He flipped on the bathroom light. His gaze snagged on her toothbrush alongside his in the stand. A slight turn of his head and her shampoo, conditioner and razor on the edge on his tub came into view. Then her damn sexy little robe, hanging on one of his hooks. Not exactly signs of a woman who felt trapped here.
Surprisingly, her stuff taking up space in his place didn’t make him feel crawlier than watching an episode of Survivor where the contestants ingested live bugs. He’d never wanted to live with a woman before. Still didn’t—not permanently, anyway. But he was in no hurry for Sara to leave either. She looked good lying on his sofa. Sitting at the breakfast bar in his kitchen. Tied to his bed, arms stretched above her head while he made her come.
Yeah, especially that way.
She’d been beyond stressed out when she got in from work a couple hours ago. Hadn’t wanted to talk about it aside from saying her boss expected too much. But she had been willing to let him distract her. She hadn’t protested when he pampered her with a hot bath. Later, in the middle of some seriously hot making out on the couch, she’d looked into his eyes and said, “I need something from you.”
He’d given her an immediate, “Name it.”
After a beat of hesitation, she’d let the request tumble out in a rush. “I don’t want to think tonight. I don’t want to be me. I’m not asking you to play a game. Just take control. Full control. I trust you, Curtis. Own me. Make me forget all the shit, just for a while.”
And that’s exactly what he’d done. He carried her to his bed and bent her over the edge, ass up. Bound her hands with the black rope he’d bought for her and secured it to one of the corner posts. She’d looked so beautiful that way, naked and semi-helpless. Totally trusting. Needing him.
He’d stroked her hair and spine the way he knew she liked. Once she’d relaxed, he’d moved to kissing, starting at her shapely calves and working his way up. He’d pushed her legs apart, nice and wide. Jesus, what a sight she’d made. He’d crouched behind her, spreading her cheeks and licking her everywhere, every way, taking her to the edge of climax. Then he’d stood and graced her sexy, round ass with a heavy smack. One that stung his palm. A hard enough spank to make her jerk away—not that she had anywhere to go.
Over and over, he’d repeated those things, until she was begging—truly begging—to come. But he’d kept going, teasing her to the fringes of orgasm but never letting her get there. Not until her ass was a pretty pink and his cock threatened to push through his zipper to get at her.
Between every touch, lick and spank, he’d told her how beautiful she was. How smart, strong and important she was. He’d told her that she belonged to him. That even when he untied her, he wouldn’t let her get away.
When he’d fucked her, finally, it’d been the most intense sensation of his entire goddamn life. With her spicy-sweet taste on his tongue, the scent of her perfume in his nose, and the sound of her sexy fucking moaning filling his head, he’d been practically high. When she’d come around him, so hot and tight and endless, he’d had no choice but to join her.
He’d come for what felt like forever. Then he’d collapsed on her back with his teeth clamped around her soft skin.
She’d wanted to forget who she was, but in taking her there, he’d forgotten himself as well. All he’d been able to think of, to feel, was them. Together.
Her belongings in his bathroom didn’t freak him out, but that sure as hell had. She’d fallen asleep in his arms almost immediately, a whispered “thank you” the last thing to slip from her lips.
Sleep hadn’t claimed him. Not even close. His brain had refused to shut down. Questions about Sara, about the feelings rolling around in his head and chest, had kept him wide-fucking-awake. The state he was in right now, still.
“What the hell does this shit mean?” His reflection stared back in silence. Useless bastard.
He splashed water on his face, killed the light and headed to the living room. The lofts in this renovated shoe factory had tons of character but not tons of space. His single, small bedroom sat directly behind the living room. Since it didn’t have a window of its own, both walls opened on the corner to receive natural light from the living-room windows. Didn’t make for the most private bedroom, but he’d never had to worry about that before.
He slid the pocket doors shut as quietly as possible. His options were still limited. The bedroom walls only went up nine feet, not the full thirteen to the ceiling. Watching TV was out. Sara’s library book and laptop sat on the coffee table. Reading had never really been his thing. Neither was surfing the internet. Had to do something to get his brain off its singular track though.
He leaned forward and snagged her laptop. Easier than getting up to retrieve his from the cabinet, and right now, he needed easy. He’d have to keep the speakers muted, but at least he could watch some sports reels. Didn’t need sound for those, even if he did enjoy hearing the crack of the bat during the home-run highlights.
The screen illuminated as the computer did the typical waking-up routine. The desktop background changed from the standard-issue green welcome screen to a family portrait. Not with Nia, Peter and Meredith though. A little girl smiled at him from the display. So did the adults whose hands she held. If he had any doubt about the child’s identity, he had only to look at the little girl’s mother. Sara’s family shared some strong genes.
Even with the uncanny likeness to her mother, Curtis could see a resemblance to her father as well. All three had dark hair. Sara had her mother’s bone structure, body type and facial features, but she’d inherited her incredible amber eyes from her father. They’d been a beautiful family.
The image faded out, replaced by one of Zeus licking Sara’s cheek. A string of drool dangled from Zeus’ mouth. Sara had a big, open-mouthed smile, the kind she got while laughing. Nia had probably snapped this picture. It was a great shot. Happy in an entirely different way from the previous image.
Curtis settled in against the couch cushions and let the slideshow play through. Had to be forty or fifty pictures before it returned to the beginning of the cycle.
Sara avoided conversation about her life and the past. When she did talk, her comments tended to be joking things off as lame or highlighting the many ways she’d screwed things up. Sometimes both at once. A fuck it all, none of it really matters façade. The slideshow she’d assembled on her laptop told a different story.
Behind Sara’s walls lived a sentimental woman. Not news to him. Her ringtone was an old song her dad—her first dad, Ray—had sung to her as a little girl. And Curtis had been with her the morning of Nia and Conn’s wedding—he’d seen her distress over the mix-up about the ring, her horror at having lost Zeus. He’d heard her very real, from-the-heart speech at the reception.
Her car was another example. In one of her less-guarded moments, she’d explained why its upkeep took priority over her monthly bills. The Trans Am had belonged to Ray originally. The fire that had stolen Sara’s parents had burned the Robinson house nearly to the ground, but hadn’t reached the detached garage. Peter had stored and maintained Ray’s prized Trans Am until Sara was old enough to manage the expense of owning it. Her attachment to that car was incredibly, understandably personal.