Chapter Eleven

Isaac hurried from the elevator the minute the doors slid open. He was such a shit. Kennedy had trusted him with her response to his kiss, with her honesty, and the first chance he got, he pushed her. She’d obviously been struggling, and he’d pushed. Why?

Because he’d been frustrated and achy for two days, waiting for her to come to him, to make her choice.

He was definitely a shit.

He’d been on her heels as she beelined for the door, but Nick had called him back to the phone. Anyone else he would’ve blown off, but not Grace. She needed to know Chris wouldn’t commit. There was still hope, but Isaac was now actively looking for a new headliner—anyone but him.

Which made him a shit and a dickhead. Not his best day.

Standing in front of Kennedy’s door, he forced himself to stop, breathe, think before he made everything worse than it already was. Where was his legendary control now? One hand rose to rub at the tattoo on his shoulder as he prayed Oliver’s spirit animal would give him the words he needed. Oliver had always been good at that—one of the gifts they’d had in common. He didn’t trust his own skill at the moment. And he had a feeling if he blew it this time with Kennedy, he wasn’t getting another chance.

Christ, he missed his mate right now.

Zeroing in on the door, he gave it a firm knock.

The door swung open a few inches. Kennedy stood in the gap, and for a moment his brain filled with static, blocking the path of words to tongue. Probably a good thing, because the sight of her in a thin black tank top and gray yoga pants that hid very little could’ve led to some highly inappropriate comments. He was already in the doghouse.

Kennedy seemed to get the picture anyway, if the pretty blush that swept her cheeks was anything to go by.

“I’m sorry.”

She planted a fist on her hip. “An apology? I thought you Dom types didn’t do the humbling-yourself thing.”

Knowing V, he found that hard to believe. The man was as true a Dominant as anyone Isaac had known, and if he screwed up, he had no problem getting on his knees. Which meant Kennedy was sassing him.

Maybe he could show her his favorite apology position: on his knees between a sub’s legs.

He shook the image away before his cock could respond too obviously. “Are you gonna give me shit or finally let me into your space so we can talk?”

Kennedy dropped her chin, but not before he caught the tiniest smile on those sexy pink lips. Without a word she stepped back, taking the door with her. Isaac followed.

Her apartment was smaller than the penthouse, but the living space was decorated in warm autumn colors and modern touches that fit what he knew of her personality well. The large desk beside one window was covered in files and notes, but the fleece blanket on the couch said she hadn’t been working.

The TV was on mute, the remote beside a bowl of ice cream, and on-screen a group of teenage boys were frantically trying to reattach a penis that appeared to have broken off a tabletop statue.

What the—

Kennedy snorted, and Isaac turned to see her watching him watch the TV. “Don’t tell me,” she said. “You’ve never seen Goonies.”

Nick took Isaac’s education in American cinema seriously and had introduced him to many classics over the years, but they hadn’t covered a movie involving gelded male statues. “No.”

She smirked before leading the way to the couch. “You’re in for a treat then. It’s one of my favorites.”

This was his punishment, wasn’t it, watching her softly swaying ass in those clingy pants? He held back a groan and settled next to her on the couch, grateful when she let his proximity to her—thigh to thigh—go without comment.

“One of your favorites, huh?” It would be a surprise to know Kennedy enjoyed emasculated men—the woman struck him as enjoying getting as good as she gave. He glanced at the TV, grateful to see the group had moved on from the statue to what looked like a dusty attic.

“Yeah.” Kennedy retrieved her bowl from the table. “Vinny and I used to have TV night when we were home on vacations and my parents were out. Nothing made me laugh more than Goonies. Except maybe Ferris Bueller’s Day Off. My brother was always more of a National Lampoon’s/Spaceballs fan.”

Those he knew. Nick’s taste obviously mimicked Vincent’s.

Kennedy hit rewind on the remote. “If you haven’t seen the movie, you don’t know about the Truffle Shuffle, do you?”

“I don’t think so.”

She shot him a look. “It’s usually a necessity before you can cross the threshold at my place.”

Whatever he had to do to please her—

And then he got an eyeful of the screen. “Oh fuck no.”

Kennedy doubled over laughing, still holding her bowl in one hand, remote in the other. “Come on,” she gasped. “You wouldn’t do the Truffle Shuffle for me?” Another spasm of laughter shook her.

He retrieved the remote and bowl, setting both safely out of the way, then leaned over and kissed her.

Strawberries and cream, that’s what she tasted like. Sweet and sassy on his tongue. Her surprised gasp gave him access, and he took it, using his weight to cover her reclining body as he savored the pleasure of Kennedy’s mouth.

A strong grip pulled him closer. Isaac shifted toward her, needing to be body to body with this woman who had driven him crazy from the moment he first heard her voice. When she laid back, taking him with her, and widened her legs so he could settle between them, he swore against her lips.

Heaven must feel just like this… Here. Now. Kennedy.

Fuck.

Her back arched as he forced her pelvis closer to his, and her pleasure sent fire licking through his veins. Kennedy’s head tilted back, baring her neck to him, and he took advantage. The rapid beat of her pulse beneath his lips set the rhythm for his own heartbeat, his kisses, the rocking of his rigid cock against her soft, lush body. He didn’t care about breathing or the TV or anything but the woman beneath him, her body a fantasy he couldn’t believe he was actually living.

Delicate hands drifted along his back. His skin absorbed her heat despite the shirt blocking him from feeling her fully, but one arm planted on the couch next to her head freed him to grab the hem and yank the fabric over his head. “Touch me, Kennedy.”

