CHAPTER THIRTEEN
It took three long days and nights before I found myself standing in front of Steele Kane’s apartment door at one in the morning. Maybe it was watching him do the fight scenes all day. Then again, I could blame it on the two glasses of wine and easy Uber access. Getting to him was stupid simple, but the second I rapped my knuckles on the door was when my brain finally decided to question what I just let my hand do.
The door opens, and I curl the extra dose of courage I brought along with me, a bottle of wine, against my chest.
Holy Mother of … from the muscles bulging in his naked chest, right down to the tightness of his abdomen, that teasing hairline disappearing into his low waisted sweats, all that splendid rippling going on under his tight tanned flesh, he’s spectacular!
I set my hand on my hip, and what the hell, I’m here. “You can guarantee that I won’t fall in love with you?”
“Yes.” He nods. Hitching a finger into the waist of my jeans, he drags me into his apartment. “Yes, I can.” He lowers his mouth to mine for a long, heated kiss.
Our mouths break, but he doesn’t completely leave. Maybe, like me, he’s not ready to let go. His lips hover over mine for a few seconds before brushing against my left cheek. “Jay.” He drops a few warm kisses behind my ear, sending shivers all through me. “Jay.” He takes a slow, deep breath. “Babe, is that why you’re here?” He moves back and gazes down at me, waiting for an answer. “To test my guarantee?”
“I’m not sure,” I say, the lie cracking my voice. “I don’t know.”
“Well …” He effortlessly apprehends the bottle from my hand, walks over to the kitchen area, and opens a drawer, coming up with a wine opener. “Seems as though you wanted some of this?” He lifts the bottle. “So, let’s start with a glass, yeah?”
“Okay.” I wring my hands.
It’s quiet until he pops the cork, grabs a couple of glasses from under the counter, and fills them halfway.
He hands me a glass. “So, no idea why you came here tonight?”
I shake my head, accepting the wine. “Thanks.”
He picks up his glass, takes a few steps into the open space between the kitchen and living area, and tosses a thumb at the huge flat screen to the right of him. “Did you come to watch a movie?”
I glance at the TV, the floor, and the dark brown leather sectional, envisioning his wide, strong back, his beautiful, naked body over mine …
I shake my head.
He points at the kitchen. “Hungry? How ’bout some of my famous homemade pancakes?”
My eyes shift to the island, and I see myself sitting on the cool granite countertop, legs spread open wide, him between them …
“No.” I take a sip of wine. My eyes wander down his muscular, tattooed chest.
“Hmm.” He rubs his chin. “Do you want me to keep guessing?”
“Yes,” I quietly confess, whispering under my breath, “I’d like that very much.” I take a few quick sips. The warm wine rushing to my cheeks.
He makes his way over to me where he left me after he pulled me into his apartment and kissed me senseless. A few feet away, he stops and rests his ass against the back of the leather sectional. Naked in all but heather gray lounge pants, adorned by two strings hanging from the middle of his perfect stomach. One hand rests on the back of the couch cushion. The other lifts his wine glass to his mouth. His eyes remain fixed on my trembling body.
He finishes the long-drawn-out sip and tilts his head. “Did you come to tell me something?”
Did I? I stare at him, rubbing the edge of the wine glass against my bottom lip.
What to do?
I could tell him the truth. I think about him all the time. No man has occupied my thoughts or made me feel this alive since Trevor. I could tell him that, but we both know he doesn’t want to hear that. I’m leaving in a couple of weeks, and we know what he’s offering. “No.”
“Well, that can only mean you came here for something from me?”
“Really …” I suck in my bottom lip. “And what do you think I want from you?” Fire. I’m sticking my hands right in hot coals here.
“Don’t worry, I’m not going to take advantage of the situation. I am, however, going to take advantage of the opportunity to show you that I can be trusted. That’s what you want?” He pauses for a lengthy inspection of my vulnerable body. “To know if this is okay? It’s okay, Jay. We’re adults. No one else is here. What happens between you and me stays with us.”
That’s what I’m afraid of. It’ll stay with me for-ev-er! I won’t be able to shake him. Besides, will a few minutes of pleasure really be worth all the guilt?
His hand moves from the back of the couch to the strings on his pants. He twirls them around his finger, then he cups his hand around them and begins to pull and tug … oh my God! Is that growing impression on his pants his cock?
“This is what I’m going to do,” he says, and my guilty eyes snap to his smiling ones. “I’m going to refill my glass, and then I’m going to go grab something from the back room. You may choose to leave”—he gestures at the door with his empty glass—“or you may choose to stay. The choice is yours, but know that if you stay, you’re consenting to put your trust in me. You’ll do as I ask, and if you don’t want or like something, the only word I’ll recognize is mercy. Not stop or no, just mercy. Got it?”
