Submit and Surrender (17 page)

If that woman only knew how much effort that took…

Well, she was about to find out, in a way. Ford knew she was stressed, even if she wasn’t talking to him about what was upsetting her, and that she needed a release. And she was about to get it.

Time to see if she’d found the present he left on her desk.

Ford smiled again.

~ * ~ * ~

Fucking Charlie.

Adra could swear
she
had actually felt the stress building over the past few weeks. Like she was directly tied to the pressure cooker that was Charlie Davis’s head and she knew, just
knew
, when he was about to blow. It had set her on edge lately—it was like when animals knew there was an earthquake coming and the dog just started whining and hiding under the kitchen table. Only Adra had tried to talk herself out of it, because, let’s be honest, that was the sane thing to do. It was so irrational, there was no way, she was just making it up.

And then Charlie called her.

“I’m just calling you so you don’t freak out,” Charlie said. “But I’m going away for a few days, up to Big Sur. Just taking a break. Nicole knows, and her parents are coming down to help out with the kids, so it’s not…I’m not doing a runner. Ok?”

What could she say?

“Thanks,” she said. “Thanks for checking in, and planning, and…thanks for doing it the right way.”

“You were right, little sister. Safety valve, you know?”

Adra smiled into the phone and told him to have fun, but really, what she was thinking in the back of her head was this:
The itch doesn’t go away. He still has the itch.
Having Nicole’s parents come down to help with the kids wasn’t a long-term solution, either.

It shouldn’t have been such a big deal. A long weekend away was not abnormal or anything. And it wouldn’t have gotten to her if Charlie didn’t have that habit of just disappearing, sometimes, and if it didn’t seem like he always had one foot out the door, but what was she going to do? It wasn’t even really her right to get upset about it.

It just made her sad. She wanted at least one of them to manage to have a family.

It really just made her sad, was all.

And she had collapsed into her comfy, oversized chair, feeling sorry for herself and her brother, when she saw the box.

A nice little black box with a red ribbon and a card.

And then she couldn’t help but smile just a little bit.

Slowly she pulled on the ribbon, watching the red curls unfurl, and then she gently lifted the lid of the box. She was never about reading cards first; the anticipation always killed her, and she wasn’t able to really appreciate sentimental words until she’d opened the present itself.

Which, apparently, Ford knew.

Inside was a silver bullet. A vibrating bullet. Larger than normal, with a cord—something that attached to underwear?

She’d never seen this particular one before, but she was a lady of the world. She knew the basic idea. And it made her…

It made her a lot of things.

She sighed, and rubbed her legs together, unconsciously trying to get at some of that
want
. Ford made her crazy. Every day, every night, he made her absolutely crazy. He was the only thing in her life that was constantly good, even if sometimes the intensity of what went on between them frightened her, and even if she sometimes wished she could tell him about Charlie and Derrick and all her personal fears, the way she might have done if they hadn’t been sleeping together.

Well, no, that couldn’t entirely be true. She’d had plenty of time when they hadn’t been sleeping together to tell him about all that stuff, and she hadn’t done it. And they weren’t sleeping together, technically. They were having sex; sleeping together didn’t have anything to do with it, Adra made sure of that. She had to. Maybe for the same reason she’d never confided those things to Ford: there had never been a time when she hadn’t wanted him, and confiding in him, showing those parts of herself? It would erase the last boundary. She’d be over the edge. The man would have all of her then, wouldn’t he?

So here she was. Stuck “only” having the most amazing sex anyone had ever had, in the history of ever, with a man any woman would kill to have. The kind of man who would leave surprise sex toys for her with the most exquisite timing, just when she needed something to take her mind off things. The kind of man who could dominate the hell out of her and then go another ten rounds just as Adra thought she’d pass out, then make her dinner later.

And the card?

All it said was, “Keep your door unlocked.”

Goddamn, was she grateful for that man.

She didn’t have to wait long for him to arrive, either. In only a few minutes Ford strode in like he owned the place and closed the door behind him, while Adra was still sprawled across her chair in a mild daze, checking out her new toy.

She looked up at him through her eyelashes and smiled.

“Hi,” she said.

Ford was silent. Watchful. He got that look on his face when he was doing his Dom thing, but also when he was studying, considering. It was part of what made him such a good Dom, and part of what made him so terrifying as a guy she couldn’t let herself fall in love with—he really
saw
her. He did it purposefully. He paid attention.

It always made her feel so naked. And she was always afraid he’d see too far into her.

This time he came around her desk and sat on the corner, bending down to take her ankles and lift her legs onto his lap. Gently, he stroked the delicate skin on her ankle—her
ankle—
with his thumb, and it sent small waves of pleasure rolling up her leg.

“What’s wrong?” he said.

Damn it, how did he
know
?

And he didn’t ask to know what was wrong, he demanded. It was Dom voice. It was the only context in which Adra felt ok being taken care of—a scene. Being dominated. It was actually being with Ford that had taught her that, because he was so good at it, and because he was so careful to curb his natural instincts to keep doing it outside of a scene since that wasn’t part of their arrangement.

Which, on its own, was amazing. She’d gone her whole adult life without knowing this fairly important fact about herself—that BDSM provided her with the only framework in which she could let herself be taken care of without having an anxiety attack—and Ford had figured it out and showed it to her in a manner of weeks.

It would be infuriating if she didn’t enjoy it so much.

