Chapter 33
CAROLINE
I’ve always loved this painting; three little girls running through a Middle Eastern marketplace.
They’re young—that innocent, oblivious age before you develop any awareness of how others might perceive you.
Before you start nipping away at those rougher edges, checking yourself to fit in.
When you can run—laughing, heart hammering, limbs flailing—simply because it feels good.
That messy joy is beautiful.
The colorful contemporary piece by Faizal Baban used to hang above Grandpa’s bed at the house.
He said it was his favorite because the girls reminded him of me and my cousins when we were small.
But his move into Lennox Seniors Lodge last week meant downsizing.
When I suggested donating it to the art show, he’d been delighted.
Ever the practical thinker, he simply wanted to find it a new, loving home.
I’d first proposed the charity art show back in October, but the real light-bulb moment had come when Sunny mentioned wanting to collaborate with a few smaller galleries in the city.
Not only had I convinced her and Julian to invite a handful of the young local artists I’ve been watching to donate a piece, but we’d partnered with Found Family to promote its youth art programs. Pulling it off before Christmas was a real teamwork-makes-the-dream-work feat: Adrian had performed a miracle by finding a Seattle hotel with space for the event, Sunny and I had organized the artist contributions, and Ada had even persuaded some of the teens in her program to contribute pieces.
It’s been incredible to see how proud they are of their work.
Absentmindedly playing with my necklace, I move to inspect the next piece.
Pen and ink over splotchy watercolor, it depicts a teenage boy with a ball cap on backward—sort of a bust viewed from behind.
I lean in to read the tag; it’s by one of the youth in Ada’s group: Rolando Esposito, age fifteen.
He’s good. His hat reminds me a little of Miles.
I slowly drift over to the next painting, but I barely have time to take it in before Miles comes up behind me and slips a palm over my right hip, warming my skin through the fabric of my ruby shift dress. He dips down to kiss my cheek. “Hey.”
“I was just thinking about you,” I say, half turning toward him.
“Good.” He draws in close, pressing against my back in a way that makes me close my eyes to drink in the sensation.
I have to remind myself to focus on the art in front of us.
It’s a surrealist piece: a woman hovering above a collection of outstretched, claw-like hands.
She’s positioned in a deep backbend, and an explosion of color erupts from her abdomen and ripples outward.
I peek at the small card on the wall. “Jesse’s Girl. ”
“Oh, this is Ada’s piece!” I say, grabbing the arm Miles has wrapped around my waist.
“Man, Ada’s fucking killing it.” Adrian’s familiar voice comes from over my shoulder.
“Hey!” Stepping out of Miles’ arms, I twist around to pull Adrian into a tight hug. “And seriously, yes, she’s incredible.”
“I had no idea how good she’d gotten.”
The three of us turn back to admire Ada’s work for another beat before Adrian breaks the silence. “Anyway, Care, I have fucking incredible news.”
“What?” I ask, brightening as I turn to him again.
“Guess who just secured a substantial new donor?” He points both thumbs at his chest, then adds, “Well, for next year, anyway.”
“What? Shut up!” I break out in a wide grin. “Who is it?”
“Uh, this older Lennox couple? Charles and Carol Faulkner. They run this bed-and-breakfast where my buddy, Kai, got married last summer. I guess their kids are grown and they wanted to do something for youth. That woman is chatty. Talked my ear off for ages. She might have been flirting with me.”
I laugh. “You think everyone’s flirting with you.”
“Must be a relief,” Miles says, then rushes to add, “The donation part, I mean.”
“Seriously.” Adrian’s eyes widen and he nods. “Anyway, I gotta do the rounds. I left Casey with Marcus and Renee, and I wanna catch up with them.”
“Yeah, yeah, go. Do your thing,” I rush to say, then grab his arm. “Wait, Casey? As in big, sexy puppy Casey? I thought—”
“Yeah, well, things might have changed,” Adrian says, with an almost coy little half shrug. “I’ll tell you more later.”
The moment Adrian leaves, Miles slips his arms around my waist again from behind. I turn my head and he noses my cheek. “Mmm, speaking of big sexy puppies…”
“Uh, should I be flattered?” When I lift a brow and nod, he smiles, then leans in close, dropping his voice to whisper in my ear. “Meet me in our room.”
I straighten. “What? Right now?”
“Yeah, right now,” he rumbles against my cheek.
“But won’t people notice?” I say softly, looking around to make sure no one will overhear us.
“Not if we’re quick about it.”
