Page 14 of Only for You
That had been the night before the ambush and he’d been robbed of two years of humanity.
“I was okay before I went inside.” Pain, grief, and anger coalesced in his chest, the hot ball of emotion swirling, pushing against his rib cage. “But after a month in the hole, any small space feels like six feet of dirt is crushing my chest. I couldn’t even stand up straight in that cell, couldn’t inhale a breath that didn’t taste of piss or sweat. Shut in twenty-three hours a day, I almost lost my mind as well as my voice.”
Her low sigh reverberated in the room like a boom, and the heaviness in it almost penetrated the glacial wall that encased his heart. “Killian, you have no reason to believe or trust me. But I didn’t mean to harm you. I definitely didn’t intend for you to be locked up for two years. Or to suffer and lose so much.”
“Really?” He arched an eyebrow. “And just what did you think would happen when you called the police? That they would come out and tell us all to just mosey along?” he drawled, the familiar anger rekindling inside him.
“I wasn’t thinking,” she admitted in a low voice. “I was scared as hell, and I didn’t think past saving you from being shot down.”
Killian nodded, his gaze solemn. “But it still comes down to you not trusting me to not endanger myself or you. To you not believing I would make the correct choice for both of us. Which I did. I arrived in time to convince Jamie that it wasn’t safe to go ahead with the meeting. But then the cops showed up and took us all to the station to ‘straighten things out,’” he sneered, his bitterness with the police still eating away at him. “You know what happened after that.” The helplessness and powerlessness that had drowned him at the time clawed up his chest. “So whatever your intentions, they were for shit.” He shook his head, slicing a hand through the air. “Now unless you’ve changed your mind, we’re through talking.”
He waited a heartbeat, the silence deafening. A surge of lust, satisfaction, and that deeper emotion he refused to acknowledge roared through him when she remained quiet. He kept offering her an out, abhorring the thought that he might be forcing her. She needed to be willing, needed to want this as much as him. Because he couldn’t turn back, couldn’t rescind his offer. Some freak twist of fate had provided him with the perfect excuse for stroking her soft skin, sucking those pert, perfect breasts, kissing and fucking that pretty pussy without getting emotionally on the hook.
Everything he did to her tonight was about finally getting her out of his system, not love. Loving her had taught him that vulnerability and weakness weren’t options. Trust in the wrong person, showing that person your soft underbelly, only meant devastation. One of his cell mates, a wannabe philosopher from Brighton, had been fond of quoting the Greek historian and general, Thucydides: The strong do what they can and the weak suffer what they must. While in prison, he’d had to suffer his two-year sentence, but when he got out, he’d been determined to never be at anyone’s mercy again. Not the mob’s, not the police’s…not love’s. As long as he kept his heart uninvolved, he could do whatever the hell he wanted. He was in control.
So after tonight, he would finally evict Gabriella from his memories, his dreams. He would be Gabriella James free.
Yet, as he stared at her loveliness, he had to thrust his fingers in his hair, loosening the bun at the back, to keep from reaching out to her…dragging her close, holding her so tight his arms grew numb. And he would still hold her.
“Lose the shirt,” he ordered. Lust reignited in his gut, thickening his voice.
She stared at him, and he carefully studied her for any hint of indecision or fear. The need to strap her down and spread her wide, render her vulnerable, clawed at the underside of his skin, but if he caught even a trace of uncertainty or anxiety, he’d walk her out of The Loft and the club himself.
But she barely hesitated as she started to unbutton her shirt. Except for dropping his arms, he didn’t move—couldn’t move—every bit of his attention focused on the skin she exposed. He’d already had his mouth on her sweet flesh, but the need to see her lovely, full breasts with their cherry-colored tips rode him hard. Already he could feel her nipples pebbling against his tongue. Eyes fixed on her, he dragged the tails of his shirt free and undid the buttons.
“Keep going, Gabriella,” he instructed when her fingers paused, her gaze centered on his chest. “Take it off. The bra, too.”
