seeing someone. She could already have a lover in her life,
a boyfriend, and he’d never know it. They didn’t talk about such personal
things. The notion that she might already be involved with someone and he was
just an itch she needed to scratch sent his thoughts spiraling into a dark pain
he’d never known before.
Geez. He backed away from the mirror, running his hand over
his face and around the back of his neck. He had somehow become a total basket
case in the space of forty-eight hours. He had no idea one woman could wear out
his body, twist his guts into knots, turn his brain to mush, screw with his
carefully ordered life and fill him with aching confusion and emotional pain
the likes of which he’d never known. Of course he should have known that if any
woman could do that, it would be Ainsley.
He stalked softly into the bedroom. She lay facedown on the
mattress. Her hair spilled across the pillows, one arm hung over the side of
the bed. The sheet covered one leg and the curve of her buttocks. His gaze
roamed the creamy expanse of her skin. He saw a couple of small bruises on her
hip. Her skin was so delicate, the marks could have been made by the flogger or
even his fingers. He’d had difficulty containing himself with her. He’d never
seen a woman be so wanton and it called to a primitive part of him.
Aric opened a drawer silently and pulled out a soft, worn
pair of jeans, buttoning himself into them before slipping out of the room.
Standing in front of the coffeepot, watching it drip, he asked himself what
would be acceptable. Let her go home? He didn’t want to but he could do that.
Let her go to another man? No. Fucking. Way. Every cell in his body protested at
that thought. His heart thudded painfully at the very idea.
He poured the coffee into a mug and blew on the surface to
cool it, acknowledging that he had a very big problem. He didn’t want her to be
involved with anyone else. He didn’t want the weekend to end. He didn’t want
Ainsley to leave. To leave him . At the same time, his head was so
mixed-up and his feelings so confused that he didn’t know what to say to her
when it came time for her to leave. He’d never in his life felt such primal
emotions. If he acted on them, he’d walk into his bedroom, take the cuffs out,
chain her to the headboard and flush the key down the drain. The thought scared
him shitless.
“I smell coffee.”
She stood in the bedroom doorway wearing his silk robe, her
chocolate hair a wild, tumbled mess and her peridot eyes fixed downward, her
lush lashes concealing their expression.
The husky tone of her voice stroked his libido, sending his
aching groin into full alert. His entire body came alive with sensation at her
nearness. To cover his undeniable reaction to her, he reached into a cupboard
and took down a mug, filling it with the fragrant brew. He heard her soft
footfalls on the carpet and then the wood floor as she came closer. Drawing a
slight breath and holding it, he turned and held the cup out to her. Wary eyes
met his as she took the cup, her fingertips brushing his briefly. Electricity
crackled within him, his awareness of her arcing higher.
She sipped from the cup and his hungry eyes feasted on the
movement of her lush lips, his own coffee forgotten. He stood staring, blood
rushing in his veins, his heart racing as her scent—that tart citrus aroma
overlaid with the smell of sex—filled his nostrils. She was undeniably marked
with his scent just as her body bore the physical marks of his possession.
Unable to suppress his reaction to the sight and smell of her, he shuddered.
“Aric?”
The soft sound of his name on her lips shattered his
control. Reaching out, he took the mug from her and set it on the counter. He
wrapped one hand around the back of her neck, his body beginning to shake as
his bare palm touched her nape. Pulling her against his chest, he bent his head
and took her mouth with his. Contentment laced with an all-consuming
a boyfriend, and he’d never know it. They didn’t talk about such personal
things. The notion that she might already be involved with someone and he was
just an itch she needed to scratch sent his thoughts spiraling into a dark pain
he’d never known before.
Geez. He backed away from the mirror, running his hand over
his face and around the back of his neck. He had somehow become a total basket
case in the space of forty-eight hours. He had no idea one woman could wear out
his body, twist his guts into knots, turn his brain to mush, screw with his
carefully ordered life and fill him with aching confusion and emotional pain
the likes of which he’d never known. Of course he should have known that if any
woman could do that, it would be Ainsley.
He stalked softly into the bedroom. She lay facedown on the
mattress. Her hair spilled across the pillows, one arm hung over the side of
the bed. The sheet covered one leg and the curve of her buttocks. His gaze
roamed the creamy expanse of her skin. He saw a couple of small bruises on her
hip. Her skin was so delicate, the marks could have been made by the flogger or
even his fingers. He’d had difficulty containing himself with her. He’d never
seen a woman be so wanton and it called to a primitive part of him.
Aric opened a drawer silently and pulled out a soft, worn
pair of jeans, buttoning himself into them before slipping out of the room.
Standing in front of the coffeepot, watching it drip, he asked himself what
would be acceptable. Let her go home? He didn’t want to but he could do that.
Let her go to another man? No. Fucking. Way. Every cell in his body protested at
that thought. His heart thudded painfully at the very idea.
He poured the coffee into a mug and blew on the surface to
cool it, acknowledging that he had a very big problem. He didn’t want her to be
involved with anyone else. He didn’t want the weekend to end. He didn’t want
Ainsley to leave. To leave him . At the same time, his head was so
mixed-up and his feelings so confused that he didn’t know what to say to her
when it came time for her to leave. He’d never in his life felt such primal
emotions. If he acted on them, he’d walk into his bedroom, take the cuffs out,
chain her to the headboard and flush the key down the drain. The thought scared
him shitless.
“I smell coffee.”
She stood in the bedroom doorway wearing his silk robe, her
chocolate hair a wild, tumbled mess and her peridot eyes fixed downward, her
lush lashes concealing their expression.
The husky tone of her voice stroked his libido, sending his
aching groin into full alert. His entire body came alive with sensation at her
nearness. To cover his undeniable reaction to her, he reached into a cupboard
and took down a mug, filling it with the fragrant brew. He heard her soft
footfalls on the carpet and then the wood floor as she came closer. Drawing a
slight breath and holding it, he turned and held the cup out to her. Wary eyes
met his as she took the cup, her fingertips brushing his briefly. Electricity
crackled within him, his awareness of her arcing higher.
She sipped from the cup and his hungry eyes feasted on the
movement of her lush lips, his own coffee forgotten. He stood staring, blood
rushing in his veins, his heart racing as her scent—that tart citrus aroma
overlaid with the smell of sex—filled his nostrils. She was undeniably marked
with his scent just as her body bore the physical marks of his possession.
Unable to suppress his reaction to the sight and smell of her, he shuddered.
“Aric?”
The soft sound of his name on her lips shattered his
control. Reaching out, he took the mug from her and set it on the counter. He
wrapped one hand around the back of her neck, his body beginning to shake as
his bare palm touched her nape. Pulling her against his chest, he bent his head
and took her mouth with his. Contentment laced with an all-consuming
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