Falling Under You: A Fixed Trilogy Novella (1001 Dark Nights) (10 page)

Because the look on his face said that was what
he
was thinking I should do. But also because I didn’t want to hesitate anymore. I wanted to belong to him, just like he’d said I did. Like I’d said I did.

With my hands still bound, I pressed the tip of my finger against my clit and rubbed it around in circles. I was awkward and uncoordinated, but I was determined, and soon, the muscles in my legs were clenching and my breathing had grown fast and shallow.

“Yeah. Good girl. Just like that.” Boyd’s attention was rapt, his gaze on me as arousing as his touch ever had been. Especially when he moved his hand to rub up and down the hard bulge in his pants. “Are you wet?” His breath was as jagged as mine.

“So wet.”

“Let me see. Stick your finger in your pussy and show me.” His eyes were fixed to me as I did as he’d instructed, and even though the room was dim, I could feel his eyes darken when I pulled my finger back out, covered in my slick wetness. “That makes me so fucking hard, Norma. Did you know that?”

“
Mmhm
,” I moaned. It made
me
hard, and I didn’t even have a dick.

“You’re so beautiful, so ready, and I’ve been so patient.” God, the ache in his voice matched how I felt inside, mirrored my desire. “I could fuck you right now. Would you want that?”

Yes!
So much yes.

 
It was only one syllable, and I could barely get it out. “Yes.”

“Here, in the place where you work? Is that where you want me to fuck you for the first time?”

“Yes.” Anywhere. I didn’t care that it was here. Just. Now.

Boyd unzipped his pants, and without undoing his belt buckle, he shoved his briefs down just far enough to release his cock. “I could take you right now. Slide inside you. Make this the place where you think of me.” Instead of
him
—Boyd’s meaning was clear.

It suddenly felt like all the weeks of longing had been building up to this moment, like there was nothing else standing between us. We’d discussed birth control (I was on the pill.) We’d discussed safe words (mine was “red” or three knocks.) We’d discussed the rules (unless I used my safe word, the rules were he could do what he liked with me.) The only thing that had remained in our way was me, and here with his eyes on me, his name on my skin, on my tongue—here I was so unaware of myself, it seemed impossible for me to still be any sort of barrier.

I arched my back, spread my legs as wide as the restraints allowed, a silent invitation. A desperate plea.

 “But maybe I’m happy watching you.” He circled his hand around his erection and tugged up. “I could stroke myself while I watch you come. I could come so hard from watching you make yourself feel good.”

No! Please, no.

Disappointment buzzed above me like a fly looking for a place to settle, even as I rubbed myself harder, even as I neared climax.

“Would you want that just as much, Norma? Tell me.”

I scraped my teeth along my bottom lip, looking for the
right
answer. “I won’t lie—I want you inside me so badly I might die. But”—and this was also the truth, more the truth than I could express adequately with words—“I want what you’re trying to build between us more. So whatever you think I’m ready for, that’s what I want. That’s what you should give me.”

It didn’t kill me as much to say it as I thought it would. It was actually beautiful to hear myself speak it, the way it’s beautiful to let go of the string of a balloon, to give up the responsibility of holding it, watching it fly away and disappear into the sky.

With that thought, I hit my release—my
literal
release. I closed my eyes and let it throb through me, my movements stuttering, incoherent sound spilling from my mouth like it was being yanked out from inside me.

“Fuck, Norma.” Boyd closed the distance between us in two strides, sliding his cock easily into my wet pussy, despite the resistance of my orgasm.

My eyes flew open, my breath hitching. He was there, inside me, so big and full as he pulsed against the walls of my channel. He was there feeling incredible, so much more incredible than I’d ever imagined. So worth every second he’d made me wait.

Maybe there was something to trusting his methods, after all.

He was still for several seconds, his gaze locked with mine as he let me adjust to him. Which was impossible because there was no adjusting to
this—
this monumental, indescribably full feeling that pushed at the inside of my chest even as my pussy stretched to make him fit.

“Boyd,” I whispered when I could speak, because I had to say
something
, and there were no words at all worth saying but his name.

