Tomorrow would be less confusing. Maybe.
Turning her face into his neck, she breathed him in. Oh, yes, he smelled good. He smelled right. And breathing him in, over and over, losing herself and her fears in his scent, she drifted off.
? ? ?
SHE WOKE WITH a stiff neck and a stupid grin on her face. She was already starting to stretch before she remembered why—why the stiff neck, and why the grin. Her head was pillowed on Duff’s massive chest, her body still shimmering with the lovely soreness from being played and the aftereffects of repeated orgasms.
Thank you, universe.
Her grin widened. She slapped a hand over her mouth, feeling like an idiot.
Despite the bad angle of her neck, she was far too cozy in the arms of the big man. And damn it—her eyes had been open all of twenty seconds and her body was already burning with need, her sex going slick in response to his warm skin beneath her cheek, the tight line of abs under her right hand. And the way the man smelled was pure sin. She’d never been so turned on by a man’s natural scent in her life. And Jesus God, she could drink that in all day long, swallow it down and hold it in her lungs.
Dangerous . . .
Oh, yes, this man was dangerous, and it had little to do with his dominance or even the wicked sadist in him. No, it was more about the way her body responded to him, the way she trusted him, the way he made her smile. The way she wanted to stay right there with her head on his chest, sore neck and all, the entire day.
Damn it.
Better to create a little distance, get her head on straight. Sliding her hand from his stomach with some reluctance, she sat upright on the sofa, pushed the throw blanket off her legs and started to get to her feet when Duff’s hand shot out and grabbed her. He pulled her down on top of him with a growl, and the heat in her body ramped up.
“Where are you going, lovely?”
She let out a short laugh. “What, are you gonna get all stalker-y on me now? Can’t a lady go to the bathroom?”
His features shifted and he released his grip on her immediately. “Of course. Didn’t mean to scare you.”
“What? No, you didn’t. Just . . . really full bladder.”
“Of course.”
She got up, all too aware that she was still naked as she made her way through her bedroom to the bathroom. There she ran the water in the old pedestal sink, searching her gaze in the oval mirror. She still looked the same, other than the small bruises around her nipples. Running her fingertips over them, she winced a little, but they went hard with pleasure all the same. She shook her head at her reflection, then took care of her urgent bladder and washed her hands. Taking her hair pick from the wooden shelf on the wall, she tried to get her hair in order.
“You are fine. Just fine,” she told herself quietly. “Just because this man is the hottest human being ever born, just because he plays you the way no man ever has, doesn’t mean anything. Lust, maybe. You can deal with lust.”
She pulled her short garnet-colored silk robe from the hook on the door, slipped it around her and cinched the belt tight, then stepped back and lifted the hem of the robe to check out her marks in the mirror. Her thighs were crisscrossed with narrow red welts from the makeshift bamboo cane he’d used on her. She didn’t want to, but she gloried in her marks. Hers. Because Duff had put them there. She allowed herself to gaze at them for another three seconds before dropping the hem of the robe.
“You are one sorry girl,” she muttered to herself, pulling open the bathroom door.
When she stepped back into the living room, Duff had propped himself up on a few of the throw pillows, looking like a lazy sultan against the rich jewel tones.
“Come ’ere, lovely,” he commanded.
She wanted to—she really did. But she couldn’t do it. Not yet.
“How about some coffee first?” she suggested.
“Tea? Say yes and I’ll leave the mark off the ledger for disobeying me, princess.”
“I have tea,” she said over her shoulder, already turning toward the kitchen.
There she busied herself with starting the coffeemaker and the kettle. She poured some milk into her coffee before carrying both mugs back into the living room. How was she going to handle the morning? Her need to run? Her need to climb into his lap, which was just as strong, and infinitely more terrifying? Setting her cup on the coffee table, she handed him his tea, taking a long, steady breath.
“Come sit with me,” he said.
She did, keeping as much distance as she could from his big body, which amounted to a few inches. Picking up her coffee, she held it in both hands as if it could protect her from . . . what? From what she felt for him?
He put his mug down on the side table. “Layla, is there something we need to discuss? Are you crashing?”
“What? No. I never . . . Fuck. I don’t know. Maybe that’s what this is.”
He narrowed his gaze. “What what is?”
“I thought it was just . . .” She paused, biting her lip. “You know, I really was not going to discuss this with you.”
“Bad idea. You know how this works. I need you to check in with me. Are you having some subdrop?”
She nodded, her mind fumbling for what to say. “I woke up this morning a little freaked out.”
“Because we played, or because I was still here when you woke up?”
“A little of both, maybe?”
He was quiet a few moments, watching her, his brows drawn. Then he said, his tone soft, “I get it. I do. You’ve been on your own for a long while. There must be a reason for it, you being the beautiful, enticing woman you are. I’m certain that wouldn’t be the case if you had any desire not to be. So, I won’t intrude, but I’ll assume I’m right.”
She nodded slowly.
“And,” he continued, “waking up with a strange man can be a bit of a shock.”
“I think what was more shocking was how not strange it is,” she murmured, glancing away. But she couldn’t help turning back to him to see what his reaction to her words might be.