Commanding Her Trust (8 page)

“No. Being submissive feels right to me,” she said, adding in a lightly offended tone, “no matter what you may think.”

Blake remembered his words from the night before and felt guilty. “Maybe I was too quick to judge. We haven’t spent enough time in bed for me to know anything for sure.”

“A Dom admitting he might have been wrong?” Her eyes grew comically large. “Is the world coming to an end?”

“I don’t know what kind of ‘Doms’ you’ve been dealing with, but I admit I’m wrong all the time. I’m only human,” he said, then added with a grin, “Though an exceptionally hot human.”

“Yes, you are,” Erin purred, stretching luxuriously. “That was…amazing. I haven’t felt this perfect in a long, long time.”

“Me either.” He sat down on the bed, trying not to think too much about how hot the sex had been, or the fact that no one but Erin had ever left him with a feeling of such bone-deep satisfaction. “Scoot over, beautiful. Let me clean you up.”

“Thanks.” She moved closer, eyes sliding shut as he ran the warm rag over her skin. “That feels good.” She paused, a grin spreading across her face. “Your cum still smells the same. Like green apple slices, with salt on them.”

“You never told me that,” he said as he wiped away the last of the stickiness and began to dry her with the towel.

Her eyes blinked open as she shrugged. “Yeah, well. I was shy.”

“Right,” he said with a snort of disbelief.

“I was!” She laughed, that same musical laugh that had haunted his dreams for years. “Besides, I thought all cum smelled like that. You were my first encounter of the cum-y kind.”

His smile faded. “I remember.”

Erin’s stomach rose and fell and a strained silence stretched between them. He didn’t know what she was thinking about, but he was thinking about their first time together, her first time with anyone, and how desperately he’d wanted to make it perfect for the girl he loved.

Blake knelt between Erin’s spread legs, hands trembling as he slid the condom onto his aching length, his pulse roaring in his ears.

“Now, Blake. Please.” Erin reached her arms out to him, the hunger in her voice matching his own.

He stretched over her, meeting her lips for a kiss as he positioned himself at her entrance—just touching, but not pushing inside. He’d already brought her over with his tongue and she was soaked, but her pussy was so tight.

He had to go slow to fit two fingers into her heat; he couldn’t imagine a scenario where his cock inside of her wasn’t going to cause her pain.

Fear of hurting her gave him the strength to hold still, no matter how desperately he wanted to thrust his hips forward.

“Are you sure?” he asked again, nudging her gently with the head of his throbbing erection, testing her entrance, not surprised when he met resistance.

“I’m sure.” She cupped his face in her hands, gazing up at him with love in her eyes. “I know it’s going to hurt a little, but I want you so much I don’t care. I need to feel you inside me.” She wrapped her legs around his waist and lifted her hips. “Now, Blake. Please.”

Jaw clenched as he fought for control, Blake began to rock against her, keeping his thrusts shallow, giving her body time to adjust. Once the first few inches of his cock were inside her pussy, it became almost impossible to go slow.

Her slick heat gripped him like a fist. She was so wet, so tight, and felt so damned good he could have come in ten seconds. But he forced himself to maintain his slow, gentle rhythm, gliding in and out until every inch of his cock was buried inside of her.

“Okay?” he asked, brushing her hair from her face.

“Perfect,” she breathed.

Their eyes met and held and a hundred promises passed between them.

It
was
perfect. So perfect Blake silently swore that this was going to be his last first time. This was what making love was supposed to feel like, and he didn’t want to make love to anyone else, ever again.

He just wanted Erin. For keeps.

Throat tight, Blake stood, crossing the room to throw the towel and rag in the dirty-clothes basket. The decorator really had thought of everything. The getaway was so comfortable, a part of him wished he could stay forever.

Forget Miami and his and Rafe’s tattooing empire. He could live here in the woods with Erin, happy as a pig in shit.

Too bad that scenario was about as impossible as they came.

Is it? Look at her. She still cares about you.

This weekend might have a happier ending than you could have imagined before you and Erin hooked up again.

Blake pushed the thought away. He couldn’t let himself start thinking forever thoughts about him and Erin. That path led to nothing but heartache. He’d just have to enjoy this weekend for what it was—forty-eight hours of fun and hot sex, nothing more.

“You want me to go down and start the waffle batter?” Erin asked as he turned back to the bed, her head emerging from her nightshirt.

She’d decided to get dressed. Probably a good thing, or their chances of getting out of this bedroom today weren’t going to be good. Still, he couldn’t help wishing she were still naked. He wanted to soak up the sight of her, memorize the location of every freckle before they went their separate ways.

“I knew a guy once who called cum baby batter,” she continued with a nervous laugh. “So gross.”

“I don’t want to hear about guys you’ve known,” he said, the idea of anyone else with Erin making him unreasonably cranky.

“He wasn’t a lover.” She blushed as she threw him his boxer briefs and pajama pants, then turned, presumably hunting for her underwear. Blake saw her panties lying on the floor, but decided to let her look for a while, enjoying the glimpses of her pussy as she bent over to look under the bed.

“He was a guy I worked with at this restaurant in Santa Monica,” she continued, locating her panties and pulling them on. “He had ten kids.
Ten
. That’s too much of a good thing if you ask me.”

“How many kids is enough of a good thing?” Blake asked, ignoring the part of him that said those kinds of questions were the dangerous breed of stupid.

He and Erin were never even going to date again, let alone shack up and start making babies together. How many kids she did or didn’t want was none of his business.

