“Dallas.” Tears streamed down her face. “I—I got mixed up. It felt like I was back then, and I was afraid you wouldn’t come to me. That they wouldn’t let you come to me.”
“I will always come for you, baby.” He pulled off his T-shirt and covered her with it, certain she must be cold. “But you have to tell me what happened. Who did this to you?”
She was breathing better now. The wildness in her eyes fading. She turned her head to meet his eyes. “You did.”
The words hit him like a slap. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“You pushed away from me, Dallas. I had to get you back.”
He shoved back off the bed, her words like a blow. “Oh, Jesus, Jane. Christ. You were terrified when I came through that door. And now you’re telling me there’s no one else. This is all on you?”
She didn’t say anything, but he saw the truth in her eyes. And damned if he wasn’t sure if he was incredibly relieved or entirely pissed off.
Either way, he pulled out his phone, then dialed Liam. “You can stand down. We were right. There’s no perp.”
“Glad to hear it. Give her a hug for me.”
“After I spank the shit out of her, I just might do that.”
He heard Liam’s chuckle before the line went dead, then he pocketed his phone and strode to the head of the bed and unfastened the ropes that held her wrists before repeating the process with her ankles.
She sat up, the cuffs still around her wrists, the ropes still dangling from them. The T-shirt was pooled in her lap, and her bare breasts combined with the restraints spread around her on the bed made a damned enticing picture. And despite the fact that he was pissed as hell, he felt his body tighten with desire. For Jane—always for Jane—but also for the idea of Jane here. In this room. This sensual playroom that she’d put together for him, but that they’d never once used.
He pushed it aside.
Enticing or not, he was too damn angry. “What the hell were you thinking?” he asked, pacing beside the bed.
She watched him, her head moving as she followed him. “What was I thinking? Maybe that I didn’t know how to get through to you? That the only way to get you to actually listen and to hear me and not just run away because you think you’ve freaked me out, is to prove to you that it’s okay.”
“Okay?” he repeated, glancing around the room as he remembered the way he’d hurt her after he’d awakened inside her. “This is okay? You tied up? Me using you? Me taking you however the fuck I want? Me losing control because I’m too fucked up to hold back? Possibly hurting you? Probably scaring you? Is that what you’re saying is okay?”
“Yes,” she whispered, rising up on her knees and holding out her hands for him. “But say the rest of it. Say what it is you’re afraid of.”
He shoved his hands in his pockets. “I’m not having you play shrink, Jane. Not happening.”
“Fine. Then I’ll say it. It’s more than just possibly hurting me—and guess what, I don’t care. And it’s more than just possibly scaring me, because you won’t. But none of that really matters, because that’s not what’s really scaring you.”
He swallowed, wanting to argue. To back away. But he didn’t. Because, dammit, she was right.
“What you’re really afraid of is that if you scare me—if you hurt me—that you’re going to lose me.” She rose up and got off the bed, trailing bondage ropes as she moved to stand in front of him, naked now that the T-shirt had fallen to the floor. “Well, you won’t.”
“You don’t know that.”
She didn’t argue—he had to give her credit for that. Instead, she just reached out and slapped him hard across the face.
“What the fuck?”
“I don’t know that?” she countered. “The hell I don’t. And if you don’t believe me, then fucking let me prove it to you. Take me, Dallas. Use me. That’s why I’m here. That’s why I brought you here.”
“You don’t even know what you’re asking for.”
“So you say,” she taunted. She rose up onto her toes, all defiance and heat and so intense it made him want to lay her out and fuck her blind. “Show me.”
And goddammit, he broke. He shouldn’t. He should just walk away. But even as he told himself that, he was yanking her back to the bed. Positioning her on her knees. There was a hook extending from the ceiling at just the right height—the handiwork of her friend Brody, no doubt—and he lifted her wrists and slid the buckles of the cuffs over the hooks so that she was on her knees, her torso stretched tall. He considered spreading her legs and strapping her ankles to the sides of the bed, but decided against it. He wanted her somewhat mobile.
He reached down for the blindfold that he’d ripped away, then put it back over her eyes. He saw the way she bit her lower lip, but dammit, he wasn’t showing her mercy. Not now. Not when she’d pushed him this far to take what he wanted.