Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
Kate cracked her eyes open in the bright morning sunlight.
What had possessed her to leave the blinds open the previous night?
But the bed was strange, and her room didn’t usually smell of male, stale cologne, and sex.
She turned her head. Chris was propped on one elbow, studying her.
She widened her eyes as the events of the night before rushed back.
The dancing, the wedding, the sex—all tumbled through her mind, warring for supremacy.
Chris was close, too close for comfort, and Kate lifted her hand to push him away.
She studied his face and ended with her hand on his pectoral muscle without pushing.
His light morning beard distracted her. He was usually clean-shaven, and she hadn’t known his beard hair was darker than the hair on his head.
Why the hell was she thinking about the color of his hair?
She should push him away. Chris leaned forward, his gaze fixed on her lips. Oh, no! Not going to happen!
Kate locked her elbow and pushed for real. “Don’t.”
Puzzlement crossed his face before his features brightened. “Worried about morning breath, Mistress Kate? I have spare toothbrushes in the bathroom. It’s the door across the hall. I’ll whip up some breakfast.”
Chris hopped out of bed before she could respond and sauntered to the bedroom door stark naked.
She groaned in frustration. “I should whip you.”
He halted at her statement then threw a cocky grin her way. “You did.”
Kate swore she heard him mutter, “And I liked it.”
Fuck! Impossible!
The words slid under her skin before she could stop them.
He liked it?
Heat flickered low in her belly, the echo of last night still in her muscles, in the tender ache between her thighs. She had taken control. He had let her. She had felt the shift in him, the weight of him yielding under her hands.
Her stomach tightened.
Or had he?
She replayed it. His face, his voice, the way he moved with her. Chris, who always stood solid and self-assured. A man who never gave ground. And last night he had simply… gone along with her? Let her believe she had that effect on him?
The warmth drained away.
Maybe he had just been indulging her.
Trying something different. Playing along because he knew she wanted it.
Her chest went tight.
She had not been playing. She had opened herself, let him see how much she wanted that control, that edge, that kind of connection. She did not show that part of herself easily.
And he was out there talking about breakfast.
Heat crawled up her neck, sharp and humiliating. She felt exposed. Foolish. Like she had offered something real and been met with a polite performance.
Her jaw locked.
No. She did not get handled. She did not get humored.
Kate lay still for a beat, staring at the ceiling, her jaw tight enough to ache. She curled her fingers into the sheets, released, curled again, then swung her legs over the side of the bed with more force than necessary.
The air felt too warm against her skin. She stood and crossed the room, her temper flaring with every sharp, efficient stride. Her clothing was draped over the chair, and she grabbed her panties and stepped into them with a little too much force, fabric snapping against her thighs.
Across the room, she could feel him without looking. That only made her spine straighten more. No one pushed her buttons like Chris Smith.
Her bra came next. She yanked the straps up her arms and reached behind her back, fumbling once before the clasp caught.
Irritation flared hotter at that tiny delay.
She dragged her dress over her head, the hem catching briefly at her shoulders.
When it fell into place, she smoothed it down with a brisk swipe.
She was overdressed for the morning, but it couldn’t be helped. Her stockings and shoes in hand, she went to the bathroom. She would brush her teeth and give the man a piece of her mind.
Kate flicked on the bathroom light and froze at her reflection—mascara smudged, hair a wild mess, cheeks flushed from sex she shouldn’t have enjoyed as much as she had.
Her pulse skittered. No. She refused to go back out there looking like the woman who’d melted all over him.
She scrubbed her face, worked the brush from her handbag through her hair until it behaved, and kept her thoughts on every irritating thing about Chris. It helped. A little.
Ten minutes later, feeling somewhat more like herself, Kate emerged from Chris’s bathroom determined not to show her temper. The aroma of fresh coffee came from the kitchen, where Chris was struggling to get his jeans on over his morning wood.
“I can’t stay for breakfast.” She sounded hoarse.
“What’s wrong?” He halted his struggle, the jeans still unbuttoned.
