Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
I’m seriously struggling to stay awake on the ride back from the lake house, full from dinner and exhausted from the emotional and physical releases this day has ripped from my body.
Part of me wishes we’d stayed the night at the lake, but Gareth probably has to be in the office early tomorrow, and I definitely need to get back to my hotel room and refocus on reality.
My head lolls against the headrest, and I replay the last forty-eight hours. How did I ever believe having him touch me again would help me get over him? How did I not know exactly what would happen?
I guess I never really thought I’d get the chance to find out. There’s safety in fantasies.
“What are you thinking about?” he asks.
“How totally off the rails everything has gone since I came back here.”
“You really think so?”
My phone buzzes, and when I pull it from my purse, the name on the screen makes me forget Gareth’s question. “Jerry, hi. How are you?”
The words I hear on the other end wake me up completely, bring me back to reality in an instant.
“Yeah, sounds great. I’ll get a flight out tomorrow.” One glance at Gareth and I know he’s not pleased about what I’ve just said. “Sure. See you then.”
“Tomorrow, huh?”
“That was a restaurant owner I’ve been trying to work with for months. I thought they’d gone with someone else. But the job’s mine, apparently. I’ve got to fly to Philadelphia for a few days. Shit, this is short notice. I don’t even have time to go home and repack.”
“Book your flight and then see where you’re at. Maybe you’ll have time to do some shopping in the morning. But for what it’s worth, it seems like what you’ve worn the last few days would be fine. If you need to wash clothes, you can do it at my place.”
“That would be great, actually. Thank you.”
“Anything to keep you close a bit longer.”
He drives to The Monarch instead of his office so I can pick up my car. “Grab your stuff and check out. You’re spending your last night in town in my bed.”
As much as I pride myself on being independent and living by my own rules, his tone when he speaks to me like that, as if he has the ultimate say, liquifies my strength. And nothing within me wants to change that.
“Okay. I’ll just be a few minutes.”
“I’ll be right here.” His grin is self-assured in a way that should infuriate me, and it does to some degree.
But it’s really myself I’m mad at, not him.
I should’ve never gotten in the elevator and gone up to his office, should’ve never played out that what if because there was another one right behind it, and another and another.
. .it’s like living inside a set of nesting dolls with him.
What lies inside this scenario, and what will happen after that one, and then what comes after this one? I can’t imagine it ever reaching an end. Every shell reveals a center more intricate and interesting than the last, and I need to force an end to it.
I will. It will be easier once I’m gone. This job came along at exactly the right time. I’m just a flight away from returning to normalcy, or my version of it, anyway.
Housekeeping has left my hotel room pristine. The bed is ready for the next guest. When I checked in, I was anxious and bitter. Checking out, the bitterness is subdued, but the anxiety has just found a new catalyst. Progress?
Gareth steps out of the car when he sees me returning. He puts my suitcase in his trunk, and then he kisses me like we’ve been apart for days.
Is this what it would be like if I came back here instead of going home? We are out in the open for anyone to see, and he doesn’t care, just keeps kissing me like he wants to devour me right here in this parking lot, like he can’t get enough.
We.
Like we can’t get enough.
Jesus, what is wrong with me? Coming back here is not an option. I should’ve never deviated from my original plan: tie up loose ends and walk away clean.
I break the kiss, struggle against his effort to keep my mouth on his.
“That pedestal might be higher than you thought,” I say. “Take me to your place and let’s burn it the fuck down and end this for both of us.”
“Oh, sweet girl. We can’t fuck this away. In fact, every time I fuck you, it’s going to have the exact opposite effect.”
“Why are you so goddamn arrogant?”
“Because I’m right. Get in the car. Let’s go home.”
* * *
His kitchen glows as we step in from the garage. The soft under-cabinet lighting is soothing. In the living room, a floor lamp emits an amber halo over a leather chair in the corner. It’s a perfect chair for reading, or napping.
“You like that chair?” Gareth asks.
“Yeah, it has a welcoming vibe. Your whole house does, actually.”
“Good, because you are most definitely welcome here. Take your clothes off and put them in the wash.”
“I was just going to wash the ones in my bag.”
“Are you disobeying me?” His eyes hood, but his jaw tightens and his shoulders draw back.
