Dear Sir, I'm Yours (28 page)

As she ducked inside, his cell phone rang. “Missing me already?”

“Like a high-degree polynomial skewing my interpolation,” Mason retorted. Conn didn’t know what the hell that was, exactly, but it sounded bad. “I need to tell you something. It might be nothing, but…”

“What’s up?”

“I was talking to Rae earlier today and she got that look.”

Ah, now Conn knew who’d upset her. “What look is that?”

“The look that says the woman’s thinking too much. At the time, I didn’t know what I’d said to put that look on her face, but now… “

“What’d you say?”

“Oh, I don’t remember exactly, but something along us both needing activities away from teaching. I meant our fencing, but she got a really strange look on her face. Earlier, I’d admitted that when I found out you wanted to date a student that I wasn’t the most supportive because I was afraid she’d be too immature to hold your interest. I told her I was wrong, but… Damn it, Conn, I’m sorry. I hope I didn’t say anything stupid to upset her. You’ve got a good thing going with her.”

“We’re fine, Mason. We talked about it on the way home.”

“Are you sure? I’d feel like crap if I messed you two up after you’d pined for her so long.”

“I’m sure.” Conn heard soft music in the background and the clink of a wine glass. “Did you drive straight home?”

“Well, actually…” He didn’t have to see his best friend to know Mason had turned beet red. “I’m still in Joplin. I ran into Dr. Radcliff from Missouri Southern and she asked me about the new computer program I’ve been working on, and well… One thing led to another, and we decided to have dinner. She specializes in splines, you know.”

“Oooh, sounds sexy,” Conn said, smiling. “Good for you. It’s about time.”

“It’s just dinner with a colleague.”

“It’s a start. You need prettier friends than me to entertain you every once in a while.”

Mason laughed. “Especially someone whose eyes don’t glaze over when I start talking about interpolation.”

“Huh? What’d you say? Sorry, I zoned out. Maybe I’ll start quoting Lord Byron for you too.”

With a wicked chuckle, Mason said, “So she likes you to quote poetry, huh? It must be a match made in heaven, then.”

Suddenly solemn, Conn whispered, “Perfect.”

“I’m glad, buddy. Really. Now I’m getting that look from Dr. Radcliff—”

In the background, Conn heard her say, “Tess,” insistently.

“That says she’s tired of waiting politely to tell me what I’ve done wrong in my system analysis, so I’d better go.”

“Have a good time, and let’s sleep in on Monday.”

“You got it.”

***

A box waited on the bed for her. Wrapped in a towel, Rae climbed into his bed with three minutes to spare.

“Go ahead,” Conn said, pulling his shirt over his head. “Take a look and think about it while I’m in the shower.”

The trail of dark hair running down his abdomen drew her gaze lower to his jeans. “Too bad you don’t still have your warrior garb on. Those leather pants were hot.”

“In more ways than one.” He grimaced, even while she remembered the thrill of seeing him fight, sword in hand, sweat dripping off him. There was something so utterly masculine and aggressive about a man with a sword who knew how to use it. “We’ll play barbarian and maiden some other time. Right now, I’m going to take the world’s shortest shower, while you take a look at what I picked up today and see if you like it.”

With a wink, he headed for the bathroom. The box was plain white cardboard without any trademark or design. When had he picked it out?

She opened the lid and pulled back the white tissue paper.

Leather. Deep, dark red, trimmed in black, studded with silver. Immediately, she recognized the design and craftsmanship. She’d purchased her purse from the same lady today.

As much as she’d paid for the purse…

He’d spent a fortune.

She pulled out a choker with a heavy silver heart that would be centered on her throat, and her hands trembled. So lovely, so perfect. More pieces, longer than cuffs and made to lace up, likely for her wrists and ankles. Then she found a corset on the bottom. All made from the same butter-soft leather and intricate designs.

Stark naked and glistening with water, Conn leaned down over her shoulder. “What do you think?”

“Gorgeous,” she whispered.