He responded by gripping the flesh of my ass, pulling me closer, shoving deeper inside me.

Automatically, my arms, still bound, flew up to circle his neck, and for the briefest moment, I worried that I should have asked for permission, feared I may have ruined everything.

But if he minded, he didn’t show it. Instead, he began to move, pumping his hips against mine, driving inside me over and over. “I knew you’d feel this good. When I fingered you, I could tell you’d feel like this around my cock. Could tell you’d be this tight.”

“I like it when you say things like that.” Almost as much as I liked the sound of his balls slapping against my thighs and the spot he struck against with each thrust.

“I can tell by the way you grip me.” Sweat beaded along his brow. “You like it because it’s dirty or because it’s praise?”

“Both.”

“Yeah. That’s what I thought.” He silenced me after that, his lips capturing mine in a hot, searing kiss that was all consuming and brought me again to orgasm.

“I’m going to come with you,” he grunted quickly, as though he were warning me, right before he exploded inside me with one long final push of his hips.

He pressed his forehead to mine as he caught his breath—or as he let me catch mine, which took a while. I was spinning, my thoughts and emotions in a whirlpool inside me.

Boyd ran his fingers across my cheek. “Are you okay?”

“Barely.” I realized that wasn’t very helpful when he leaned back to study me with wide eyes. “It’s good. I promise.”

His features relaxed. “Good.” Then he was kissing me again, as tender as it was deep, as sweet as it was sexy. There were lots of things he was saying with that kiss, but my head was too jumbled to make much of it out—which, I had a feeling, was his intention.

Eventually, his kissing slowed, and he let words fill the spaces in between each brush of his lips. “So sexy,” he said before nibbling on my bottom lip. “This was perfect. You’re perfect.”

“I like the way you kiss,” I said when I had an opening. “That’s not all I like that you do with your mouth, but I especially like the way you kiss.”

“I’ll have to kiss you more often.”

“Only if you want to.”

“I do want to.” He pressed his mouth against mine as he spoke, as if to prove his want. “You deserve it. I’m especially proud of you right now. You did really good today, Norma Anders.”

“Go on…”

He pulled back with a laugh. “You’re such a greedy girl.”

“You have no idea.” I watched as he tucked himself away, my hands still wrapped around his neck. Then he slipped out from my embrace, kissing each of my wrists before reaching for my panties that lay on the counter.

“I wasn’t planning this,” he said as he used the silk material to clean me up. “Scratch that—I’ve planned this particular adventure for months; every time I had to come into the copy room for something, I imagined what I’d do to you in here. But I wasn’t planning for anything to happen today.”

He pocketed my now messy panties and grabbed a pair of scissors out of one of the drawers.

“Should I ask why you changed your mind?” I asked as he cut the tape at my wrists.

He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. I just wanted you to know that I
can
change my mind.”

I had a feeling he meant it as another form of praise, but I didn’t push him for more, letting him finish cutting me loose in silence.

When I was free, he buttoned my shirt and helped me down. “I can see the red marker through your blouse. Hope that’s not going to bother you that people might see it while we’re at dinner.”

“We’re going out to dinner?” Usually we stayed in, either at his house or mine.

“Yes. We are.”

“I don’t mind.” It was exciting, actually, to be marked as his, to go out like that in public where someone close enough—the waiter, perhaps—might see.

He took my hand, threading his fingers through mine. “You know,” he said, pulling me toward the door, “today is my birthday.”

“No. What? Are you kidding me?” He started to twist the doorknob, but I pushed it shut again, wanting to talk about this without the security cameras. “Why didn’t you tell me? I would have gotten something!”

 “That’s exactly why I didn’t tell you. I never want to be another one of your obligations.”

I smacked him, somewhat playfully, very intentionally. “I wouldn’t give you a gift out of obligation. I’d give it because you mean something to me.” Whoa. Had I really said that?

I had. And I liked how it felt to say it so I said more. “I’d give you a gift because I want you to know.”

He reached out to trace the pad of his thumb across my bottom lip. “Trust me, I do know,” he said softly. “You gave me the only gift I wanted.”