“I don’t know. That’s a hard question,” she said softly, a wistful look on her face that reminded him she wasn’t the girl he’d known eight years ago. That girl wouldn’t get upset talking about babies. Even at sixteen, Erin had talked about wanting a big family and kids she would lavish with all the love she and Blake had missed out on.

“I always thought I wanted three,” she continued. “But now I think two might be enough.

“What changed your mind?”

“I’ve done some babysitting for girlfriends. Newborns are a
lot
of work. Especially if you don’t have any help.” She shrugged before crossing her arms at her chest. “My husband didn’t like to touch anything human under eighteen years of age. He wasn’t much help on the nights I was on babysitting duty.”

Blake grunted. “Afraid he would break them?”

She shook her head. “No, he called them blobs. Said they weren’t people until they could do something other than sleep, mess themselves, and cry.”

“He sounds like a winner,” Blake said, unable to keep the anger from his voice.

What the hell had Erin been doing with a man like that? Hadn’t she learned enough self-respect to know she deserved better? She’d always despised Phil’s wife for being a doormat to her abusive husband, yet it looked like she’d ended up in a very similar situation.

“Scott is a piece of shit, but I didn’t know that when we got married,” she said as if she’d read his thoughts. He shouldn’t be surprised. They’d always been eerily connected when they were younger, finishing each other’s sentences so often their friends would make fun of them for it.

“At first things were good, or at least okay,” she said. “But then…situations developed and things changed.”

His eyes narrowed. “What kind of situations?”

“Just unexpected things.” Erin shuddered, the memories of her marriage bad enough to cause a physical response. “But I don’t really want to talk about the stupid decisions I’ve made. Let’s go make breakfast and you can catch me up on the dumb things you’ve done in the past eight years. Make me feel better about myself.”

“Assuming I’ve done dumb things.” Blake forced a smile, trying to lighten the mood, but a part of him wanted to keep pushing at Erin, to find out what she was hiding.

She was definitely hiding something, there was no doubt in his mind.

Of course, if he found out her ex had hit her or manipulated her with the threat of violence the way their foster father had his wife, Blake wouldn’t be able to rest until he did something about it. And unfortunately for him, he was no longer a minor who could get away with beating the shit out of any guy who hurt his girl.

His
girl.

A part of him wanted nothing more than to be able to say those words and have them be true. He wanted Erin to be his again. For now, and for as long as he could have her. Of all the things he’d worried about when he’d planned this weekend, begging her to give them another chance was the very last thing he’d anticipated. But with every moment they spent together it was becoming more apparent that their past wasn’t going to stay in the past.

“I’m betting you’ve done a stupid thing or two.” Erin took his hand and pulled him through the bathroom into the bedroom where he’d passed a restless night, knowing he was so close to her. “There’s no way you went straight from law-abiding citizen to kidnapper without a few stops in between.”

“Considering you’re my kidnap victim,” Blake said, his stomach cramping, “I’m not sure you should be making jokes about that.”

Erin paused at the top of the stairs and turned back to him, looking up at him with her fathomless eyes. “I know you would never hurt me, Blake. Not
really
hurt me.”

“Even when I alter your tattoo tomorrow?” The guilt that washed over him at the idea of doing anything to Erin against her will was so strong it sickened him.

The longer he spent with her—talking to her, making love to her, laughing with her—the smaller the chance he was actually going to go through with what he’d planned.

She dropped his hand and crossed her arms, the defensive gesture making her look smaller. “Well, if that happens, I certainly won’t respect you as much as I do now, or trust you. But I’ll be okay. You’d have to take a lot more than a tattoo away from me to break me.”

Before he could think of what to say to that—or how to convince Erin the last thing he wanted to do was break her—she’d turned and started down the stairs. A moment later, she was in the kitchen, voice raised as she asked him how strong he wanted his coffee.

But he couldn’t seem to concentrate on her words, not when his head was spinning. Losing Erin’s respect and trust meant a lot more now than it would have before they started down the road to power exchange. His gut reaction to the thought was another nauseating twist of his stomach.

He didn’t want to lose her trust. Hell, he didn’t want to lose
her
, period.

Even remembering the way she’d betrayed him didn’t give him a leg to stand on anymore. If he abused the faith she’d so readily placed in him—both in the bedroom and out—he was going to be a more wretched person than she’d ever been.

And she’d only been sixteen years old, not much more than a kid, and their lives hadn’t been easy back then. He was a successful man with a promising career, friends, money, security—in short, everything he and Erin had ever dreamed of. If he forced his will upon a woman who was obviously not in the best place in her life from that place of safety, Erin would be right to never trust him again.

He would be as much of a monster as her former husband.

With those cheery thoughts swirling through his mind, Blake headed down the stairs, no longer certain how this weekend was going to end, just wishing it didn’t have to end at all.

CHAPTER TWELVE
Erin

Erin didn’t know why she was surprised that Blake could Cook with a capital
C
, but she was.

Even after she’d consumed her half of a tomato, basil, and goat cheese frittata and polished off two gingerbread waffles, made from batter she’d watched Blake whip up from scratch, she couldn’t quite wrap her head around it. After all, just because the only other Dom she’d had breakfast with couldn’t fry an egg to save his life, it didn’t mean all Dominant men were the same.

Blake had already demonstrated an abundance of differences between himself and her soon-to-be ex. Not the least of which was an insatiable desire for her after-baby body. He didn’t seem to notice that her breasts sagged a little and had stretch marks on the sides, or that the skin on her stomach wasn’t as tight as it used to be. She’d hit the gym every day in hopes of resuming her career and knew she looked good enough to model, but there were things a lover saw that Photoshop took care of before photographs were published.

But Blake didn’t seem to notice the marks childbirth had left behind.