“Mercy, like you say for that hand game, or, oh, wait, is that Uncle?” I blush, a nervous laugh erupting between each word.
His response to my nervousness is nothing more than a smile before he proceeds to do as he said; pouring himself a glass of wine and disappearing down the hall into what I can only imagine is the “back room.” And oh-ho, believe me, that’s not the only thing I can imagine. My brain’s filling with all sorts of things like running down the hall to the elevator, pouring myself another glass of wine, wondering what’s in the “back room,” or worse, using the word mercy tonight. I head over to the counter and pour more wine into my empty glass as I debate my options a little longer.
I tap my fingernail against the glass. Damn! I take a big, long sip or, rather, a gulp. He magically appears out of the dark hallway. Still with no shirt on and that growing impression on his pants, my eyes take a quick check. Yep, it’s still there.
Shit, I just know it! I’m going to say mercy tonight.
I smile, tipping back my glass to indulge in a few more sips.
Debate over.
I’ve made my choice … but now a movie and some pancakes sound good. Well, safe.
He moves over to the counter and places his wine glass on top of it. “Are you comfortable?”
With a little head toggle, I reply, “Yeah.”
“Is the wine doing what you hoped it would?”
Getting me loosened up? Yes. I laugh with a single shrug.
“Did you think about what bra to put on before you came over tonight?”
Oh, boy. Here we go. My cheeks heat as I answer now with a weak double shrug.
“Do your panties match your bra?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” I smirk and raise my glass, draining the wine from it.
“Yes.” He takes the glass from my shaky hand and sets it on the counter beside his. “That is why I asked,” he says, the severity in his eyes chasing my sassiness straight out of the room. “Take your shirt off and show me what it looks like.”
“What, my bra?”
“Yes.”
“It’s red, and there’s lace on it,” I say as the garment in question strangles my swelling breasts.
“And?”
“And yes.” I take a deep breath, more aware of the ache rapidly increasing inside my red bra. “I thought about it before I put in on, before I came here. And yes. My panties are red. They match my bra as well. There, is that what you want?”
“No.” He folds his hands together, resting an elbow on the counter. “I want to see it. Take your shirt off.”
And there it is, that steady, stern, in control voice he uses during shoots. The one that everyone seems to listen to. The one that keeps everyone safe. The very one that gets my panties a little damp by the end of the day. Damn him!
Well, I’m here. I agreed to stay by not running when I had the chance. Somehow, my shaky hands obey long enough to finagle my shirt free. I fold it and put it on the counter. Challenge accepted and conquered. Proud of myself, I lift my chin ready to take him on.
“Good.” A small smile twists his lips. “I’m going to rub my finger over your nipple now.” He lifts his hand.
“No.” I ball my hands, preparing for his touch. Obviously, not that ready.
His finger lightly scraps across the thin material of my bra.
“I told you”—he pinches my hard nipple—“no doesn’t work here.”
My back arches with a deep, three-year-old repressed moan. His fingers tighten on my erect bud.
“Please,” I whimper in a tone I haven’t heard in eons. “Please,” I beg, but I’m unsure for what. My body to stop quivering, the wetness to stop flowing between my legs, for him to continue? What? What do I want?
He releases me, calmly folding his hands back together. “You want to take your bra off?” Yes! Yes! That’s what I want! “It’s okay, Jay. You may do so now.”
As though I needed permission, I reach behind my back, unclasp, and free my hot, hard breasts from the tight thing.
“You have nice tits, not something you should be hiding for so long.” My breasts slightly lift and thrust forward as he draws a slow and steady finger along my cleavage. “You wanted me to see them?”
“I … ah …” His touch stunts my response. “I … I don’t know.”
“Yes. You did. You’re not the type of woman who does something just because she’s told. So, I’ll ask again.” He leans down, takes my erect nipple into his warm mouth, giving it a few, long sucks, and then lets go. “You wanted me to see your tits?” He nips my hard tip once more. “Didn’t you?”
“Yes!” I’m throbbing everywhere! I need this. Oh, God, please forgive me. I need him.
“Good.” He winks, picking up his wine glass. “Now. The pants. Remove them.”
Autopilot flips on, and I unbutton, unzip, and drag my jeans off. I look up, pausing at his crotch at his full-blown erection pressing against his heather gray pants.
He chuckles, setting his wine glass back on the counter. “You don’t get any of that tonight.”
“Why?” I find his dark eyes, my fingers itching to inspect him, to touch him, to make him feel as I do right now—frustrated, sexy, hot, exposed, and vulnerable. He could tell me to do anything, and damn, I think I’d do it.
