SIX MONTHS LATER

Ash’s brother-in-law followed him into the penthouse. Forest’s towering height, intimidating at the best of times, had Ash hunching into himself. He’d seen Forest in action too many times, most notably when Forest informed Spencer exactly what he would and wouldn’t say to the press about Skye’s past.

That problem was handled for now, but not settled. Ash kept waiting for the other shoe to drop, but Forest assured him Spencer was managed. Whatever that meant.

“You certain, she left it here?” The rumble of Forest’s voice settled deep in Ash’s chest.

“She didn’t take it to work,” he scoffed.

“I don’t know. She’s been pretty secretive about the whole thing.”

“Dude!” Ash exclaimed. “Because you told her you were going to mess with it.”

“She knows I wouldn’t.” Forest punched Ash in the arm, playful, but damn that hurt. “When are you going to stop calling me dude?”

Never.

“But you are messing with it,” Ash said, confused. “And she’s going to kill me when she finds out I helped.”

“Then, you’d better not get caught. Hurry up.” Forest strode through the spacious sitting area and headed down the long hallway.

Not get caught? There would be no way to hide what Forest had planned.

“She’s going to kill me,” Ash complained.

“You don’t know my sister. She’ll think it’s hilarious.”

“Dude, she’s my wife.”

“Whom you’ve known for all of six months. Trust me, you don’t know Skye.”

He knew better than to get into an argument with his wife. She’d wanted him to fire the band’s manager, but Angel Fire needed Tuttle to handle the business end of things so the band could focus on the creative side. They’d decided to agree to disagree. At least Ash had. Skye’s dislike for Tuttle remained a touchy subject.

“Come on,” Forest said, continuing toward his goal.

Forest had a mission and was bound and determined to make certain Ash wouldn’t fuck it up.

Ash was going along for two reasons. One, Forest intimidated the hell out of him. And, two, Forest had yet to trust the man who had stolen his sister.

As messed up as this idea was, Ash needed a bonding moment with Forest.

Only then would he be able to establish boundaries. Enforcing them would come later.

Thinking himself helpful, the Viking throwback constantly interjected himself into Ash’s marriage—and worse. How many times had he barged into their bedroom? Ash had lost count. And, while it didn’t bother Skye, the intrusions infuriated him. He’d been cockblocked too many times.

That was going to end.

This mission, another Secret Squirrel escapade, would hopefully keep Forest busy for the rest of the night and well into the morning. Time Ash intended to spend with Skye without any brotherly intrusions.

“Do you have it?” Ash asked.

Forest reached into his back pocket and pulled out a pouch. “Yep.” The dye came in a deceptively small packet.

The plan was simple—steal Skye’s wedding dress, and color it blue. Forest was adamant that her wedding dress needed to be blue, like the summer sky. Why she’d bought traditional white, Ash hadn’t a clue, not when this seemed so important to her brother.

“I can’t believe you want to steal it the night before the wedding.” He’d said this hundreds of times since Forest had first mentioned his plan.

“That’s why I need you, Lover Boy. Keep her occupied. When she sees the dress, it’ll be too late. She’ll have no choice. Mission accomplished.”

But, first, they had to get said dress.

“Come on. It’s hanging in the closet.”

“Not the best hiding spot,” Forest rumbled. “Doesn’t sound like she even tried.”

“Well, you’re not supposed to be here. She probably thinks it’s safe.”

Forest sniffed as they approached the bedroom door. “You sure she’s not here?” He scratched at his wrist.

“Relax, she has another couple of hours before her shift is over.” Ash pushed the bedroom door open, letting Forest go ahead.

Forest barged in and then came to an abrupt halt. “Shit.”

Skye sat on the bed, a very white wedding dress draped over her legs. “Looking for this, Beanpole?” her singsong voice teased. But her eyes cut to her husband, a brow arching in question.

Ash opened his mouth, stunned, and his eyes took in what she wasn’t wearing. Her pale flesh peeked out from behind a wire bone corset, her breasts practically falling out. White stockinged legs stretched under the lace and silk of the gown, and he could only imagine what she wore underneath.

Skye preferred comfort over everything. He’d never seen her in lingerie.

“Fuck.” Ash pointed to Forest. “He made me!”

“Bean,” she scolded, “what did I say about my dress?”

A formidable man except when Skye dressed him down, Forest slumped his shoulders. “I wasn’t going to do anything bad.”

“I know exactly what you were going to do.” She flicked her fingers. “Out. Now!”