“Not as gorgeous as you’ll be wearing it.” He placed the choker around her throat, carefully adjusting the snap enclosure until it fit snugly without binding or choking her in any way. “I’ve long admired Donna’s work and had sketched out a few ideas for her last year. I would have purchased most of this even if I hadn’t found you, but I swear, darlin’, I would have never given them to anyone else, even if you’d never come to help Miss Belle. I saw these in my mind on you, only you.”

His words alone were enough to make her breath hitch in her chest. The feel of the leather—
his
leather—tight on her throat sent a wave of weakness through her body. Literally, she felt lightheaded, her strength simply leaking away. He eased her down to the pillows, hands gentle and eyes sharp, watching her carefully.

“How do you feel? Rae?”

His words came as slow and thick as molasses to her ears. She smiled, although it felt like it took several long seconds for her lips to move.

“That good, huh? Will it be alright for me to add the vambraces and half-greaves? They’ll help protect your wrists and ankles from the ropes.”

“Sure,” she finally forced out.

He slipped the wide leather cuffs on her wrists and laced them snugly, followed by the long cuffs on her ankles. Conversationally, he said, “These are inspired by medieval armor. I asked Donna to use laces instead of buckles, and to use silver only as a design element. These are only half-greaves; normally they’d go up over the thigh to help protect the knee, but I didn’t think your legs would bend well. I like bendy.”

He waggled his eyebrows, which made her laugh.

With an over-exaggerated glare, he growled. “I didn’t tell you to laugh yet. And what’s this? I told you to be naked, and you’re wrapped up in a towel.” He gave her a wicked smile that would do any cartoon villain proud. With a hard jerk on the corner, he rolled her out of the towel, tossed it aside, and smacked her backside hard enough she squealed.

Only one swat, combined with his manner, told her he was playing. She’d never imagined laughing so much with him, let alone in his bed.

“Now you’ve done it.”

Still laughing, she rolled over onto her back and noticed that he’d slid off the bed to his knees. Despite his playfulness, her heartbeat sped up as he pulled out the infamous box. Out came the pocket knife onto the nightstand, and she was sincerely thankful he’d warned her about it beforehand.

Next, he pulled out a length of rope. Of course it was white. “Hold out your hands, darlin’.”

Confused, because the rope appeared to be rather long, she did so. He looped the rope over each wrist and then together, dragging the ends over her chest and stomach in the process.

It was as soft as he’d promised, and she barely felt the bindings on top of the leather cuffs. He moved down her body and worked on her ankles, tying her hands to her feet, but with enough slack in the rope down her front that she could still easily lie flat.

“We’re going to play a game.” He leaned over her, whispering conspiratorially. “Make me earn these swats on your delectable ass. The bed is yours. I have to stay on the floor. Go!”

Still waiting for the fierce, dominant Conn to peek out, she felt him try to turn her over, so she rolled away toward the center of the bed. Sensation ripped through her. Startled, she jerked to a halt.

The rope. It rubbed between her legs, not enough to make her sore, but she definitely knew it was there. He lunged toward her, leaning down with a wicked grin on his face, forcing her to roll further away. The kick of her legs tightened the rope.

Conn laughed and got her backside again. “Come on, darlin’, you’re faster than that.”

Shuddering, she tried to brace her hands on the mattress to push off, but that tightened the rope just as much. A smart smack on her ass sent her jerking the other direction automatically. Every wiggle and kick and struggle sent that silk gliding against her. If she was too slow, he swatted her. If she was too quick, the rope’s caress stoked the fire burning between her legs. It was a lose-lose battle…

Or a win-win.

She couldn’t stop rolling and kicking, not with his taunts, both verbal and physical, spurring her. She couldn’t stop the moan from rolling out of her mouth, either, long and ragged as the rope sent another wave of fire rolling up from her groin. She couldn’t stop herself from hesitating longer, flat on her stomach, when she knew he was going to smack her backside.

She knew he’d swat her again, and again, as long as she let him, and she let him. Because she didn’t want to move.

She didn’t need to move.

She needed to stay, right there, while he did as he pleased.

He knew the moment she surrendered. Arms folded beneath her stomach, she arched her back and waited for the next strike to fall. The slight movement was enough to tighten the carefully placed rope, which made her shiver, her legs shifting, which tightened the rope more.

