Chapter 11 Harper
HARPER
Nate is quiet in the car, and I’m distracted.
It’s hard to keep a straight head when I’m surrounded by him like this, by his smell and the sounds of his breathing and the sheer presence of him next to me in this small, confined space.
It’s overwhelming, to sit so close to him, to share the same air.
To feel his body heat coming off of him in waves.
I try to focus on something else instead.
Nate’s car is sleek and foreign, the cushioned seats a buttery soft leather.
I know nothing about cars but even I can tell that this is a nice one.
Maybe I should ask him about it. Maybe he’s one of those guys who adores his vehicle and he’ll open up if I get him talking.
I glance over at him and the hard set of his jaw has butterflies careening through my stomach. “You look so angry,” I blurt out.
His jaw clenches. “I am angry.”
I watch him for a long moment as his eyes remain glued to the road, waiting for him to elaborate, to explain. When he doesn’t, I clear my throat. “Should I be worried about that?”
He finally glances over at me, his eyes flashing as we pass under a lamp post. “You should be very worried about it.”
I swallow, looking away. I can’t seem to reconcile the feelings surging through me. I don’t like the thought of him angry at me, don’t want to disappoint him. But should I actually be worried? Nate wouldn’t hurt me.
Well, not unless I wanted him to.
And that thought makes me feel even more confused. Because I know that there’s a part of me that does want him to. Very much.
“We’re here,” he mutters, interrupting my musing as he pulls up to the curb. I glance up, seeing a dark townhouse looming in front of us. There are no lights on inside. I swallow.
“Harper.”
I tear my eyes away from my window to look back at him. I can’t read the expression on his face. Is he still angry? Does he want me? Why am I here?
His eyes search my face for a long moment, as if he’s looking for something, before he turns away. “Come along.”
As we make our way across the sidewalk, my nervousness about his mood is briefly eclipsed by curiosity.
I’m about to see Nate’s house, and I have no idea what to expect.
The townhouse is unassuming from the outside, but I know property like this, in this neighborhood, speaks of a great amount of wealth.
Of course I had googled him. I’d typed Jonathan Chase the Third into my phone mere minutes after leaving brunch with him and Mason that first day.
So I know that he has money, even beyond what he might earn as a popular author.
Apparently, his family owns some multinational conglomerate company—whatever the heck that means—and they’re rolling in dough.
From the looks of this house, that much is obvious.
I wonder what it will be like inside. Grand and opulent? Minimalist and stark? Neither of those options seem like him. Then again, I don’t actually know him very well.
The thought sends a shiver over me as we reach the front door.
I don’t know him very well at all, yet here I am.
About to go into his house with him, alone.
Emma had seemed really worried for me when I told her I was leaving with him, only relaxing when I explained that Nate knew my brother Mason and was therefore unlikely to murder me in his own home.
Still, I can’t help but feel a sharp spike of fear as he slides his key into the lock, the sound ominous. That same warning to run that I’d heard in my head the night we met comes back to me.
If Nate notices my nerves, he doesn’t say anything, merely gesturing me inside once he has the door open. I step through, barely making it two steps into the flagstone foyer before he’s on me, pushing me up against the wall, his breath hot and heavy on my face as he leans in.
“Here’s what’s going to happen, Harper,” he says, his low voice sending sparks down to the center of me. “Since you’re so fucking eager to explore this lifestyle, consider tonight your test run.”
“My…my what?”
He leans in even closer, his hands clutching my upper arms, my back pressed flat against the wall. “You’re going to do exactly what I say. You’re not going to complain or ask questions. Do you understand?”
Holy shit, I’m on fire for him. I’d seen little glimpses of this Nate before, this bossy, demanding alpha. But never had he been so overt, so bold about it. He’s basically offering to do the very thing I’ve been dreaming about—to dominate me.
He shakes me a little. “I asked you a question. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” I whisper, meeting his eyes. There’s so much emotion in their blue depths—anger, frustration, and a whole lot of desire. At my response he breathes out and I can’t help thinking the sound is a little relieved.
“There are rules.”
I nod, so eager for him to continue I have to shove my hands behind my back to keep from touching him.