Forest took a step back and then another. “You said she wasn’t here.” His accusing tone implied that this wasn’t the last Ash would hear about this.

And, while Forest had been summarily excused, Skye curled her fingers to Ash in a come-hither gesture.

Totally screwed.

“Bean, be a doll, and close that door,” she said.

Ash gulped, but when the door closed, the dress tumbled to the floor in a cascade of silk, revealing what she had hidden. He’d had it all wrong. Except for the corset and sexy as fuck stockings, she wasn’t wearing anything.

He took a step and then followed it with another. “You’re not angry?”

He should be hesitant, but her sweet scent drew him forward.

Captivating. Entranced. He was a willing victim.

“Are you kidding?” she scoffed. “I know Bean, and I already figured he’d bully you into helping. Come here, Rock star. It’s the night before your wedding. We have plans.”

She amazed him. Her trauma made it impossible for her to achieve release, but she never shied away from sex. Her enthusiasm spiked the beat of his heart, even as it saddened him. He wanted to give her everything, but her steadfast refusal to let him please her created a barrier to their intimacy.

While his bandmates and constant touring with Angel Fire kept him busy, he hadn’t been idle. He sought answers on how to help his wife heal.

“It’s your wedding, too,” he said. He stalked toward her, taking his time in approaching the bed.

With a deep pull of air, his nostrils filled with her scent, and it drilled straight down to his cock, hardening him immediately.

He admired the effect of the corset—her breasts spilled out of the restrictive clothing—but what she displayed lower drove him crazy.

“I thought we could spend some time alone,” she said. “Tomorrow is a big day.”

He swallowed. Yes, they would pledge their lives together. A wedding ceremony where they were fully aware of what was happening and what they were signing.

He stopped his advance, not trusting Forest, and made certain the door was locked. He lowered the safety latch in case Forest had duplicated the key card.

Soul deep, he and Skye meshed, but their bodies had yet to celebrate that union. They’d enjoyed plenty of sex—he had enjoyed plenty of sex—but she’d failed to reach that blissful crest. And, while she claimed she was okay, he refused to accept that he couldn’t bring her the same pleasure she freely showered upon him.

Ash approached the bed once again. “Babe, you know I can’t resist you.”

“I know.”

She stretched out, and he grasped her fingers. That singular moment of contact hitched his breath.

In their first days, he hadn’t understood her trauma or what PTSD meant, let alone how the flood of memories would tear her apart.

He cupped her cheek and stared deep into her eyes, his touch setting the tone for the evening. He wouldn’t force anything, and whether she came or not wasn’t the goal.

He placed a knee on the bed and crawled over her, never once letting her fingers go. “I love you, Skye Summers Dean.”

The warmth of her skin heated the air between them. Her pulse leaped in the soft curve of her neck, beating furiously and keeping time with the rhythm of his aching desire.

Mesmerized, he couldn’t break their eye contact, not until he straddled her hips, taking both her hands in his. Then, his eyes dipped to admire the corset and more.

“Do you trust me?” He allowed a smirk to roll across his lips.

“What do you have in mind?” She tried to disengage their hands.

Skye did best when she dictated the pace. He understood why she needed that control, but the time had come to strip her of it.

“Answer the question, please. Do you trust me?”

She bit at her lower lip, indecision playing across her face. “I guess.”

He shook his head. “That’s not good enough. I need to know if you trust me.”

None of what he had planned would work otherwise. He waited for her to give herself into his control.

He leaned down, seeking her mouth, enticing her to agree, hoping to break through the resistance framed within her eyes.

“I’ll never hurt you,” he whispered the words between kisses. He licked and teased, and then he moved his mouth to her ear, nibbling until she squirmed. “Trust me?”

She was always ticklish there.

“I trust you,” she said on the sigh of her breath. “But for what?”

He trailed his tongue down the curve of her neck. Her whimpers fueled him onward.

His plan had a low chance for success, according to his therapist, but Ash had a lifetime to break through Skye’s walls. He was in no hurry. Every move from here on out would be calculated. His assault on her body would be sensual, but the one on her mind was his true goal.

“I’m going to ask you not to question what happens next.”

“Ash—”

He placed a finger over her lips. “Trust.”

He left her on the bed and headed to the bathroom. He’d gathered everything he needed the day before and stored it out of sight.

When he returned, her stare tunneled into his gut. The poor thing was terrified.

Leaning down, he kissed her lips. “Relax, babe. You know I’d never ask you to do anything you couldn’t handle.” He showed her the blindfold. “I want you to put this on.”

