35. Catriona
Thirty Five
Catriona
My nose tickles. I lift my hand to rub it, but my hand is heavy and my shoulder sore, and too sleepy, I’m unable to figure out why that may be. The tickling is back, and annoyed, I scrunch up my nose and try to wiggle it.
A low chuckle.
I open my eyes and stare right into the smiling face of my boss. The morning sun makes his eyes appear translucent green. Between his fingers, he has a lock of my hair.
“Morning, sleepyhead.”
Despite his cheerful face, his voice is gruff.
I stretch beside him in his super-sized bed, finding that it’s not just my shoulder that’s sore – everything aches.
“How do you feel? Are you okay?” Rian asks, his tone full of concern as he scans my face.
“I’m okay.” My cheeks heat and I bite my lip, shy as memories of last night flood back. “A little sore all over, but I guess that’s to be expected.”
He chuckles again, planting a soft kiss on my shoulder. “If you weren’t sore, I wouldn’t have done my job properly.” He turns serious again. “You sure you’re not in any real pain?”
I shake my head. “I’m fine.” I’m not going to give him any reasons not to repeat last night. He nudges my nose with his own and gives me a soft, languid kiss.
He hesitates. “Any regrets?”
“None.” A smile spreads across my face that’s matched with the one on his – a smile that takes my breath away.
“You hungry?”
“Starving.”
As Rian heads into the kitchen to rustle up something to eat, I get up and stand in front of the floor-to-ceiling mirror.
There are no signs of the flogging, none whatsoever, but there are some red stripes from the rope, one in particular from my hip bone down along my slit.
I remember how I rubbed my legs together, desperately chasing that high, how my body bucked in its restraints as he fucked me.
Twice.
I brush over my nipple that is all puffy, and the blood rushes faster through my veins, remembering how he tied my wrists and ankles to the four corners of the bed, that second time, spreadeagled for him to use as he wished.
And he did. I pulled at my bindings as he fucked me while slapping my breasts that were framed in the blue rope, pinching my nipples – painfully so – something that shouldn’t feel good.
Yet it did, and as I was about to come, he pulled out and started slapping my pussy.
I howled at the fierce sting, yet I was embarrassed at how the wetness kept trickling out of me, how I tilted my hips to give him better access…
How I pleaded with him for more. He made me come then on his cock.
I was exhausted, but Rian was far from finished.
It was a good while later when he let me come again.
I almost blacked out at the force, barely hearing Rian’s roar that echoed between the walls in the small room.
Was the woman enjoying being tied up and used really me?
I quickly freshen up in the white marble en-suite with its double sinks and clawfoot bathtub. The t-shirt and pyjama bottoms Rian has left out for me are several sizes too large, but comfortable.
Rian doesn’t notice me when I enter the kitchen, and I enjoy watching him unguarded as he moves around the large modern units.
His beautiful features are softer than normal, and nothing like the hungry wolf-like expression he wore last night while flogging me.
Dressed similarly to me, the clothes do nothing to hide his ripped body.
Finally lifting his head in my direction, his defined chest expands as his gaze rakes down my body. My pulse picks up again.
His tongue traces his lower lip. “I like you in my clothes, Cat.”
My cheeks warm. “What are you making? Is it a culinary delight that you’ve picked up from your many travels?”
His lip twitches at my attempt at distracting him.
“You’re in for a treat, Miss Taylor. Homemade pancakes, taught to me by my granny Róisín when I was four.” His voice lowers and his eyes turn a shade darker. “But looking at you, I should have offered strawberries and cream instead.”
Butterflies take flight and my cheeks heat even more. I clear my throat twice, my voice traitorously weak. “Pancakes will be just fine, thank you. Can I help?”
He raises an eyebrow and keeps a half smile on his face.
“No. Secret recipe. Sit.” He motions to the granite kitchen island and keeps a watchful eye on me as I try to hide my wince when sitting down. With drawn brows, he picks up a packet of painkillers from a drawer and silently sets it and a glass of water in front of me.
“I’m fine,” I reiterate, but still take the offered pills.
Rian joins me shortly after with a stack of pancakes so high I can’t help but laugh.
He grins. “I worked up an appetite last night.”
For the third time this morning, my cheeks burn. Apparently, I worked up an appetite too. The pancakes soaked in syrup are pure pleasure, and we chat lightly while devouring the whole pile.
Although we’re trying to trip each other up, just like in the office, it’s now done playfully, with laughter and teasing. I’m at ease in his company, and I have to stop myself from tracing syrup from his lips or running my fingers through his messy hair.
I tell him the story of how I came to buy my expensive apartment, laughing at how it’s left me completely broke, but that I’ve got almost no regrets.
His eyes narrow when I mention how stupid I’d been, spending money I expected to have from a promotion that never materialised.
He, on the other hand, tells me he’s contemplating finding somewhere else to live, despite the views over the Docklands that I rave about.
“Until recently I would have said that this apartment suited you perfectly,” I tease. “Over the top, cold and impersonal.”
Rian snorts. “I’ve had similar thoughts about your apartment. I thought an uninviting, sterile one, like mine, would suit you. But your home is just perfect. Warm, inviting, tight, hot…”
I laugh and push at his shoulder. “You have a dirty, dirty mind, Mr Kearney.”
He grins widely. “You better believe it, Miss Taylor.”
“You and your mind belong in a gutter.”
“A gutter?” He huffs. “You know Rian means king in Irish, right?”
