She pressed her lips against the soft vertical grooves between Jay’s eyes, giddy and content that Nathan had found happiness. “He is, after all, a very rich man. He can do whatever the hell he wants.”
Sure, Roy’s money was tainted, the means by which he accumulated it questionable. When Jay refused to touch his share of the inheritance, she reminded him the fucker stole nine years of her life and was responsible for putting Jay through her death. Twice.
Point made, they spent the money indulgently, donated to charity, and gave an ample sum to the family of the murdered guard and his niece. It also funded the elaborate dungeon in the room next door. The irony of that was bitter sweet.
Wil stepped so close to the camera, she could count the follicles of his eyelashes. He fluttered his eyes, his cheeks puffing up. “We’ll see you in a couple weeks? And you’ll give me the tat I emailed to you?”
The mermaid with a skeletal face and huge tits? What a goofball. Damn, she missed those guys. “Yep. Two weeks.” They would spend the rest of the winter in L.A. while The Burn recorded their new album.
“Good deal.” Wil’s arms reached up, and the image on the screen shook as he wiggled something on the camera. “Signing off.”
The screen blinked to black.
Jay reached back, grabbed her waist, and shifted her until she stood between his legs. Wrapping his arms around her hips, he tucked her belly against his chest. The gold in his eyes gave way to darkening shades of brown as he stared up at her. “How was your day?”
“Crazy busy.” She touched his dimple, lost in his heavy-lidded eyes. “I really need to go in more often to keep up with the schedule.”
“Nonnegotiable. I fucking dread the one day a week separation as it is.”
No sense arguing it. They were leaving in two weeks.
He walked the fingers of one hand around her waist and inched up her thermal shirt. “Any memorable tats today?” His lips shimmied over her naval.
“Mm.” She closed her eyes, shivered against the smooth texture of his mouth. “Some guy from Montreal asked me to ink the letters S E X E. One letter on each finger.”
“Sexe?”
“Sex in French, I think.” When he arched a brow, a laugh bubbled out of her. “True story, I swear.” She pushed her hands through his hair and circled her thumbs over his scalp.
He closed his eyes and moaned. “I’m still waiting for my answer from this morning.”
A thrill trickled through her. “I gave myself a tattoo today.”
His head jerked back, and his wide eyes collided with hers. “Where?”
She shrugged, biting her cheek and squirming with the itch to blurt.
He searched her face and lowered his gaze to her neck, lingering there, heating her from the inside out. His eyes burned over her breasts, her belly, all the way to her toes, as if he could see through her long-sleeved shirt and cargo pants. He pursed his lips. “Remove your clothes.”
Emptying her expression, she did, fumbling as excitement sparked her pulse. When she stood in only a pair of red cheeky panties, he ran his hands over every inch of her flesh, spinning her around and lifting her arms.
He looked at her panties, her eyes, back at her panties, and shoved them down her legs. With a nudge of his toes on the insides of her ankles, he spread her stance apart, hesitated, and sat up. “You’ll give me your answer to my proposal, and you’ll tell me where the tattoo is.” His jaw tightened, and his chest lifted. “Go to the dungeon. Put your back against the tower.”
Turning toward the door, she let her smile stretch so wide her cheeks ached as she dashed down the hall and into their playroom.
At the center of the room, a wood beam rose from the concrete floor and disappeared into the ceiling. She backed against it until her ass touched one of the two horizontal bars bolted to the tower. She positioned her feet at either end of the lower bar, buckled the shackles around her ankles, and rose to her full height.
His soft, steady footfalls announced his approach in the hall. She gripped the bar at her back, her breath rushing out in noisy pants.
Clad in only his too-tight-to-be-legal leather pants, he didn’t look at her as he padded into the room. Her heart skipped a beat. Master Jay carried his authority with a confidence that quickened her pulse and fluttered her stomach.
Pacing along the wall of implements, he dragged out his decision, torturing her as he fingered every flogger, butt bruiser, whip, and cane. Finally, he removed the well-used leather belt, his favorite impact toy, the sandpaper long peeled away.
In three long strides, he stood before her, top button undone at his waist, belt dangling from his hand, masculine vitality heaving in waves from his rock hard body. “What’s the answer?”