She gulped, her eyes latching on to the black silk. Before she could refuse, he covered her eyes and fastened the silk behind her head. This would be her first great hurdle.

He hummed the haunting melody of “Insanity.” As he’d hoped, she stilled beneath him.

A sensuous energy lay trapped within Skye, and he planned to unleash it.

He arranged Skye’s hair, making sure none of the strands were being pulled, and then he took her left wrist in his hand. When he wrapped a silken cord around the delicate bones of her wrist, she flinched, but he coaxed her to accept the binding.

“Trust,” he said.

The tension in her arm eased, her love for him pushing past her fear. He would have said more, but the silence hanging between them held a greater power. Her other wrist came next, and this time, she didn’t flinch although the pace of her breathing intensified.

Could she breathe well enough beneath that corset? He didn’t know, but damn was he enjoying the view. If she struggled, he would remove it. Until then, he planned on feasting on the sight.

With her other hand wrapped, he bound her wrists together. He’d debated on securing her hands to either side of the bed but decided she would need more control. He raised her hands over her head.

“Don’t move. Talk to me first. I’ll stop whatever I’m doing. Give me the power to release you. Do you understand?”

A critical decision hung in the balance. He needed her to agree. If she couldn’t trust him, he would need to wait. This wasn’t something he could force.

She gave a fractional nod.

“Your job, the only thing you must do, is feel. Do you understand what I’m asking?”

He’d been advised to allow her to dictate the pace.

Already, she surprised him. He’d expected to coax her into accepting even this little bit, but she lay beneath him, hands secured by the power of his request.

Her fear shone through, and he sought to soothe her. Stroking the angle of her jaw, he began a voyage of exploration. When she turned away from his touch, he retreated. After she settled, he resumed, once again caressing the angle of her jaw. This would be their starting point, something she would learn and associate with a place of safety.

Stop and start.

The next few minutes were a dance between them while she learned to trust.

He stepped his fingers across her chest, following the ridge of her collarbone. The depth of her breathing intensified, and when he ghosted his fingers across the edge of the corset, she rewarded him with a whimper.

Returning to her mouth, he traced the seam of her lips and then pressed his index finger inside. She opened for him, tentative at first, but when he didn’t withdraw, she gave a slow suck. An exquisite moment occurred with him tilting his head back, trembling with the desire for more. Pulling his finger out, he glided back down the angle of her jaw, tracing the exact path he’d taken before, allowing her to become comfortable with his touch and his intent.

He spent time enjoying the feel of her soft curves against the backs of his knuckles.

He adjusted his position, the strain of his erection unbearable behind the thick denim.

Then, he began the massage, starting at her shoulders and extending down her arms.

He paused to admire the woman beneath him. Was she ready for the next step?

There was only one way to know.

He brushed his lips over hers, a chaste kiss. More would come later. And, as his fingers had done moments ago, he repeated the entire path with his mouth. Beginning at the angle of her jaw, moving down to the soft curve of her throat, he lavished her with attention.

Each time her breathing hitched or she pulled away, he’d stop and wait for her to calm. Then, he would begin anew, conditioning her to his touch, showing the nonthreatening nature of his intent.

Not once did she move her hands.

As his lips traced the crest of her cleavage, she wriggled. “Ash?”

“Shh,” he said, lifting his head. “Just feel.”

“But I…”

He’d reached the next limit, surprised he’d gotten as far as he had. Leaning back, he gave her space. “All I want is to feel you.”

Skye bit at her lower lip. Beneath him, tiny tremors intensified and then stilled.

He started at the beginning, the slow trace of his fingers over her skin. The pace was an agony to endure, but he would spend all night if that was what it took. His soft caresses and cautious licks continued, and when she squirmed, he hummed the melody to “Insanity,” which seemed to calm her down.

The line of featherlight kisses progressed down her body, her fingers and arms thoroughly adored and worshiped. It was time to increase the pressure, and either he’d find her breaking point, or he’d push past her barriers once and for all.

He stroked her outer thigh. How long would she last? How far would she allow this? How long could he endure touching without taking?

Skye relaxed beneath his touch.

Had she already become accustomed to expect pleasure? Or did she feel safe because he’d yet to breach her most intimate areas?

Frustration.

He’d been told to expect it, that he would need things to move quicker than she could accept.

Patience!

That word had been drilled into his head, but the ache to free his cock and climb on top fueled his lust.