I bite the inside of my bottom lip and tell myself not to play along, to break this bond that’s intensifying way too fast, right here and now. Deny him.
He unbuckles his belt and whips it free of his pants, folds it over and snaps it taut. The crack of the leather makes my decision for me.
I walk back from the laundry room naked. He’s still holding the belt. My nipples harden when he nods at the chair in the corner. I move to the chair with my back to him, expecting to kneel on the cushion, but he stops me and turns me around, pushes me to sit down in the chair instead.
“Lean back and put your arms over your head.”
I do as he says, and he climbs onto the chair with me, his knees caging my legs. He pushes my hands back farther behind my head, weaves the belt between my wrists until it’s tight and secures them around the lamp pole. This binding isn’t symbolic.
I can’t get out of this one.
“I’ll be right back. Don’t go anywhere.”
His wink in the dim light sparks goosebumps over my body as if he’s tossed them onto me like confetti. His open-concept floorplan provides a clear view into the kitchen, so it’s no surprise when he returns holding a cup of ice in one hand, and a taper candle and lighter in the other.
But watching him approach holding those items has me squirming already.
“Relax, sweet girl.”
“I don’t think you actually want me relaxed.”
His laugh is ominous. “You always were smart.”
He sets everything on the side table to free his hands, and touches an ice cube to my bottom lip, traces my mouth with it.
“And gorgeous. Your hot mouth is melting this ice on contact.”
Cold water drips down my chin.
“You want to play, don’t you?”
I lick the ice cube. “Yes, Daddy.”
He slips the ice inside my mouth, and I hold it on my tongue while I watch him light the wick.
“You look so pretty in candlelight,” he says, bringing the candle close to my face. Water trickles from my mouth, and I shiver as it drops to my chest.
“Was that cold?” he asks, tipping the candle to let a thin drip of hot liquid follow. The wax forms a soft bead when it meets the cold water on my skin. Gareth rights the candle to let more wax liquify.
I take a deep breath in anticipation of where he’ll spill it next.
My spine undulates like a wave, and he presses his palm flat between my ribs.
“Are you nervous?” he teases. “Lie still like a good girl. You know I’m not going to hurt you. Don’t you?”
I nod, keeping my eyes on the wax quivering at the lip of the candle. His gaze follows mine, and he twirls the taper, letting a tiny trail of wax run down the sides to his fingers.
And then he pours the rest over my left nipple. My pussy clenches along with my jaw.
“Relax, Jewel.”
He rubs ice over the wax to harden it for a few seconds, and then he pours again, starting higher this time so it meets unprotected skin before it joins the first layer. The melting ice cube slides down my body and comes to rest between my legs.
Gareth looks at what remains of it and smiles. He bends down to take the ice into his mouth, and a bit of wax splashes between my breasts.
His cold mouth closes over my bare nipple. He peels the wax off the other as he sucks on this one. Then he pulls his mouth away and coats the nipple he’s just chilled with hot wax. The one he’s freed from the wax stings in the open air.
They’re both still sore from all the attention he’s already given them, but this is a different kind of discomfort, so fleeting, and the desire to feel it again is immediate, to determine which is better (or worse): the ice or the heat.
He recoats my nipple and lets the residual melted wax dribble between my ribs, creating a sparse trail down my abdomen.
“Open your legs.”
He repositions himself between my knees so I can’t close them.
The ice on my pussy is intense, a cold burn, and knowing the level of heat that will follow causes my legs to shake. He teases my clit with the ice before running it back and forth between my seam to let it melt more rapidly.
Holding what’s left of the cube against my clit, he stares into my eyes. I’m not sure how much longer I can take this cryo-torture, but I keep my eyes wide open and fixed on his. It’s impossible to be completely still.
A spritz of wax hits my stomach when I shiver. My spine bows in response and sinks me deeper into the chair, but there is no escape, not with my wrists restrained above my head. I’m defenseless, aside from the word I’m not ready to say.
He would definitely take it as a compliment right now. I’m unclaimed territory, and this is him, conquering me, but I can’t relent completely.
The challenging look in my eyes is all I have to throw back at him right now, but I’m sending it with all the obstinate resolve I possess.
You can’t break me.
Hot wax engulfs my clit, and fire and ice duel across my nerve endings as it runs down over my tender skin. My spine reverses and arches, my body rising up in search of relief—or something more.