But this wasn’t a scene. Not yet. This was still personal.

She shook her head.

“It’s nothing,” she said.

“It’s not nothing,” Ford said.

“Ok, it’s not nothing,” Adra agreed. “But it’s not something I can do anything about, and thinking about it just makes me sad, so I don’t want to think about or talk about it if I can help it, I just…I want to think about something else.”

Adra was afraid to look at him at first. She hadn’t even acknowledged that something was up with her until now; she’d just kind of let it go, let him treat her with kid gloves, because that’s what she’d needed to do. Saying it must change things somehow. Right?

She looked up.

Ford had that face, that concerned, intense face, those hard lines and those soft eyes. It was how he looked when he checked in in the middle of a scene. And now he leaned forward, outstretched his hand, and gently, so goddamn gently, cupped Adra’s face.

He brushed her cheek with his thumb, leaned over, and kissed her forehead.

Then, in that unmistakable Dom voice, he said, “I can arrange for you to not think at all.”

Adra closed her eyes, and took a deep breath.

She felt his other hand slide between her ankles, still on his lap. Felt him lift one of her legs and place it on the other side of him, spreading her to him.

Felt him take the silver bullet out of her hand.

Adra shuddered as Ford’s hand lightly caressed the inside of her leg, his fingers dancing on her skin, spinning a trail of sensation that threatened to overwhelm her. The teasing—he knew it killed her. Like the anticipation of wondering what was in the box, it drove her insane. Only without Ford, she would never have the discipline to ride it out.

“Eyes open,” Ford said.

She obeyed.

“Eyes on me,” he said.

Again, she obeyed.

Fuck, he was mesmerizing. Coming toward her with the slow intensity of a hunter. Of a man with a purpose.

His hand was on the inside of her thigh now, his other hand pushing up her skirt while she panted in short little breaths and gripped at the ends of her armrests. Her lower belly was already contracting, like it knew what was coming. Jesus.

He stroked her, outside her underwear. Her eyes almost closed.

“I can feel how wet you are,” he said.

Mutely, she nodded.

“Good,” he said.

Then he pulled aside her panties and pushed the cold silver bullet inside her.

Adra gasped, then shivered, then gasped again. She lifted her hips to accommodate it, to help him slide it up inside her, and he watched her the whole time. She was breathing hard by the time he finished, wishing he wouldn’t take his hand away, wishing…

Ford dug something out of his suit pocket, held it up.

It was a remote.

“You’ll go about your day like any other,” he said. “I’ll call you when I want you.”

Adra stared feverishly at the remote. At any time, in any place…

Except apparently here and now? When she was already so wet, so worked up, so…

Suddenly Ford was on her, one hand gripping between her legs, the way he liked to do, putting pressure on her, the other slipping inside her blouse, mauling her breast. And his mouth on hers, taking her in.

Adra moaned.

Then he turned on the bullet.

The vibrations rocked through her, sending echoes through out her body, echoes all centered on the growing storm in her g-spot, the…

They stopped.

Ford pulled away.

Adra blinked up at him, bewildered and probably disheveled.

“Be available,” he ordered.

And then he walked out the door.

Well, it had worked. About the last thing she was feeling right then was sad.

The day only got crazier from there.

It had only been about an hour, give or take, but Adra had spent that entire time in a constant state of oh-my-fucking-God
need
, and that meant it had been an eternity.

The actors had needed less and less coaching as the shoot progressed, and Derrick had a late call time today so he wasn’t around to try to get her attention, which meant that not too many people bothered her while she was walking around like a woman in heat wondering where Ford was. Which was good, because he’d turned the bullet on twice already.

The first time she’d had to steady herself against the wall.

The second time she’d gripped the sides of a chair and closed her eyes.

Both times, he’d left her hanging.

What the hell was the
range
on that thing?

Her nipples were at the point of pain. There was no way at all to hide it; every man she passed had to tear his eyes away, and some of the women, too.

She was so past caring.

All she cared about was an orgasm. All she cared about was when Ford would finally relent, and fuck her. For one blissful, torturous hour, he’d made her life incredibly simple.

Which might explain why she was so off her guard when Lola showed up.

Well, waddled up.

Adra smiled and tried to force her brain to switch gears. “You look great, you know.”

“I feel like a whale. It didn’t hit me until this week, and suddenly,
boom
: whale. I have no idea what’s going on.”

“Your due date is what’s going on,” Adra said.

Lola looked at her. Adra couldn’t help it.

“Hey, don’t
you
cry!” Lola said. “I’m the one who’s pregnant! And holy crap, do I want to be done being pregnant. I just want the baby already.”

“I know,” Adra said. “I’m just…how soon?”

Lola took a deep breath. “Twenty-two days,” she said. “What? Why are you smiling like a lunatic?”

“I’m just really happy,” Adra said. Seeing Roman and Lola start a family, seeing them in love—it was almost as good as seeing Charlie happy. Adra knew it didn’t necessarily make sense that she didn’t believe in happy endings for herself while she believed vehemently in those happy endings for her friends, but she was ok with being a woman of contradictions. Mostly she felt very lucky.

“C’mon, you goofball,” Lola said gently. “There’s some sort of entertainment TV show here, and they want to do an interview with you, and I figured…”

“Oh God, seriously?” Adra said, suddenly alarmed. “Which one?”

“
The Daily Tattle
,” Lola said. “Someone named Brooke Kenner?”