He’d once complained about those who took from him, like he was a goddamn giving tree. Then, he’d realized he’d become the taker while Skye gave. Shame had come with that knowledge, and his pursuit to give had begun.

He schooled his cock into submission. It would have to wait.

Skye’s skin flushed beneath his touch, his lips raising goose bumps on her skin. It wasn’t the orgasmic bliss he’d wanted to bestow, but Skye responded.

“Do you like that?” he rumbled.

“I do,” she said with a sigh. “It feels…”

Wonderful? Orgasmic?

“Yes?” He waited for her response.

“Good,” she finally said. “I’m floating. I’ve never felt this relaxed before.”

While he would have preferred a stronger reaction, he would take “good,” if it meant her body wasn’t growing cold under his touch.

“You still trust me?”

“Of course,” she said, sounding much more confident than when they’d begun.

He moved his hand down to cup her mound, and she jerked.

“Only a touch, Skye.”

Her head shook. “I ca-can’t.”

Lifting his palm, he pressed his finger against her lips.

He would take whatever she was willing to give.

Raising the stakes, he trailed his finger along the lines of her neck, falling to her shoulder and moving quickly down her arm until he was skimming her outer thigh. He kissed her hip, breathing in her sweet essence and losing himself in the moment.

A strangled gasp escaped her lips, but she didn’t pull away.

His thoughts in a tailspin, he pursued his goal. First came his hands, followed by the press of his lips. He followed the crease of where her leg joined her hip, moving steadily to her core.

“Ash?” The tremor of her voice wasn’t one of fear but of uncertainty.

Until she withdrew her assent, he would allow his hunger to draw him forward. His world narrowed down to a singular focus, and with every lick, kiss, and caress, he worked to please her.

She barely moved a muscle, and except for the heavy rasp of her breath, she remained silent.

He slipped a finger down, sliding it along her outer folds. Skye tensed, but this time, he didn’t stop. He kissed her mound in what he hoped was a tender gesture and waited for her to relax. When she did, his desire surged forth. He wanted to slip his fingers into her pussy and finger-fuck her into oblivion. Or, even better, he wanted to lap at her core, devouring her sweet nectar.

Instead, he lifted his head and glanced at his wife, giving her a moment to recoup. Lines of tension furrowed her brow, and she bit her lower lip.

Should he stop? Or did he dare to push one step further?

Ash slipped a finger inside her wet heat, sliding between her folds. She arched against him. He should have withdrawn, but her scent drove him wild. He pressed his lips against her clit, desperate to lick, to taste, hungry for anything.

Skye screamed, her hips rising off the bed, forcing her clit to press hard against his mouth. He couldn’t help but lap at her swollen nub.

Suddenly, the reality of the moment crashed through the lust-induced fog of his mind. He’d violated her most precious trust, pushing when he should have withdrawn.

Her body spasmed beneath him. Her cries escalated with each shudder.

And then Skye laughed.

Confused, he sat back. “Skye?”

“Three seconds, Rock star.”

“What?”

“You have three seconds to fuck my brains out.”

He stared down as she lifted her hands and removed the blindfold.

“Did you…” Had she come?

The lilting sound of her laughter filled the room. “Yes, damn it. Yes!”

Jumping off the bed, Ash shimmied out of his pants. Incredulous, he asked, “I did it?”

More laughter as she pulled him back to bed. “Yes. You rocked my world.”

“And the…” He didn’t want to bring up her triggers or the cascade of memories an orgasm brought, but he needed to know.

“Nothing.” Skye lifted up to her elbows, her gaze darting down to his jutting cock. “I felt you. How did you do that?”

He’d explain later. “Didn’t I tell you not to remove that blindfold?”

She nibbled at her lower lip. “You did.”

He wanted to chastise her, but his need for relief overwhelmed him. “God, I love you.”

He plunged into her folds, seating himself deep on the first thrust. Her tight, wet heat stroked his hypersensitive flesh, taking the last vestige of his control. Throwing his weight into his thrusts, he was a runaway force as he took from his bride.

Skye wrapped her legs around his waist, rocking against him. Their lips crashed against each other, as they were desperate to deepen their intimate connection. His hunger drove him forward, and then her words turned him wild.

“More, Ash. I need more. Fuck me like a rock star.”

And he did—until she crashed against him once again. Two orgasms from the woman haunted by triggers of her past.

Somehow, Ash had made Skye his, and he would spend the rest of his days drawing every ounce of pleasure from her body.