Page 29 of Leather & Lies

Predictably, Eden breaks the tension. “Well, I bet the sex is phenomenal at least. All that intensity has to go somewhere.” She winks.

The bourbon burns in my throat as I swallow too quickly. “About that,” I murmur into my glass.

“About what?” Eden asks.

“Hasn’t—we haven’t slept together.” The admission hangs in the air. “That’s a lie. We sleep together, but we’ve only had sex once.”

Three pairs of eyes widen in shock.

“But it’s been what—almost two weeks?” Blair asks.

Heat floods my cheeks. “He’s waiting for something. Makingmewait.”

Eden’s mouth forms a perfect O. “That’s—” She struggles for words. “Actually kind of hot.”

Blair’s grinning. She’s married to an asshole of a cowboy too—a billionaire she fell in love with while she was supposed to be handing him over to the SEC. “It can be super hot,” she says.

“It’s control,” I say, understanding blooming as I speak. “He wants me desperate enough to beg for it.”

Autumn snorts. “And will you?”

Will I? The hunger that builds when he touches me, when his hand curls around my throat, when his body presses against mine—it’s becoming harder to resist with each passing day.

“I don’t know,” I admit.

The conversation shifts after that, my friends updating me on town gossip, their own lives. Morgan’s determination tojuggle her ranch and her mother’s health problems. Eden’s latest dating disaster and the veterinary clinic. Blair remains unusually quiet, her expression thoughtful as she watches me.

It’s normal—the life I had before Jackson Hawkins upended everything.

At quarter to three, I stand, catching the way Blair studies me with concern. I know she’s thinking of all the women she’s helped through her non-profit—women in situations not so different from mine. After a chorus of goodbyes, I smile and take my leave.

Outside, I pause at the bus station, where a bus waits, ready to depart for the city. A text lights up my phone.

Blair

Bus leaves in 15. I’ll find a way to loan you the money to save the ranch.

I stare at the message, my thumb hovering over the screen. Something keeps me rooted in place, and it’s not fear of what Jackson would do if he found me. He’d punish me, but he’d never hurt me, not truly. Of that I was certain.

It’s his restraint when he could take whatever he wants. It’s curiosity about what this agreement between us could become. And in the deepest, darkest part of my soul, I admit to myself that Morgan’s right. Every once in a while, it’s a relief to let go, even if it’s when he forces me to my knees.

I turn away from the bus and walk toward his truck, where Jackson is already waiting, leaning against the driver’s side, his posture deceptively casual. His eyes catalog every inch of me as I approach, searching for signs of I don’t even know what. Rebellion? Escape plans?

“Right on time,” he says, and I’m surprised at the relief in his voice. Just as surprised that I’m glad to see him.

He opens my door, his hand brushing the small of my back as I climb in—a casual touch that still sends heat spiraling through me.

The drive back is as quiet as the journey in. The ranch appears on the horizon, sprawling and beautiful in the afternoon light. We pull into the gravel driveway in front of his house, and he jumps out to open my door and help me down, my body sliding against his, heat sparking between us.

I should be furious. I shouldn’t have to ask to see my friends. I shouldn’t be grateful that he let me out of my prison for a few short hours.

So I stand there, staring up at him, our bodies pressed together against the side of the truck.

Finally, he steps back, his expression unreadable. “Dinner’s at 7,” he says.

Right.

Naked.

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