I snort. “It means little king.”
“There’s nothing little about me.” He narrows his eyes and I bite down on my lip. “I think I need to prove it to you one more time.”
“I think you may as I can’t remember.”
Butterflies take off in my stomach as he grabs the rolled-up waistband of my pyjamas. Without hesitation he pushes his hand down between my legs, then he whispers, “Are you too sore?”
“Only one way to find out,” I gasp then squeal as he hefts me over his shoulder, his hand still between my legs, and carries me to the bedroom.
My trousers are pulled off in one swift move as soon as I’m thrown on the bed. He straddles me and leans over to his bedside table.
“Condoms and lube.” He holds them up with a cheeky grin.
“You’re well prepared, Mr Kearney!”
His grin turns a bit shy before he shocks me by admitting, “You’re the first woman I’ve brought home.” Then with more bravado he continues, “If this tube of lube delivers what it promises, then this mattress will finally see some action!”
It did deliver.
* * *
A heavy sigh lifts my head on Rian’s chest and brings me out of my half slumber. Our limbs are entangled and I’m officially sore.
I can’t believe he’s never brought anyone home before. It makes sense, though, if he normally gets his thrills in the club. There’s no need to take anyone home. But the fact that I am the first makes my heart swell dangerously.
Long fingers that can play my body better than my own push stray strands of hair from my face. I tilt my head and find Rian looking down at me.
“As much as I’d like to spend the day with you, right here, I do have plans for tonight. And as much as I’d like to see you tomorrow, the famously entertaining Kearney Sunday lunch is on the programme.” He makes a face.
My stomach plummets, and doubt and distrust resurface with the reminder of last weekend, when he’d been with Alexandra. Yes, Alexandra, the constant elephant in the room. Who is he meeting tonight? I force a smile.
“That’s fine. After this last round, I think I’m out of action for a couple of days, anyway.” I twist my lips and cross my eyes for effect.
Rian barks out a laugh and presses a kiss to my shoulder.
“Yeah, sorry about that. Or maybe not so sorry,” he adds with a smile, which earns him a playful swat. “Do you have any plans for the rest of the weekend?”
Coldly, I reply, “Why, Mr Kearney? You know my social life consists of nights in front of the TV and long runs to let off some steam.”
“Miss Taylor, I think you can now add nights at The Bureau to your social life.”
* * *
Back in my own apartment in the late afternoon, after having spent a couple of hours with Daniel, I sit with my laptop and do my usual weekend activity – online editing.
Impulsively, I grab my phone and call one of the girls in my running club. They’d talked about going out over the weekend, but as usual, I declined. A few hours later, I find myself in a bar at a table full of runners.
There are six of us, ranging in age from early twenties to mid-fifties, and the age difference makes the conversations and viewpoints interesting. I’m truly enjoying myself and their company. I’m hit by a sense of loss as to why I’ve deprived myself from such outings before.
The conversation moves to Lisa’s parents who are in the middle of separating. Lisa is engaged, and her parents’ split has rocked her beliefs. Her parents always seemed happy together, and it has coloured what Lisa wants to achieve in life – children and a husband to grow old with.
“Lisa, you can’t build your life decisions on your parents’ experience,” Maggie says. She’s a mum of four who uses running as a way to escape the madness of home life. “You have to make your own experiences and learn from those. It’s your life!”
The words hit me hard.
Isn’t this exactly what I do? I’ve made my life choices based on my mum’s experiences, not my own.
I don’t want to repeat her mistakes, and to avoid becoming my mother, I’ve put every effort into school and work – so much so that my life has been put on hold.
All the hours spent in college and evening classes have stopped me from having real friendships as well as relationships.
If it hadn’t been for Mum, I would have dated my former colleague Barry, a highflyer who’s made a good climb up the corporate ladder of KSS. Mum never told me not to date him, of course, but she always hammered home not to mix work and social life.
Damien, my high school boyfriend, was an earlier casualty of my ambition and work ethic.
My lack of close friends, the same. All because I didn’t want to repeat Mum’s mistakes.
Maybe it’s time to take risks and live. Being out with the running girls is one step.
Embracing my relationship with Rian is another.
I shouldn’t worry about whether it will lead to anything, the constant threat of Alexandra, or even if my colleagues will misjudge my intentions and say I’m sleeping my way to the top.
After all, that was what I had thought of Gemma, which turned out to be completely unfounded.
“So, Catriona, I think Darren has a soft spot for you.”
“Not only Darren, Tom can’t keep his eyes off your arse when he’s running behind you on Wednesday nights,” Maggie adds, and the table erupts in girly giggles.
I take a deep breath, my newfound realisation still fresh in my mind.
“Well, I’m kind of dating this guy from work,” I say. The whole table screams, and they all lean forward, afraid to miss any detail.
“It’s very new, and we’re keeping it secret at the office. After all, if it doesn’t work out, the fewer people who know about it, the less awkward it’ll be.”
“Isn’t that hard, hiding your feelings?”
“Actually, it’s kind of kinky.” The word kinky makes me unconsciously pull on my long sleeves that hide faint rope marks. “The secrecy adds to the excitement of the relationship.”
It’s the truth, yet it makes me worry – will our relationship lose its excitement if we’re open about it? And even more worrying, will he ever want it to be out in the open with Alexandra lurking as a dark shadow in the background?
Only one way to find out, and that is to give our relationship a try.