Bound to Be Mine (South Jersey Bound Series) (2 page)

Shit.
Not only did she want to follow him out the door, she wanted to wrap him in her arms and stake her claim. Mine, her body chanted, mine, mine, mine.

Her false lashes made each rapid blink noticeable.
No.
No tears. Ben did not deserve tears.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” She stepped back. “You better leave.”

His body seemed to shrink on his exhale, but he did not argue. Strangely, his reluctance to fight increased the ache in her heart and the sting in her eyes.

Was he really going to give up that easily? What had happened to Ben?

“I’ll go. But first, promise to read this.” He pressed a small, black book into her hand.

She turned over the book. She’d seen these little journals in bookstores. She opened the leather cover and thumbed to a random page. Ben’s neat, even script jumped out.

She blinked and snapped the journal shut.

“What is this?” she asked, ashamed at her voice’s slight tremor.

“Something I wrote for you,” he replied.

Without another word, he turned and strode out of the club. Had she imagined his voice’s crack?

Lisa gripped the journal as goose bumps spread along her arms.

****

Home at last and finally clean.

Lisa yanked open her refrigerator, shivering when the sudden chill cooled her cheeks. Her hair hung loose and wet from her shower. Her terry-cloth robe slid along her legs as she removed a re-corked magnum of chardonnay.

On working nights, she always indulged in a single, cold glass of wine after a long, hot shower. The ritual separated her small apartment’s comfort from the club’s brash nastiness. To heighten her sense of luxury, she used a beautiful crystal glass—one she had found on sale, of course.

As she poured, she glanced at the small black book sticking out from the outer pocket of her satchel by the door. She frowned. She hadn’t exactly promised Benjamin she would read the journal, although, mute acceptance of his “gift” may have implied a promise.

Her frown switched into an all–out scowl.

She stuck close to the counter as she slipped into her living room, as if getting too close to the book could be dangerous. She sank into her cushy velvet couch. From there, she could consider both Ben and the journal in relative safety.

When she had flicked open his journal in the club, she’d caught three words in his careful script—
so very sorry
.

Those words had been enough for surging adrenaline to steal her breath and render her mute. She had not known how to react. Now, the thought of touching the page made her shudder.

Perhaps he had thought his apology would be received as a kind gesture, but she could not get past her ache to feel any gratitude. Why should she give him the chance to spill his guts uninterrupted? Why should she allow him to hide behind paper and pen? For so long, she’d played by his rules…why should he have the chance to explain when he’d never given her a chance to vent her anger?

She took a sip from her glass. The cold, tangy taste lingered on her lips.

The night they’d met, she’d picked Ben out of a bar-full of men. Across the room, her body had recognized its mate. Later that night, when he’d pressed his lips against her ear and asked her how she liked to be touched, she’d gone wet in an instant.

Any way you want.

He’d clasped her hand and run his rough thumb along her knuckles.

Mmm, so willing.
Any place I want, too?

Yes.

Nice. How about any time?

She’d swallowed through a dry throat and nodded.

Meet me in the back.

Of course she had. Shielded by a coat rack, he’d pinned her wrists behind her back, lifted her skirt and stroked her to a shattering orgasm.

Their sexual games of dominance and submission had intensified with every passing day—blindfolds and spankings, ropes and commands. Neither of them had explored “the scene” before, and she was certain they had broken more than a few ‘rules’ as they’d gone along. Still, the world they created had been her private haven, a kingdom of two.

By their third year together, their games had begun to crystallize into something true and deep. They played longer, and the rules of their word had grown more complex. Lisa had peeled away layers of her false self and sensed her very essence: the nature of a “sub,” the heart of a servant. In truth, Ben had become her master.

And then, he had left.

Their intense connection had scared her, too, but they could have stayed together, they could have explored the dark world’s depths step-by-step. She shuddered, shedding the vibrating sense of right she felt when remembering the weight of his collar around her throat.

Fuck.

She pursed her lips, pushing aside thoughts of what could have been if they had achieved the mysterious blend of yin and yang they’d neared.

He seemed thinner now than when she last saw him, though his looks had never been what attracted her most. Yes, he was hot. His dark, brown hair fell over a smooth forehead, and his light blue eyes lit a finely chiseled face. But what she found most captivating was
in
his eyes—a way he had of looking at her that made the whole world fall away.

Ben was like a magnet, specifically charged to attract and hold her. She could not believe how, even at the club, a place where her body was firmly shut down, Ben could cause a slow fire to smolder in her belly.

A sweet chill slid over her tongue as she took another sip.

Ben had left her seriously
wantin’ some
and there was no pretending her fever was anger alone. No, as always, he had left her yearning for his commands, salivating for his cock. She ran her hand inside her robe, unsurprised to find her nipple stiff.

Bastard.

She narrowed her eyes at the journal. So he had something to say, did he? He thought he could toss a couple crumbs of apology at her and walk away unscathed, untouched?

Well, if he wanted to tell her something, the least he could do was tell her in person. They had lived together for over three years and he owed her that much at the very least. She swallowed a large gulp of wine and stood.

A business card was tucked into the front of the journal. A slow smile curled her lips. If he wanted her to read his damn book, he’d have to read it to her—that would serve him right. She tried to conjure an image of him sitting at her feet, book-in-hand, face contrite.