He’d put her in a vicious cycle of need, without ever once taking the upper hand.

Conn dropped his hand on the back of her neck, heavily, and she moaned louder, her hips rising in invitation. “Do you feel like laughing now, darlin’?”

She shuddered. “No.”

“If I tell you to laugh, are you going to?”

“I’ll try,” she gulped for air. “Might sound more like begging.”

He smoothed his other palm down her back firmly, following the shape of her spine and the swelling curve of her buttock. “Now what could you possibly beg for, darlin’?”

She arched her back again, pushing up into his palm. A ragged moan tore out of her throat. “More.”

“More of…this?” He swatted her ass firmly, bringing a faint blush of pink to her skin.

Then he caught her foot and drew her bound ankles back to her knees. “Or this?”

Crying out, she squirmed against his hold, which only increased the friction of silken torture. “Conn, please!”

He gripped her ankles firmly. “Please what, darlin’? Which will it be?”

“Both,” she ground out.

He laughed, low and wicked, and brought his hand down sharply on her ass. “That’s what I thought. After you come, I’ll tie you to the headboard and have my way with you in earnest. How many strokes do you think it’ll take, darlin’? I’m betting on less than ten.”

Tension strained through her. Good. She was going to challenge him on the bet. He wasn’t sure if she would or not. Deliberately, he let her ankles slip down, giving her a little slack in the rope, and dropped several swats back and forth across her ass.

He could almost hear her mentally counting.

On four, he gave a small but firm jerk on her ankles. She cried out, pitching and heaving in his grip. By her rapid pants, he knew she was close and fighting not just the hovering climax but his control with everything she had.

“‘
But their rage would be subdued
,’” he quoted softly through the next strokes, keeping beat with the poetry. Pushing her legs back to the mattress, he pinned her ankles, letting her feel his control, his power, while he continued, “‘
By that clime divine—
’”

Her back arched, her breath whooshing out on a scream of pleasure that drowned his voice. Shaking, she gasped, “Count?”

“Nine.” Voice purring with satisfaction, he yanked the knot loose on her ankles, flipped her over, and used her bound wrists to heave her up to the pillows.

“Did you want me to win or lose?”

Despite the need pounding like a jackhammer in his skull, he couldn’t help but laugh. “I think you won either way, darlin’, but I always like a challenge.”

He lashed her wrists to the center support in the headboard, grateful he’d chosen a mission-style plantation hybrid instead of the solid oak panel so he wasn’t limited to tying her to a corner poster. Then he stepped back and simply looked at her.

Stormy eyes, flushed cheeks, her hair wild and tangled about her face from rolling and laughing so much, she lay lush and wanting, adorned with his leather, tied to his bed, helpless…

A sound trickled out of his mouth rather like a low warning growl of a lion warding off a competitor from its kill.

“I dreamed…” He paused, clearing his throat in an effort to tone down the rising beast. “I dreamed of this, Rae. I saw you like this every time I stepped into this room at night, and I wanted to throw my head back and rage at the top of my lungs that I’d lost you.”

Fisting his hands to hide his trembling fingers, he breathed deeply, fighting down the urge to simply fall on her, bury his face against her heart, and beg her to marry him now, right now, before she could change her mind.

Solemnly, Rae whispered, “’
Many a green isle needs must be,/ In the deep wide sea of
Misery.
’ I dreamed of you every night, Conn, in misery because I’d lost you.”

Her voice soaked into him like a balm, and it took him a moment to realize she’d recognized the poem enough to quote it back to him. “How did you recognize such an obscure line from ‘Lines Written Among the Euganean Hills’?”

She smiled with such love and trust that his chest cracked open and his heart fell on the floor at his feet. “I had a very good teacher.”

Swallowing the lump in his throat, he crawled onto the bed and jerked her ankles open wide. “Describe him for me; maybe I know him.”

“Oh…” She sighed, trying to breezy, but with him sliding his palms from her ankles up past her knees, she sounded rather more like she’d just run a marathon. “He’s a sexy sword-wielding English professor who likes his teacher’s pet to wear short white mini-skirts so he can spank her, while he quizzes her on Shelley and Byron.”