by Lauren Dane
She nodded, her fingers pressed against her lips, her heart beating wildly.
6
Erin looked at herself in the mirror as she dried off from the shower. Not bad. The last time he’d seen her, she’d been twenty-four years old. The years hadn’t been too bad on her outside. Her belly wasn’t as flat as it had been then. But genetics had spared her stretch marks and, despite nursing for nearly a year, her breasts were still in good shape.
The thought of Adele’s downy little head snuggled to her made her pause as the familiar pain passed through her belly. Phantom pain, like she’d lost a limb. But she’d lost so much more.
Erin sat on the side of the tub and just gave in to the tears for a time. If she didn’t fight it, she’d feel better sooner. When she’d finished, she washed her face with cold water and then wandered into her bedroom to get dressed.
She may not have had a regular sex partner in a few years, but that had not stopped Erin from possessing sexy underthings. Like she’d told Raven, Brody’s on-again-off-again girlfriend and Erin’s best friend, she had boatloads of dough, and there were worse things to spend it on than panties.
The evening was warm for late spring in Seattle so she chose a flattering camisole with a corset fit and the skirt to match. A handy-dandy push-up bra and some cute boyshort undies and she was good to go.
After deciding to leave her hair loose, she contemplated cutting it now that it had reached the middle of her back. With a shrug, she put on a bare bit of makeup and tucked some condoms under her pillows before heading out to the kitchen.
Todd wasn’t due for about forty-five minutes, so she poured herself a margarita and went out to sit on her balcony with her pad and guitar. She looked out over downtown and a bit of Puget Sound.
It had been an emotional day, full of beauty and sadness, and the words came quickly, as they sometimes did. She heard Adrian’s voice in her head as she wrote and she lost track of time until she heard her doorbell a few times.
Todd would have wondered if the apartment number was wrong, but there were only three on this floor and the funky folk-art knocker clued him in.
She opened the door, looking surprised and slightly harried. “I’m sorry! I was on the balcony writing. I was so in my head I lost track of time. Come in.”
He followed her inside and when he closed the door, he noted the locks. Four of them. In a ridiculously secure high-rise building.
His question about the locks died as he entered the loft and got a look at the place. Floor-to-ceiling windows fronted the living room, giving a grand view of downtown and a slice of the water. Light, natural woods marked the cabinets and built-ins and also warmed the floors.
He kicked his shoes off and left them near the door.
“You don’t have to take your shoes off. Come in, make yourself at home. I made margaritas. You want?”
He looked at her, her hair loose to where the sway of her back began in earnest, big hazel eyes staring back through arty little glasses. She was even more beautiful in her otherness than she was ten years ago.
“Damn, you’re something else to look at. You know that?”
She smiled and he noted the lines next to her mouth. Not from age, but the kind of lines only life can put there. He wanted to thumb across them, smoothing them out, sliding away whatever pain had etched them there to start with.
“Is that a good something else or a bad something else? Because it’s pretty ridiculous that a man only looks better as he ages, but women not so much.”
With two strides he was there, just inches away from her in that sexy top and short, flowy skirt of hers. Her legs were still sexy, as were her bare feet.
“Good.” He traced a fingertip over the curve of each breast where it heaved out the top of her shirt. From his angle he caught the shadow of her nipples and the memory of the rings shot straight to his cock. “You look amazingly sexy, Erin. Beautiful.”
“Mmm. Good answer.”
The silence between them wasn’t awkward; it was fraught with sexual tension, and he let himself revel in it. He’d be inside her that night, so why rush? Why not just enjoy it?
“Margarita sounds good.”
She licked her lips and turned, the skirt flaring enough that he got a good view of her pert ass in some pink boyshort-style panties. God, he loved those.
“Are you hungry?” she asked as she salted the rim of the glass and poured the margarita over ice.
“You remembered.”
“What?” She smiled at him, putting the glass on the bar before him.
“That I like margaritas on the rocks.”
“Of course.” She shrugged.
“Yes, I’m hungry. You’re quite the cook, by the way.”
She put a covered pan in the oven. “I wish I could say I’m usually more on the ball, but when I’m writing, I lose track of time. I put together some enchiladas earlier. They just need to heat. Why don’t you sit down there and keep me company while I pull together everything else?”
He hopped up on a stool and saw her guitar in a case near the open doors to the balcony.
“You mentioned writing. Writing music? I heard you made it big out in LA. Are you still doing that?”
“Yes. ‘Big’ is a matter of perspective, I suppose.” She shrugged. “I write for Adrian; he’s still in the biz. He has a house on Alki with a studio. We record together there.”
“Do you still tour and stuff?”
Her face froze. He was a cop for many years, enough to know when someone had been shaken by a question. She licked her lips and then breathed out. “No. But Adrian does. He gets groupies camped out at the end of his driveway and stuff. I just write music and do studio work. I like it better that way. No groupies camped out. I can walk down the street without being recognized. I like my privacy.”
There was a bigger story there, but he’d wait to hear it later. He’d only been back in her life for hours. “So the café is like a sideline?”