The words were low and almost unrecognizable with desire. Her soft smile and the way her hands ran with greed over his bare chest said she understood well enough. Her touch was harmony and counterpoint, shoving him higher and sending shafts of unbearable pleasure to his painfully hard cock—Christ, how had she gotten him revved up so fast? And yet the throb in his groin said it didn’t matter; all that mattered was getting as much of her as he could, as fast as he could.

Except when his hand found the bottom of her tank and pulled, baring her flat belly to his gaze and touch, Kennedy went still.

“Wait.”

Ignoring the way every nerve ending in his body set up a helluva protest, he forced himself to pause. “Ken?”

“I—” Confusion filtered through the green of her eyes. “I think we need to talk about this first.”

He couldn’t stop the instinctive tightening of his fingers on her hip bone. He could ease back, though. Slowly he brought his body under control, sitting back on the couch, forcing himself to release her. Kennedy watched him, her expression locked down, hiding whatever churned in that intelligent brain of hers. But she couldn’t hide her continued arousal. Isaac forced his gaze away from the heaving rise and fall of her breasts, the tight nipples straining against her tank top, the flush of her neck and cheeks as she struggled with her own control.

At least it wasn’t just him in the deep end of the pool, yeah?

He took her hand and helped her to sit. Kennedy didn’t back away but stayed right there, a thigh on either side of his, her eyes locked on his face with a fierceness he’d never seen before. What did she see? How much he wanted her? How he’d do anything to please her, even if it meant opening her eyes to things that scared her?

Christ, he fucking hoped so.

Kennedy closed her eyes, took a deep breath.

Here it comes.

“I don’t think this is a good idea.”

Looking back over the last few minutes, he thought it was a damn good idea, maybe the best he’d ever had—and considering he made his living with ideas, that was saying something. Not that he didn’t know what she meant, but…

Don’t be a shit, Ike.

“Why?”

“Isaac…” Kennedy’s fingers clenched, reminding him they were still intertwined with his. “I’m not a sub. I’m never going to be what you want me to be.”

“First, you don’t know what I want you to be, and second”—he held up a finger when she tried to interrupt him—“your reaction to me before says you might very well be exactly what I want, what I need, already. If you let yourself admit it.”

“I’m not a sub.”

He replayed her reaction to him in the car. Keep telling yourself that.

“What exactly do you think I expect of you?” he finally asked. “You don’t want to be called a sub. Fine. Does that mean you can’t have fun in the bedroom?”

Her brows veed together. “It’s not about fun; it’s—”

“What?”

“Isaac…” She placed her palm on his chest, her fingers digging into his skin as if needing an anchor. “Look, I know myself pretty well by now. I’m tw— well, never mind how old I am.” A grin peeked out before fading away.

“My point is, I’ve spent most of my life at the mercy of parents who either shuffled me away to boarding school or with servants so they could roam the globe, or being trotted out on display at their whim to impress their friends. I decided a long time ago that no one but me was going to control my life, and that includes my sexuality. The idea of being tied up, helpless, not in control…” She shuddered. “No.”

Her anxiety hit him deep. He couldn’t stop himself; he had to touch her. Cupping the side of her neck, he felt her fluttering pulse against his thumb, and damn if she didn’t relax every muscle in her body at the hold on her nape. She needed this, maybe more than she knew.

“Okay,” he said, “I can imagine being tied up could feel like being helpless or out of control. And sometimes, depending on what their subs might need, a Dom could play into that.

“The thing is, the sub…you…are the one who decides what you will do and, most especially, why. I’ve known many high-powered women who would never consider themselves submissive but find the act of being tied up, of having all responsibility and decision-making taken from them by their own choice, freeing, relaxing, and even arousing.”

Kennedy didn’t say anything, but from her expression he knew there was a war going on inside her. When he squeezed her neck gently, needing to soothe her if only by applying the slightest bit of pressure, she tensed—and then went boneless once more, muscles relaxing, breath deepening, eyes dilating. He could see the moment her reaction registered, when she realized she liked being held and controlled, at least like this.

Fear sparked in her eyes.

“It’s okay, Kennedy. I promise.” He brought her close, their mouths barely brushing. “I’d never use this against you, ever.”

Wary eyes met his. “I don’t know if I can do this, Isaac. If I even want to do this.”

He planted a kiss on the tip of her nose. “The Kennedy I know? You’re brave enough to face anything. And nothing will happen unless you want it to.”

He leaned in again, waiting for permission. Kennedy tipped her head back, her lips parting in invitation, and their kiss made them both moan.

Isaac pulled back after a moment. “I have an idea.” In fact it was so obvious he couldn’t believe he hadn’t thought of it till now.

Kennedy ran her tongue along her bottom lip as if savoring his taste. Something low in his gut clenched. “What?”

“Come with me to Club X. You can watch me do some rigging, see exactly what’s involved.”

Kennedy shook her head, backing up so fast he thought she’d fall off the couch. “I don’t want to see you tying up some woman. That’s—”

He put up a hand to stop her words, then turned until his palm was up. Waiting. Wanting. “I wouldn’t want that either, trust me.”

She eyed his hand. “You want an awful lot of trust, don’t you?”

From you, I want it all. The thought shocked the hell out of him, but then again, not. This woman was special; if he hadn’t known that the moment he met her, his music would’ve convinced him. But he didn’t say it aloud. She was skittish enough already. “I’ll live up to every bit of it, Kennedy. I’ll never give you a reason to doubt me.”

When she slid her palm into his hand, it was as if his heart settled in his chest, in the right place for the very first time. It wasn’t safe or smart or under his control, but it was there all the same. And he wanted to explore it, so much it took his breath. Whatever she gave him. Whatever time they had. Kennedy might never be his sub, but he’d take what he could get for as long as they were together.