I turn to gaze up at him, both stunned by his audacity and, admittedly, already planning my escape. Getting a hotel room for the night was definitely the right move—a silver lining of being on the outs with my parents, I guess.
“Unless you think they need you down here,” he says. His focus drops to my mouth and he bends to kiss me.
“No, I don’t think— I mean, everything’s running pretty smoothly.”
“Okay,” he says. “You wanna try something from your list?”
Mind reeling, I can only nod.
Yes, please. Whatever it is, I’m in.
“That’s my girl.” His lips curl in approval. “I’ll give you a ten-minute head start.” With a wink, he walks away, all calm and collected while I’m left with my heart pounding so loud I’m sure the other patrons will hear it.
God, he looks good.
He may not be in a tuxedo this time, but that tailored charcoal suit I got him as an early Christmas present has been testing my restraint all night.
When I arrive in our room, the chair is already set up; Miles must have snuck up while I was helping Adrian get ready to open the show. There’s a towel draped over the seat, along with two strips of silky fabric and a scrawled note.
I want you naked, ankles tied to the chair legs.
The safe word is aubergine.
A thrill courses through my center as I quickly shed my clothes, following orders.
I’m grinning as I snug the bow over my left ankle, and I have to fight off a giggle by the time I’m done tying the one on the right.
I straighten in my seat, biting my lip as I grapple with the heady, nervous arousal lighting up my entire body.
What is my life?
The door clicks open and my heart leaps.
Miles is already tugging off his tie when he slips inside the door, his eyes darkening the moment they lock on mine.
I shift back on the seat, swallowing my nerves as he stalks toward me.
When he closes the distance between us, he grips my jaw in one hand, towering over me as he jerks my face up.
With a gasp, I arch my back.
“Fuck. You’re perfect.” His gaze lingers on my lips another moment before he bends down and takes my mouth with his.
And I mean takes it. Devours it. It’s drugging and deep; every stroke of his tongue, each scrape of his teeth, sends a swirling pulse of pleasure straight to my toes.
I’ll never get sick of being kissed like this.
Consumed like this. I’m arching, swaying, bending, and begging for more, like if I meet him without backing down, I might have a hope in hell of holding onto some scrap of control—of not falling apart under him right here, right now.
But maybe I don’t want to be in control anymore. Maybe I want to fall apart. Need to fall apart.
When he breaks away, his lids are hooded over dark, blown pupils. He straightens, backing away a couple steps, and the loss makes my core ache.
He shrugs off his suit jacket and tosses it on the bed, then starts to unbutton his shirt.
I swallow, heat creeping up my neck and cheeks as my fingers drift between my legs.
“Uh-uh.” He shakes his head. “Not yet.”
My brows twitch with need, but I stop, stroking my thighs instead.
“Such a good listener.”
His gaze rakes over my body as one hand falls to his belt. A muscle in his jaw ticks as he eases the leather from the prong and flicks the buckle loose, the clink of metal strangely erotic. Then, without breaking eye contact, he pulls the length of it free in one swift, snapping tug.
Something inside me snaps along with it and my fingers find my center again.
“Ah, ah, ah,” Miles cautions. “What did I say?”
I bite my lip and keep stroking my clit, my vision glazing over. “So make me stop.”
“Bratty fucking girl. Arms behind your back.” Belt in his grasp, Miles circles me like a cat stalking its prey then drops to his knees behind my chair. As he wraps my wrists together, I realize I’m trembling. He seems to notice, too, and kisses my shoulder. “You good?”
“Yes,” I whisper. “Just nervous.”
Nervous and wildly, inexplicably, uncontrollably turned on.
“It’s okay to be nervous,” he says quietly.
“I feel kind of… I dunno.”
Silly? Vulnerable? Raw?
“Hey,” he says, moving back in front of me. Hooking his finger under my chin, he lifts my face. “You might be tied up, but you’re still running this show. You can tell me to stop anytime. Anytime. You understand?”
I nod, then remember his note.
“Why aubergine?” I ask, my voice soft.
He slowly rolls one shirtsleeve and the sight of those forearms flexing has my imagination spinning one filthy thought after the other.
A hint of a dimple appears on his cheek and his shoulder lifts in a half shrug that’s equally boyish and exceptionally sexy.
“I dunno. Fancy word for my fancy girl, I guess.”
“And because of the eggplant emoji, I assume?” I raise a brow.
Miles fakes shock and moves to roll up the other sleeve. “You know about the eggplant emoji?”
“Hey!” I let out a small, rueful laugh. “I know things.”
“You know things, huh?” He unfastens his pants, and my mouth starts to water.