Instead, in her imagination, Ben knelt before her, his hands grasped the back of her thighs as his tongue worked up the inside of her leg.

She leaned against the counter to offset the sudden weakness in her knees.

Perhaps calling him was not the best solution. What did she stand to gain by exposing herself to hurt?

The image came alive again. This time, she could feel his hands on her ass. She sighed as she pictured his mouth working its magic on her already throbbing sex.

Ben had inserted himself back into her life, not the other way around. Why the hell shouldn’t she extract some pleasure before she sent him packing?

If he wanted to grovel, at least she should get something for her time. What she wouldn’t give for his lips to work the kind of mind-ruining orgasms she remembered so well.

For a year, she’d gone without a man’s touch. Most men were not worth the bother, really. Sex with Ben had been the most intense sex she’d ever had—no one came in second.
No one.

She swiped her finger across her phone and entered his number. Tonight, the servant would become the master.

****

Ben hadn’t been sure, when he’d taken Lisa’s call, exactly what she wanted. But, he had vowed to set things straight as part of his twelve steps, so, at her
request, he’d gone to her apartment. Not until she opened the door—a vision in just her robe and slippers—had he understood how high a price she meant to extract. Now inside, he realized his mistake.

She planned to drive him mad, plain and simple.

Her secret weapon was her home. Here, she reached a zenith of power. Her walls were a soft, pale green and her feminine scent lingered in the air, both lured him like peanut butter lured a mouse. He was a wild horse in a small, restrictive corral. Tantalizing wilderness surrounded him, but he had no possible hope of release.

True, the full-length robe she wore covered her completely while, at the club, her string thong, chain, and pasties had left nothing to his imagination. But, the natural hang of her unbrushed hair whispered
intimacy
. The easy familiarity of her cosmetic-free face whispered
peace
. He had to deny these comforts to stay on track, had to refuse her song to protect her from the dark imaginings she brought to life inside him.

“Drink?” she asked, her voice light, but sultry.

Ben nodded, hesitant to leave her entryway.

“I have wine or beer,” she said.

“A beer would be great,” he replied.

“Come in, sit.” She smiled sweetly and motioned toward her counter.

He chose the bar stool closest to the door, watching Lisa warily as she moved about her kitchen. Though she lived in the same complex, she no longer had the apartment they’d shared. As he looked through the kitchen to the living room, he noticed she’d purged most, if not all, of their shared belongings.

He’d been completely and efficiently erased. He tried not to dwell on the unexpected stabbing in his gut. After all, he found the home she created to be infinitely more inviting.

“Nice place,” he said, his gaze rolling over the perfectly organized kitchen.

The old Lisa could have been buried in filth before she noticed. Now, her home was…serene. He pushed aside a sense of guilt—more proof that his presence in her life only caused her pain and confusion.

“Thank you,” she smiled, obviously pleased with her efforts. “I like it.”

Honestly, he had no idea how to interact. Despite her state of undress, she acted almost as if he were a new acquaintance, a casual visitor. Her ease set him on edge and, once there, tension started to build. He could sense the distant rumble of an advancing storm.

Her scent alone had drawn his cock to half-mast—
definitely not helping.

Lisa set an open beer in front of him.

“You know what I like best about this apartment?” she asked.

“I can’t guess,” he replied, grasping the cool bottle.

“The apartment has a certain…lack of
male
energy that I find incredibly liberating.”

“No doubt,” he replied.

He didn’t trust himself to say more, so he drank deeply from the bottle, fortifying himself. She was bating him, he knew, but he would retain control.

“It is certainly…feminine,” he continued.

She leaned over the counter and stopped just an inch from his face. “Exactly.”

For a crazy second, with her lips too close to see, he thought she might kiss him. If she did, he knew it would not be a loving, gentle kiss, but a punishing reminder of all he’d left behind.

Inside, he wrestled for a response. His plan had been to fulfill step nine: Make direct amends to people you harmed whenever possible.

Her breath’s gentle heat fanned against his face.
God, how he wanted her
. Clearly, he needed to amend, if not completely abandon, his plan, or he was going to lose control. He would not be able to resist much longer.

She pulled back just before he broke.

Shit. Shit.

She sauntered to her couch, bent her knee and sat on her foot. She tasted her wine, watching him like she understood his need to escape. He began to sense the web about him—a carefully planned trap.

“Look, I came because I want to—” he started.

“Shh!” She put up a hand. “I
know
what you want. You want to say you’re sorry. Let me decide what
I
want.”

Her brow’s arch was a challenge the old Ben would have taken. In fact, her order caused a distant rumble in his heart.

When he’d seen himself as her Master, he’d allowed, even encouraged, her to mildly bait him. Playful challenges had been her way of saying she needed to be spanked without the disrespect she’d felt was inherent in a direct request.

Even now, her head’s taunting tilt made his hand itch.

He calmed himself with another swig of beer as she drummed her free foot against the base of her couch.

Maybe he should give up.
Those who withhold forgiveness only withhold it from themselves.
Ben heard his SAA sponsor’s voice inside his head. But he didn’t want to leave her this way. Just because he’d reformed, didn’t give him the right to walk out like a nutless jerk.

“Are you going to tell me what you want, then?” he asked.

This would be so much easier, if only her little pursed lips weren’t so fucking kissable. If only he couldn’t so vividly remember those lips wrapped firmly around his cock.