When I came to yesterday, I was wrapped in Ian’s arms, our naked bodies intertwined in his bed. My body had been rubbed down with lotion, and he had taken great care to ensure my comfort. My wiggling in the bed woke him up, and we had a lengthy discussion about the rules, and why they exist. I pushed not only his limits but mine as well, and even though I don’t regret it, I feel a little guilty.
“I won’t be touching you again,” he had said. Apparently he was much more serious about the purple limit than I thought. I don’t believe him when he says he won’t touch me again. I can’t accept that. But I pushed him enough, so I’m backing off for now and letting him cool off. Maybe, in time, he will see that we can make this work. I want the pain, I want the brutality, but I don’t want to risk losing him over it.
“Floor’s clean, babe.” He comes up behind me, taking the broom from my grasp and propping it up against the wall. I eye the broom curiously, thinking back to how he used the one at the cabin to give me pleasure in ways I couldn’t have imagined before.
“Huh?” I’m distracted and can’t seem to get my brain in order. I was scatterbrained enough at the cabin, but here in the clubhouse, I’m a hundred times worse. There’s so much going on today, with one of the patched members just having gotten out of jail, and the clubhouse is a buzz of activity and excitement. I refuse to go anywhere near the pleasure palace for fear of seeing people I normally like engaged in activities I definitely don’t like—together. I’m not a prude, but Bear suggesting that he and the dude who just got out, Torque, should run a train on Chel—a woman I happen to really like—and watching her smile and walk toward the palace is enough for me. The three of them seemed so comfortable with the idea, like it wouldn’t be the first time they’ve done such a thing.
“You’ve been sweeping the same spot for five minutes,” Ian says, pulling me back into the moment. “What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?”
“Chel,” I admit. Ian heard the exchange. He knows they headed down the hall for the pleasure palace. Surely he can figure out why this bothers me.
“Lost girls are here to keep the brothers happy, but make no mistake about it—they’re here because they want to be, and they only do what they want to do. Especially Chel. Torque wouldn’t hurt her.”
“It’s hard to imagine . . . two men . . . that she’d want that.” God, I sound like such a freaking baby. This is ridiculous. Chel is a grown-ass woman, and if Ian tells me she’s safe and this dude, Torque, won’t hurt her, then I need to fucking believe that.
“Hm. Hard to imagine you’d like to have your pussy slapped with a broom, too. But the weirdest shit gets people off.” There’s a sly smile playing at his lips that sends a blush to my cheeks. Oh Christ, now I’m thinking of everything except for Chel and the two large men who are impaling her as we speak.
“Just tell me that broom wasn’t dirty,” I say. I hadn’t thought of it at the time, but looking at the dirty broom propped against the wall makes me wonder exactly how dirty that scene was.
“First time I touched the fucking thing was to tease you with it.”
“It was new?”
“Ma dropped it off sometime last year, some kind of hint that I needed to clean the fucking place.”
“You mean to tell me that broom was in your house for a year and you hadn’t used it once?”
“Got better shit to do than clean, babe,” he says and turns his attention to the line of men disappearing down the hallway to my side. They pass up the pleasure palace—thank goodness, too—and head straight into the chapel. “Shit. Church. Hang out here with Baby Boy, ’kay? Don’t want you running off anywhere.”
Like I’m going anywhere without him. We rode his Harley in today, and I’m damn determined to ride it home, too. I couldn’t imagine it possible the first time I got on the back of his bike, but I actually love riding Ian more than his bike, and I can’t get enough of either.
“Don’t worry,” I say and grab the room, giving him a cheeky smile. “I won’t get swept away.” I wiggle my brows and break out into a full grin, laughing at my own joke. “Get it—swept away?”
“Fuck, you’re cute,” he says and hooks his hand around the back of my neck, pulling me into his chest and kissing the top of my head. I can feel the smile on his lips with that kiss and the lightness in his tone. For a brief moment, he looks happy and relaxed.
“Think you’re going to keep me now?”
“I gotta go.” He dodges my question, which is just so typical.