“It’s a nice way to keep myself working, leaving the house every day.” She shrugged as she began to shake a bottle of dressing for the salad she’d just prepared. “We can eat on the balcony; there’s a table out there, but it’s getting a bit windy. Or in here, where it’s not.”
He laughed, and she cocked her head.
“What?”
“I’d forgotten how much I liked your laugh.”
“As compliments go, that’s a good one. How about in here? You have some view.” He helped her carry plates and silverware to the table she’d indicated.
“I like it up here.”
She sashayed off and returned with a plate of fresh fruit and cheese. He’d liked to watch her ten years ago but had always told himself to stop. Now he sat and openly ate her up with his gaze.
That afternoon when he’d left her café, he’d run around town finishing up his errands—stopping by to check in on his parents, going to the hardware store. The whole time, he’d come to grips with his situation. He wasn’t going to run from what he felt anymore. From what he was.
All those years ago he’d walked away and left what had made him joyful—when he wasn’t miserable that he liked it. He’d denied his sexual need to dominate women ever since, had starved a whole side of himself and lived half a life.
Although she had no idea, she’d given him small respite in the dark when he’d closed his eyes and fantasized about her. Erin, her hair in his fist as he’d held her in place and done whatever he wanted to her beautiful, willing body.
Here, now in her condo with the evening sun dancing over the water, reflecting up to her windows, he could admit it was all about Erin. His need to finally open up and admit he liked to dominate and control women in bed had been kindled by this amazing woman. She was the key to the lock he’d kept on his secret urges and he would finally own up to it all.
What a fantastic coincidence that he’d found her again—even better, found her unfettered and still attracted to him. He’d never been one for believing
in things like fate, but looking at where he sat just then eroded a lot of skepticism he might have had. It was meant to happen, and he wasn’t going to dance around what he really wanted ever again.
She slid the hot casserole dish onto the pad on her table and sat. “That’s some look you have on your face. Wanna share?” She made him a plate, surprising him even as he loved how it made him feel to be taken care of that way.
“Erin.” He took a sip of his drink before speaking again. No more dancing. Just say it. “I was just thinking about how much I loved dominating you.” Once he’d let it out, he felt a thousand times better.
She looked up from what she was doing, locking her gaze with his. “I loved being dominated by you.”
“If I told you to get on your knees and suck my cock, what would you say?”
She leaned back in her chair, raising a brow. “I’d say a real dom doesn’t ask. But I’d also say you’re not my top; not yet anyway. I’d also remind you that you left me a decade ago because you were ashamed of that part of yourself, and I’d want to know just exactly what’s changed before we went there again.”
He grinned and forked up a mouthful of food, pleased she took him seriously. “Okay. We can talk more about that after we eat. Christ, were you this good a cook before?”
She quirked a smile. “Not really. I took some classes when I landed in LA. Or rather, I waitressed in this fancy restaurant and the owner liked me and she let me hang out in the kitchen and learn. She told me if I ever gave up music, I should open a restaurant. My café is nothing compared to her place, but at heart, I love good, simple food made with fresh ingredients. The Market is just blocks from here, so I shop for fresh food pretty much daily.”
“Why did you come back here, Erin?”
“Why did you come back here?” she countered.
He took a deep breath. “Everything about my life had been a lie. I married a woman I enjoyed but didn’t love. I hid part of myself from her because I was ashamed. I worked in a division I wasn’t suited for. I missed my family. I missed Seattle. My wife grew, not to hate me, but to not care about me one way or the other, and it was my fault. She wanted kids, but I couldn’t see myself having children with her. Then I got shot. Several times. And was in a coma. Three days of being just shy of death is not an experience I ever want to repeat. But I’ll give her credit, she stayed until I recovered, and then served me with divorce papers. I went through some pretty nasty surgeries and then physical therapy. Last month when I finally got my papers saying I could go back to work, I accepted the offer of an old friend to buy in as a partner at his security firm here in town.”
“Are you okay now?” She brushed the sensitive skin at his wrist, a butterfly of a touch with alarmed fingers.
Moved, he took her hand, drawing it to his mouth and kissing her fingertips. “I am now. Here with you. I came back here to live a full life. When I saw you today, it made sense. It was right for the first time in more years than I can remember. Pink hair.” He smiled. “I like it. I like you, Erin, and I know I was a fool for walking away before. I’m the same in many ways, but different in all the ones that count.” He exhaled. “Can I be honest with you?”
“I insist.” She shrugged. “Tell me, Todd. I told you then and I’ll say it again—I won’t judge you.”
No, she never had. And it gave him the courage to say it, to tell her what he wanted most. “I want to top you. I want you to submit to me.” He nipped her fingertip. “And only me.”
A smile hinted at the right corner of her mouth. The corner where her dimple made a sweet dent. “Only you, huh? And would I be the only woman you topped?”
“Of course.” He felt as if he were in a job interview or something. He was supposed to be in charge, but right then she held it all in her hands. Which, given what he was prepared to ask—demand—of her, he supposed made sense.
She shrugged with a small, feminine sound and went back to eating. He wanted to laugh—hell, he wanted to spank her ass—but he just shook his head at her, amused.
Once they’d eaten, and Erin noticed he’d had three platefuls, he helped her clear the dishes and start the dishwasher.