As if his words galvanized her, she finished and shrugged out of the top, and the black, plain bra quickly followed. No frills. But with that body, she didn’t need any. He locked down the harsh exhalation of breath that filled his lungs. Lace and silk would seem frivolous and gratuitous against the beauty of her lean, runner’s body. Slender shoulders; firm breasts with large, dark red nipples; tucked in waist; flat belly; a feminine flare of hips; and long, toned legs. And then there was the neatly trimmed triangle of black hair that still glistened with her wetness.
He quickly leashed the hunger that snapped and bit at the reins restraining it. His first impulse was to leap across the space separating them, take her down to the floor, and cover her with his body before thrusting so deep inside her she would bear the imprint of him on her for weeks, months, years. But instead, he maintained his distance, desperately mending the tattered edges of his control.
Nodding toward the other side of the room, he said, “Over there.”
She followed his nod, and when her eyes lit on the piece of pine and leather furniture propped next to the wall, they widened before jerking back to him. “What the hell…?”
He allowed the corner of his mouth to curl up in a mocking, half smile. “Never seen a spanking bench before? That’s right. We never used one.” He lost the smile, couldn’t keep the facade when arousal hummed through him like a live wire. “You’re about to get up close and personal with one. Unless you…”
He arched an eyebrow, offering her an out once again. Although part of him chanted,Give me this. Please, give me this.
She stood there, glancing between him and the bench. Finally, when he thought she would balk, she gave him one last look, then crossed the carpeted floor. The need knotting his gut went from searing to supernova. Currents raced up and down his spine, sizzling in the small of his back. His palms itched with the need to have her tender flesh under his hand. The primal urge to have her surrender all that strength and grace to his keeping, his pleasure…it tore at him.
“Wait,” he rasped as she propped a knee on one of the leather pads.
He strode over to the big armoire in the corner of the room, and pulled free the bottom drawer. With care, he selected the items he would need before opening one of the armoire’s doors. Seconds later, he removed a slender, small paddle and placed everything on the bed, within easy reach. Ripping the package of one item open, he gently pulled the purple butterfly vibrator free. The exact color of her eyes.
“Killian,” she whispered, her wary gaze focused on the pretty sex toy.
He didn’t reply, instead covered the distance between them in several short steps and knelt in front of her. Grasping her ankle, he lifted her foot and slipped it through the straps, then repeated the same motion with the other foot. Wordlessly, he slid the flexible straps up her legs and settled them around her upper thighs and hips like an erotic garter belt. This close, he could inhale her heavy, delicious scent, and he surrendered to the temptation for a weak moment, trailing his fingers through her wet slit, and eliciting a low gasp from Gabriella. She trembled above him, her slim thighs shivering, and he quickly adjusted the body of the butterfly directly over her clit.
“What’s your safe word?” he asked, rising. Already, her lilac gaze darkened, and her plush lips trembled. His mind supplied the taste of that mouth—a combination of the spearmint gum she’d religiously chewed at work, the sweetness of the apple-flavored candy she had a weakness for, and her. It would be so easy for him to lean in and take her mouth, to indulge in one of those messy, wild kisses that had been a prelude to sex… But lovers kissed. And though they would definitely fuck tonight, they weren’t lovers.
As if reading his thoughts, she turned her head and murmured, “Whiskey.”
For the first drink she’d ever served him. And the same word and reason she’d given him when he’d asked her for a safe word years ago.
He didn’t reply for several moments. Couldn’t. Emotion gripped him in its fist as memories of a different time and place bombarded him. He hated the intrusion of the past on the here and now. If he was going to see this through, he needed to stay grounded in the present because the past was a trip wire that would explode in his face.
“Fine.” With a grip he tried to convince himself was impersonal, he helped her climb on the bench. Positioned each knee on the slender but thick pads. Bent her over the wider plank, making sure her pelvis didn’t press against the cushioned wood. Placed her hands on the second sets of pads beneath her head. After a few adjustments for height and comfort, he buckled the leather straps over her ankles and wrists, securing her to the bondage horse.