I giggled, trying to reduce the intensity of the conversation. “What was that? A fuck in the copy room?”

“Your submission.”

I swallowed. So much for lightening the mood.

I let him open the door then, let him lead me out of the room and out of the building. All the time, wondering if he realized that my submission had only been a part of my gift. Wondering if he knew that I’d also given him my heart.

Chapter Eight

Three Months Later

January

Boyd’s arm snaked around my waist as he kissed along my neck. “Are you sleeping?”

“Yes,” I lied. I’d dozed a little earlier after Italian food and three orgasms, but I’d been awake for a while, drifting in happy thoughts while Boyd devoured the latest Robert Galbraith novel. He was an avid reader, I’d learned the last few months, another hobby that he insisted he was only able to enjoy because of his low-stress job.

“I knew you were faking.” He nibbled at my lobe now, his hand cupping my breast.

I twisted to look at him. “How could you know that? I was as quiet as a mouse.”

“Because, for the last fifteen minutes or so, you haven’t been snoring.”

I turned fully toward him so I could punch him playfully, but he predicted my movement and grabbed my hand at my wrist before I could make contact. I struggled even though I knew I was no match for him, and within seconds he’d wrestled me beneath him, pinning my hands to the bed.

“Damn, woman. I thought I’d worn you out earlier, but maybe you need another round to knock you out.”

Um, okay.

And then the phone on my bedside table began to ring.

In unison, we glanced toward the sound. “Who the hell is calling you at one in the morning?”

“Ugh. Is it really that late?” I was going to be tired at the office the next day. Though strangely, for as much as Boyd kept me up these days, I hadn’t had so much energy or been so productive since college.

“I’m sure it’s Gwen.” Boyd moved off of me so I could pick up the phone. My sister was pretty good about not calling while I was likely sleeping, but sometimes she lost track of “normal people time,” understandable for someone like her who worked nights.

But a glance at the number said it was a California number.
Oh, God. Ben.
Instantly, the blood went cold in my veins—understandable for someone like
me
who’d once received a late night call from the San Francisco Police Department saying her brother had tried to kill himself.

“What is it?” Boyd asked, reading the panic in my expression.

I didn’t respond, clicking on the “Talk” button instead. “Hello?” I sounded calm—I was sure of it—despite the dread tightening my chest.

A male voice asked, “Is this Norma Anders?”

I knew that voice. Scratch that—I knew that
kind
of voice. Authoritative, somber. The kind of voice that delivered news like, “Your mother didn’t make it.” The kind that said, “Your brother has to stay in the hospital to recover from the wounds inflicted from your father.”

“This is she. What is it? Just tell me—is my brother okay?”

“Yes, ma’am. He’s okay. But there has been an incident.”

I chewed on my lip as I listened to the man—Dr. Evans, a psychiatrist at a hospital in San Francisco—tell me how Ben had again attempted to take his own life. He followed with basics about his condition, that he’d had his stomach pumped, that he should be fine but was being kept for observation to determine if he had liver damage.

“If he’s okay, why is it you that’s calling me instead of him?” It felt like my voice was shaky as I spoke, but when I heard myself, my words were even and collected.

“He asked me to call you.” The doctor paused for half a second. “Because he doesn’t want to talk to you himself. He’d also prefer not to see you or your sister, uh, Gwen. I’ve explained to him that since his mental health is in question at the moment, you may have the right to act on his behalf. He understands and assumes you’ll fly out anyway.”

I swallowed the sting of this latest news.
He doesn’t want to see me.
“Where is he staying?”

“He’s in room—”

I cut him off. “Hold on, let me get something to write this down on.”

At once, Boyd held a pen and paper in front of me. He really was the best assistant.

I wrote down the room and hospital information from Dr. Evans as well as his cell number, then asked him for another recap of Ben’s situation before I let him go.

“Your brother?” Boyd asked when I set the receiver back on the cradle.

I glanced over to find him sitting next to me on the bed, his expression calm but intent, his eyes trained on me.

“Yeah. He’s in the hospital. Took a bottle of Vicodin, but then he changed his mind and called 911.”