“To bed, where I can do terrible things to your gorgeous body. Do I hear more arguments?”
“Um . . . no.”
“No, what?” he demanded.
“No . . . please?”
He laughed. “That’ll do.”
They reached his bedroom, where the afternoon light was seeping through the curtains, illuminating it with the kind of soft golden sunlight that made dust motes dance in the air. His muscles flexed under her palms as he bent and laid her on the bed. He was so beautifully built. She’d always loved the breadth of his shoulders, his narrow hips, the pale gold hue of his skin. She loved the wicked gleam in his eyes, the cocky half smile on his face. The mix of bad boy and occasional tender lover and the sadistic streak that ran through it all.
“What are you going to do with me?” she asked.
He rubbed his chin. “I’m working on it. I just had a mind-blowing orgasm and told you I love you. I might need a minute to recover.”
“Mind-blowing?”
“Every damn time.”
“Really?”
“Don’t think that gives you any bargaining power.”
“Doesn’t it?” She batted her lashes.
He chuckled. “All right, I give up. You know damn well it does.”
“I rather like that idea.”
“Don’t get too comfortable with it. I’m still the Dom.”
“I’m pretty sure you won’t ever let me forget it.”
“Damn right,” he said as he lunged for her.
“Mick!”
“Shh.”
He flipped her over onto her stomach and straddled her, pinning her down with his legs while he found the ankle cuffs he kept attached to his bed, and shackled her with lightning speed. Immediately he began to spank her, a quick, sharp volley of slaps. They came too quickly for her to have time to convert the pain. She was overloading, squirming, panting. He smacked her harder—her ass, the backs of her thighs. The pain built and built. She couldn’t give herself over to it—it was too much, too fast.
“Mick!”
“My name is not a safe word, princess.”
She almost laughed, but his hand came down again and again, fast and stinging like crazy. Her flesh was burning hot.
“Do you need to safe-word?” he asked, still spanking her.
“Mick,” she said, her breath rasping in her lungs as she struggled uselessly to get away from him, from the padded cuffs holding her ankles so securely.
“Yes?”
He smacked her again, impossibly harder.
She did laugh, then, as the lovely brain chemicals broke free and swarmed her head, her body. She went limp all over.
He stopped, unbuckled the cuffs, turned her over and held her in his arms.
“Lord, I love to see you like this,” he said quietly, almost reverentially. “Your pupils wide, your cheeks flushed. Your lips . . . so damn beautiful. I always love you, but when you’re like this, yielding to me so completely, well . . . that’s when I really fall for you all over again. Every damn time. Because I know you’ve given yourself into my hands. You make yourself so vulnerable it makes my chest ache. And I have never said anything like that to anyone in my life.” He paused to stroke her cheek, her jaw, her throat. “Love you, baby girl.”
“Love you, too, you beast.”
He smiled, leaned down to kiss her. When she tried to curl her hands behind his neck, he gently pried them away, held her wrists as he lowered her arms to the bed and laid her down once more. He lowered his body over hers, and it was only when he brushed up against her stomach that she realized he was hard again.
“You’re such a nymphomaniac,” she murmured, her body heavy and languid with endorphins and an aching renewed desire.
“Men can’t be nymphomaniacs,” he argued as he took his rigid shaft in his hand to guide it to her. “And it’s only with you, Allie. Only you.” He paused, the tip of his cock resting just inside her. “Tell me again.”
“I’ll tell you everything. Anything. I love you, Mick. I’m yours. Always.”
“Always,” he said, slipping inside her.
She was so wet she took him all in one smooth thrust, gasping as sensation trembled through her.
“Mmm . . .”
He kissed her lips, took her bottom lip between his teeth and nibbled, pulled back and bent to kiss her breasts.
She reached for him, holding on to his strong forearms, loving the corded muscle there. And as he arched into her, taking his time, kissing her neck, her shoulders, she explored his hard frame with her hands. She slid her palms over his sides, pausing to touch the scar on his ribs before slipping her hand between their bodies to stroke the rock-hard surface of his abdomen. She smoothed her fingers over every ridge, loving the contraction of muscle as he arched his hips, pressing his cock deep inside her.
Pleasure was a slowly building blaze. Scorching her, lighting her up inside. He moved faster and she held on to him, her arms around his waist, her hands spread wide over his back.
Desire rose, spiraled, her sex impossibly wet, clasping his rigid flesh inside her.
“You feel so good, baby. So good,” he murmured. “Love you, my baby.”
“Love you, Mick. Oh . . .”
“Yeah, that’s it. I can feel you . . . come with me, my girl.”
“Oh!”
Their bodies rose at the same moment, arms winding tightly around each other. They shook together, burned together, cried out. Her mind spun, light flashing behind her eyes as if all the stars in heaven were reeling past.
“Mick!”
“Love you, my baby,” he whispered into her hair. “Love you . . .”
The night was quiet around them. She couldn’t even hear the cicadas that sang all over the city of New Orleans. All she heard was his steady breathing. The sound of her heart beating in time with his.
Together.
This was everything she’d ever wanted.
She loved him.
He loved her.
She was scared to death.
She buried her face in his muscled shoulder and let the tears come.
CHAPTER Thirteen
“HEY.” HE ROLLED onto his side, taking her with him. “What’s this?”
She sniffed. “It’s nothing.”
“Transparency, baby.”
“Sorry. You’re right. It’s just that . . . I’m scared, Mick. Aren’t you?”
“Hell, yes. But I’m trying not to run anymore.”
She pressed her cheek against his chest, taking comfort in the solidity of his big body. “That makes me feel a little better.”
He laughed. “That I’m not running or that I’m still scared?”
“Not that you’re scared. I mean, yes, that you’re scared, but not because I want you to be.” She wiped the final traces of tears away. It just makes me feel a little more . . . normal.”
“Baby girl, there is nothing normal about us.”
“No, I guess not,” she agreed, smiling. “A pastry chef with no bakery who likes to be beaten, and a security expert who gets into illegal fights and likes to hurt pretty girls. Pretty fucked up, huh?”
“I only want to hurt you, from now on. In the good way. And yeah, pretty fucked up. Anyway, about the bakery . . .”
She pulled away and looked up at him. “I’m going to start my own business doing bakery catering. I’ll rent kitchen space somewhere. I don’t want to work for anyone else anymore.”
“You should keep at it with your family—you can get through to them eventually, get them to see your ideas are the best possible plan for Dolcetti. That’s where you’re meant to be. Where you’ve always belonged. Like you do with me. Like you do in New Orleans.”
“They’re never going to listen, and I’m done banging my head against that particular wall. I need to redraw my business plan with this other course of action in mind. I can’t wait on them forever. And Mick? Can we argue about this another time?”
“We’re not arguing. I just want the best for you. You know that, right?”
“I do. But right now I need to just be here with you. I don’t want to have any serious discussions for a while. Is that okay?”