“Normally I would talk to you about limits and contracts before things go any farther. But we’re already way past that, wouldn’t you agree?” He waits for me to nod. “So we’ll do this, instead—if at any time you want me to stop, you simply tell me. You can also ask me to slow down or pause.”
“No safe word?” I murmur, surprised by his words. I hadn’t expected a man like him to throw out the conventions so easily.
“You don’t need it. Not tonight. Tell me to stop and I stop. Tell me no and I stop. Tell me to slow down and I will. Understand?”
I nod, feeling his fingers tighten on my arms, loving the roughness of it. He leans closer, his lips hovering over my ear now. “Unless you ask me to stop or slow down, you will do as you’re told. You will not complain. You will follow all instructions. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
One of his hands releases my arm and I feel a slight sting as he smacks it against the side of my ass. “One more rule,” he whispers. “While we’re doing this, you will call me sir.”
The command sends a shot of desire straight to my core. “Yes, sir.”
He releases me, his eyes wide and clearly excited, his breathing heavy. I know that he’s every bit as aroused by this as I am, and the realization has a surge of power running through me. He wants me. This beautiful, angry, demanding man wants me.
“Go into the living room,” he says, tilting his chin to the left to show me which way. “Stand in front of the couch. And take off your clothes.” His eyes have gone so dark, so intense, and I feel my breath hitch in my chest. “Do it. Now.”
I’m not sure my legs are strong enough to get me there, but I turn in the direction he had indicated. Nate doesn’t follow me right away but the lights come on in the foyer behind me, giving me enough illumination to see my way into the living room.
There’s a fireplace on one wall, a dark couch opposite it.
The decor in the room is colorful. Warm.
Before I can look around too closely, I feel Nate’s presence behind me and I hurry to take my place in front of the couch.
He watches from the doorway as I move to the buttons on my blouse, my fingers trembling.
I pull the top over my head and my hands go to the bra clasp.
“No,” he interrupts me. “Skirt first.”
Nate comes into the room as I work on the zipper of my skirt, turning on a side lamp as he makes his way to the couch. He passes close enough to touch but says nothing, grabbing a remote as he takes a seat on the couch. He presses a button and the unmistakable sound of a fire crackles behind me.
My fingers feel clumsy as I work my zipper but I finally get it free, bending as I pull the tight skirt down to my ankles.
I briefly glance up at Nate’s face, finding his eyes fixed on my breasts, which are basically spilling from the cups of my black lace bra as I lean toward him.
I swallow thickly, kicking off my skirt and straightening.
Nate is settled on the couch now, looking comfortable and at ease, expression unreadable. His gaze flicks up and down my body. “Now your bra.”
My heart is pounding wildly as I reach behind me to undo the clasp, then slide each strap down my arms, letting the garment fall away from my body. There’s an audible intake of breath from the couch and I try to hide the smirk that threatens at his reaction.
“Don’t move,” he whispers hoarsely, standing. He crosses the few steps to me, eyes never leaving my body. When he’s close enough, he reaches out and ghosts his fingertips over the swell of my breasts. Involuntarily, I close my eyes, my head falling back.
“Open your eyes.”
I meet his gaze and heat pools between my legs.
There’s intensity in his eyes, pure fire that threatens to scorch me.
I’m more than a little afraid and so, so aroused.
I love how much he wants me. Without breaking eye contact, he squeezes my breasts, gently at first, and then with increasing pressure.
Just as it begins to hurt, he slides his hands down, thumbs brushing my nipples as they descend, making me whimper slightly.
His hands are so large, it feels like they could cover every inch of me as he slides them down over my belly and around my sides, igniting my skin everywhere he touches.
He squeezes my hips briefly, and then gently turns my body, directing me to face away from him.
Behind me, his hands continue roaming, feather-light now as they smooth over my back, my shoulders, my waist. Teasing me.
When he reaches my ass he rubs me gently over the lace—thank God I thought to put on a matching set—and then he removes his hands from my body.
I feel the absence of his skin on mine acutely.
For several long moments, he doesn’t touch me and the tension inside me ramps up.
I can feel him behind me, can feel the heat of his gaze on my skin.
So why doesn’t he touch me? He finally begins to move, slowly walking around me, staring at me, inspecting my body, gaze roaming over every inch—and still never touching me.