dreaded meeting. Speaking of Ginny, she needed to check in with her before too much longer or else her dear friend would call the cops and possibly her father.

Turning her back on the living room and stairs, she surveyed the kitchen. Her favorite part of any home. She laid a palm on the glittering, dark countertops and let the chill sink into her fingers.

He had an amazing kitchen. It was long and proportionally narrow in comparison to the rest of the loft but several people could move around without bumping into one another. The fridge was against the back wall and the stove and sink faced out. It was a simple design, and she didn’t doubt it would be amazing under all the dirty dishes.

Her fingers itched to put the kitchen to rights. Helping her mother in the kitchen as a child had been a chore she loved. It was a small way to show how much she loved her family. Lucy had never willingly scraped a pan or got her hands in the dishwater, so it had turned into the quiet times she’d spent with her mother, just the two of them.

She took a deep breath. How long had it been since she’d thought of all those times with her mother, elbow deep in soapy water and talking about school or nothing at all? Lucy would be in the living room with Dad flipping channels on TV, which meant Chris got Mom’s undivided attention.

Grabbing a stray pencil from the bar, she wrapped her hair around her hand, twisted it into a messy knot and shoved the pencil through it. She’d do the dishes. It was a small way in which she could repay him for helping her get her mother’s pearls back. Even if she never saw him again, she’d cherish their time together. And maybe it was time she looked for someone to share her life with.

She deserved to be happy.

Daniel stretched and blindly reached for the warm body next to him. His hand fell on empty space. Frowning, he peeled one eye open. Had Christine snuck off? She hadn’t seemed to mind him last night, though he was an unapologetic bed hog and snuggler.

Sitting up, he scrubbed his face and glanced around. Her jeans and t-shirt were still in a pile and her bra hung from his bedside table. He caught a whiff of something tasty that got his stomach growling. It dawned on him that there were other sounds, not normal for this time of day in his home. A sizzle and scrape that didn’t belong in his normal routine, for example. Pushing up from the bed, he followed his nose and stopped at the arch. He leaned against the wall and tried to puzzle out the unexpected scene.

Two skillets were on the six-burner stove, one with a golden-brown pancake in it and the other with scrambled eggs. He chuckled at that. A plate of crispy-looking bacon sat next to the stove. Christine was humming something and had her hands in the sink, scrubbing a pan. His week’s worth of dishes were piled on the drying board, clean.

He didn’t know what to make of it. This was his place and she was cleaning, making herself at home. His knee-jerk reaction was to be irritated she was touching his stuff, cooking his food. He’d never shared well with others, a holdover from when he had nothing, his mother had always assumed. Folding his arms over his chest, he watched her. Her movements were natural, as if she spent a lot of time in a kitchen. His inner grump settled down. She didn’t strike him as the kind of woman to manipulate him with acts of kindness, especially when she’d been naturally modest the night before.

Christine wearing his shirt and in his kitchen—it wasn’t a bad visual. Her hair was mostly up with a few curls loose and brushing her shoulders. She turned off the water and leaned over the drying rack, the hem of the shirt riding up enough to show off her panties. His dick twitched, reminding him he hadn’t been inside her, hadn’t taken her how he wanted, and he wouldn’t get to. Not today, at least.

She went back to the stove, flipping the pancake and stirring the eggs. She bounced her hip in time to music only she could hear. She fit in his space, another brilliant gem, a work of art. He liked her there, with him. He grasped his cock and stroked himself. It was a caveman impulse to want to keep her, but maybe they could do it again.

Christine spun, caught sight of him and froze with her arm outstretched toward the fridge.

Amused, he let the moment stretch on. The smells of breakfast had his stomach complaining, though not as much as his cock.

Quirking a brow, he tipped his chin. “Are you doing something you shouldn’t be doing?”

“I, uh, I don’t know,” she stammered. “You were asleep, and I just thought, breakfast. And the dishes were dirty so I just…” Her hands fluttered.

There was something else going on here, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. The Dom in him said it was important he handle the situation the right way, whatever it was.

“So I woke up alone because you were hungry?”

“No.” She shook her head vigorously.

“You might want to check that.” He pointed behind her.

She wheeled around, grabbed the spatula, flipped the pancake and stirred the eggs with ease, casting glances over her shoulder at him every so often. She’d pulled down plates already and began serving the food, one stacked much higher than the other. He watched as she put the slightly burned and darker brown pancakes on the plate with less food, and the perfectly golden ones on the other.

Maybe this situation wasn’t as complicated as he’d anticipated.

Maybe it was as simple as it appeared.

Stepping up behind her, he flipped the stove off and wrapped an arm around her waist. She fit nicely against him except her body was tense, her shoulders slightly hunched. That wasn’t what he wanted.

With his free hand, he plucked the spatula from her hand and moved all of the food to one plate.

“Get the syrup and some juice.” He patted her ass to get her moving. Scooping up a fork and knife, he tucked a roll of paper towels under his arm and carried the bounty back to the bedroom.

Stowing the food on the nightstand, he pulled the blanket and top sheet off the bed. She would drag her feet, and that was fine with him. He was winging it anyways.

The four-poster bed was one of his more elaborate pieces of furniture. Made out of metals twisted together, it was both artistic and versatile. He hadn’t used it for anything but sleeping in a while. He pulled out the plastic tub where he kept the bed accessories and retrieved four lengths of soft rope. Kicking the box back under the bed, he ran the rope over his hands. The prospect of having Christine tied up, the ruby rope a complement to the flush of her skin, was more than enough to make his already aroused state more insistent.

Behind him, glasses clinked.

Glancing over his shoulder, he caught her frozen in the arch. He smiled. He was going to enjoy this too damn much.

He was pissed at her. She shouldn’t have cooked. It had been a great idea in the moment. The look on his face when she’d turned around had been the opposite of what she’d expected. She’d only wanted to do something nice.

“Christine.”

Her chin snapped up. He crooked a finger at her. Red rope hung from his other hand. Unlike her, he hadn’t bothered with getting dressed. Her gaze dropped to his semi-erect cock. If she could go back in time and tell herself anything, she’d say yes to sex with Daniel. It was frustrating and meaningful that he hadn’t pressed her about it. She’d offered and he’d reminded her of the stated limits.

The wooden floor was cool underfoot as she shuffled across to where he stood. His smile did little to comfort her. She wasn’t the kind of sub who misbehaved intentionally, and though he wasn’t her Dom, she hated disappointing him.