“Perhaps another time but not tonight.” He reaches into his pocket. “Lift your hands.” He pulls out my black stocking, the same one he stole from me in the hospital, the one I tied him up with the other night.
Oh, I get where this is going.
My heart races with excitement, palms sweat, and I’m a little wetter between the legs.
“Lift them.” He gestures with a nudge.
Things are starting to move fast, real fast. I’m standing all but in my red panties in his kitchen with him holding a makeshift bondage in his hand.
“Tonight is about trust, Jay.” His left eyebrow rises. “Are you ready to trust me?”
Trust! Now there’s a word I haven’t practiced in a while. I haven’t put my faith in, relied on, or believed in anyone in a long time. I’m not sure that’s the kind of trust he’s talking about. Surrender, yielding, abandoning my indecisions, my doubt, and my fears—that’s what I think he’s trying to accomplish here. He wants me to forget about everything and let go.
The thought of what that might get me prompts me to lift my arms. I’m ready to submit. I’m ready to offer him my body.
He wraps the black silk around my wrists. “I’m going to take care of you tonight.” He ties the bow tight. “I’m going to make you come so good, Miss Rigsby,” he says with firm confidence.
“I’m counting on it.” I pause to catch my unsteady breath. “Mr. Kane.”
He moves the stools out of the way and pushes me against the counter. I hold my breath as he kneels in front of me.
What’s happening? What’s he going to do?
Strong hands grip my hips. He kisses along the top edge of my panties, half on the material and half on my skin. It forces the curbed air from my lungs. The more he kisses my belly, the firmer his grip gets. My hips sway, seeking and searching for his next kiss. His mouth moves down onto the silk covering my wetness and heat. Oh, shit! Is that his tongue pressing against my clit through the thin material? I lean back into the counter with a low cry. If he keeps this up, it won’t take long for me to come!
As if hearing my concerns, he pulls my panties off, stands up, and spins me around. “Hands on the counter,” he instructs, and I lift my bound wrists to obey. “Lean forward.” He pushes my body down onto the cool granite. “And grab the far edge of the counter.”
I stretch forward, tilting up on my toes. “Like this?” The position presses my sore nipples into the hard countertop, rendering me defenseless. I welcome it. This is what I want … to be his for a spell, to belong to him if only just for a moment.
“Yes,” I hear him say followed by something that resembles a growl. “Spread your legs.”
“Like this?” I pull my feet apart and thrust my hips, again rewarded by that manly growl. Oh, the sound soaks me. I tip back up on my toes, bringing my ass higher. “Is this what you want?”
A deep moan hits my ears just as a hard hand hits my ass.
“Hey!” I push up, only to be thrust back down.
“Don’t tease me, Jay.” He swats my ass again, not as hard this time. “Or I’ll make this ache last all night and”—his hand gently rubs my tender ass cheek—“we both know how bad you need release.”
The muscles in my body relax. He’s right. I need to get this over with. It’s not like all the other times, which were orgasm by proxy; a vibrator. Tonight, it’ll be inspired by a real live sexy, gorgeous man. The thought alone makes me squirm where I stand.
“There you go,” he says, voice deep and low. “That’s good. Relax.” His hand slides over the slope of my ass, making a beeline straight for my clit.
“Oh, shit!” A few proficient strokes and my ass lifts higher. A finger slips deep inside me. I grip the edge of the counter. “Oh, no.” There’s this ache, this hot, begging pull between my thighs. Hurts but feels good. A sort of punishment for depriving my pussy of a man’s touch for so long. “Oh, God!” My forehead drops to the counter. “No!”
“Yes.” His finger slips back out, circling my nub again. “Would you like me to lick you here?”
“Oh, God!” My knees bend, but he’s quick to pull me back up with the pressure of his fingers. “Oh … oh …” I cringe, imagining his tongue on me. “Yes!”
“How about here?” Another finger presents against the pucker of my tight asshole. “You want my tongue here?”
“No!” I pant, raising my hips, meeting the slight pressure of his fingers. “No … no …”
“No doesn’t work, remember?” he whispers into my ear, both fingers pushing, pressing, and prodding me into ecstasy. “You know what to say,” he taunts as he surges deeper, ebbs slower. “Feels good? Yes? You want more?”
“Yes!” My hips thrust against him. “Yes. Don’t stop! I … I want more.”
“Like this?” He moves faster just as another hand comes around the front of me, and when it finds my clit, I begin to shake all over. “You want it like this?”
“Oh, no!” I grip tighter to the counter. “No! No! Please, no,” I cry, plead, beg in the most unrecognizable sounds.
“Yeah, baby,” he coaxes as his calm, controlled voice continues to pull three years of denial from my body.