Her body was on fire and she wasn’t quite sure how to handle it. She’d very nearly dropped to her knees to suck his cock when he’d suggested it before. But while she wasn’t looking for marriage or even love, she was looking for a man who was serious about the business of D/s. She and Jeremy had edged around it, but he’d never really gotten into it. She’d craved it, and his disinterest and halfhearted gestures had only left part of her unsatisfied and empty.
No one, in the time since Todd, had ever mastered her the way he had. He hadn’t even known it, which had frustrated her to no end. He hadn’t understood his own power because he was too busy running from it. But in those times when they were in sync, it was fucking marvelous. She’d never felt anything like it before or since.
She’d been in love with Jeremy, yes. Love for the man whom she’d had a child with. Love for the man who’d joined his life to hers. But that love hadn’t lasted the pain and tragedy of losing Adele. Although he remained a dear friend, she’d never burned for him, yearned for his touch, for the feel of his body against hers the way she had for those short two months with Todd ten years before.
And here he was, telling her what she wanted to hear, and from what she’d seen, he meant it. D/s wasn’t a game to her. It wasn’t something she played at. In the last few years she’d been able to admit her sexual submissiveness was integral to who she was. She hadn’t been with anyone since she’d left Los Angeles, and she’d never really thought she’d want anyone again. But now that her libido had sprung into action again, she wasn’t going to accept half measures. If he could admit the same, they might have a very fine time together. She just needed to know he meant what he’d said about being okay with his desires.
7
“Music?” she asked, moving toward the sleek media system in a cabinet near the far wall. Her walk was sure and graceful, feminine. He’d noted that she seemed more at ease here, less hesitant.
“Sure. And then how about a tour? This is really a beautiful place.”
Something smooth and female slid through the very swank surround-sound-style speaker system. She turned with a smirk. “No PJ Harvey today. This is Tegan and Sara. “
“Not bad.” And it wasn’t. He got up to check out the media center. “Damn, Erin, that’s some fucking sound system.”
She laughed. “It’s a far cry from the piece of crap we used to have back in the day.” She held out a hand. “Come on, let me give you the tour.”
He moved to her and took her hand, the connection singeing up his arm.
“You’ve seen the living room and the kitchen. This is my balcony; it wraps around the front here.” She walked him outside. The wind had kicked up, but it wasn’t overly cold. Still, he used that to put an arm around her, pulling her into his body, sliding a palm up and down her upper arm and shoulder.
The view was gorgeous. Clearly her music career had left her with some money in the bank if she could afford this place. Her furnishings and lifestyle didn’t seem ostentatious from what he’d seen so far, which was an important indication she’d not let fame or money go to her head.
They went back inside, and she led him around to the kitchen through a wide hallway.
“This is my office.” A big table with a large computer monitor on it dominated the back corner. A small area near the windows had a comfortable club-type chair and a table next to it, and across the room music stands, various electronic equipment and a variety of guitar cases completed the look.
“Holy shit! Erin, is that a Grammy?” He walked into the room and stared at the case holding several trophies. “Two Grammys. Wow.”
She blushed. “Yes.”
He turned to her. “I’m sorry I’m such a dork and I didn’t know. You were a lot bigger than you led me to believe. That’s awesome. Those are gold records too, right?”
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br /> She nodded.
“Why did you give it up?”
“Something very bad happened.” She put her fingers over his lips and shook her head. “I really, really don’t want to talk about it. But I’m happy now. I write music. I record it. I’m in the studio. It’s my bass on all Adrian’s studio tracks on his CDs. I just don’t need all the rest. I don’t want it. I like my quiet, safe life here in my condo. I like my café. I like my family and I don’t need the rest.” She indicated the room with a sweep of her hand. “I have enough money. I don’t need the fame part.”
“Okay. I’d like for you to share it with me sometime, but we’ve only just reconnected. I understand. I’m glad you’re doing something that makes you happy.”
She nodded and led him out and pointed to a guest bedroom and a bathroom. At long last, at the end of the hall, she pushed open large double doors, exposing the master suite.
It was her, utterly. The walls were saffron yellow. Framed art lent beautiful explosions of color to the space. The hardwood floors were dotted with pretty area rugs, and her bed sat on a platform facing the wall of windows.
“Wow.”
She turned to him, sliding her palm up the wall of his chest. Her nails scored over his nipple, and a wave of pleasure echoed through him. He took her glasses off and kissed each eyelid.
“Erin, I want you to take your clothes off. I want to see you.”
There was no hesitation; she simply unlaced the shirt and pulled it over her head. Her tattoos were still there; her nipples, hard and dark, each bore a ring, and it still nearly brought him to his knees. How sexy she was. Nearly breathless, he couldn’t tear his eyes from her as she slipped her skirt down her legs, tossing it to the side. Her panties were the last to go and then she stood there, totally naked to him, the sight of her burning into him.
“God, how are you still so beautiful?” he murmured as he moved around her body, taking her in from head to those pretty toes. The tree of life still marked her back. He’d seen that tat in his mind’s eye so many times it was almost like a dream to be looking at it in the flesh again.