She turned around and placed her hands on her hips. “You have to ask? Even in a one-night stand, honesty is the most important quality in a BDSM relationship.”
“What are you talking about?”
He took up the doorway with casual ease, arms raised, shoulders flexing as if he had no idea what that stretch did to the lines of his body.
Her gaze caught for a fraction of a second before she forced it away.
The memory that followed was worse, the feel of those arms under her hands, the way he had responded to her touch.
Heat stirred, low and unwelcome. The fact that he could still elicit that reaction from her without even trying made her temper flare.
“You lied. You played the submissive and I. Don’t. Like. To. Be. Played.” Kate punctuated every word with a finger to his chest.
“Kate, I…” With his disheveled hair, bare chest and bare feet, he looked like a little boy whose mommy had told him he couldn’t have another cookie.
Kate had to muster her resolve. “I have to go now.” She headed for the door as she dug her cell phone out of her purse to summon a ride.
“At least let me walk you to your car.”
As she entered her information into the ride-sharing app, Kate turned back. “Not necessary. My Uber will be here in three minutes.”
“It won’t take that long. My next-door neighbor drives for Uber.”
“Good. I’ll wait outside.” She hated being the cause of his deflated look. She usually enjoyed her subs’ chivalrous impulses, but she had to get out of there before she did something she would regret.
“Kate, wait. You don’t understand.”
“I’m fine, Chris. See you around.”
The front door latch clicked.
The sound hit him square in the chest.
After the best night of his life and feeling more vulnerable and open than ever before, she grabbed his heart, squeezed it, yanked it out of his chest, threw it on the floor, and stomped on it a few times for good measure.
Ouch.
He raked his hand through his hair, fingers catching and tugging. What the hell just happened?
He moved before the thought finished forming, bolting out the door barefoot. The early morning air was cool against his skin. He sped up from a walk to a run.
By the time he pushed through the building’s front door, she was already at the curb.
A white Camry idled. Exhaust curled into the early morning air.
“Kate.”
Her name fell flat between them.
She didn’t turn.
She slid into the back seat. The door shut with a dull, final sound.
The car pulled away.
He stepped off the curb without thinking. Bare feet met cold concrete. The chill shot straight up through his soles and into his spine. It was a small discomfort opposite the chill in his chest.
He stayed immobile as the lights from the Uber fade, as goosebumps covered bare skin, and he wondered if it’s from the early morning chill in the air or from the inside out.
The red brake lights flared at the corner.
For one suspended second he thought about running after it. Just to make her listen. Just to say the words she hadn’t let him finish.
The car turned.
The lights disappeared.
His arms hung at his sides. His mouth parted slightly as if something might still come out. Nothing did.
A heaviness settled into him, dense and immovable. The street resumed its quiet rhythm around him. A dog barked somewhere down the block. A door opened. Someone laughed.
Life went on.
He stayed until the cold climbed higher, until his toes began to ache and the pavement burned instead of numbed. He turned and went inside.
The apartment felt cavernous.
He closed the door slowly and leaned his forehead against the wood. The grain blurred before his eyes, and his breathing came uneven.
You lied.
The words echoed again.
He hadn’t lied.
Last night he had given her something he hadn’t given anyone. He hadn’t acted. It hadn’t been bravado. For once he hadn’t used charm wrapped in control. He had stood at the cross because he wanted to. He had knelt because it felt right. When she’d called him good boy, it hadn’t been a game.
It had landed.
He pushed away from the door and walked back into the bedroom.
The sheets were still twisted from where they had slept.
Her pillow lay slightly askew. He stared at it for a long moment, at the faint hollow where her head had rested.
He picked it up, but didn’t put it in its right place like he intended.
The fabric still carried the trace of her perfume mixed with sweat and skin.
He pressed the pillow against his chest and inhaled her scent. It wrapped around him without comfort.
He couldn’t remember the last time he cried, but felt close to tears now.
Damn it, Kate. What did you do to me?