He flicked open the first b.u.t.ton on his jeans. "You're not listening."

"No." I shook my head, honing in on the next silver b.u.t.ton.

Mark laughed dryly as his fingers took their time working the metal b.u.t.tons. I was beginning to love that low laugh of his. He spread the fly open and put his hand inside his jeans, releasing the plum-red crown of his p.e.n.i.s. I licked my lips, wanting a taste of him.

He pulled a foil package out of his back pocket and ripped it open. A condom. At least one of us was thinking.

I stared at his fingers rolling the sheath over his p.e.n.i.s. "You know if you unhooked me, I could do that for you."

He shook his head. "The less we touch the better."

I stepped forward, the chains grinding the hook. "What kind of rule is that?"

Mark ambled toward me, his jeans slipping lower. More white skin showed but his stiff p.e.n.i.s stole the show. I couldn't see anything else. My lips opened as if my mouth would take him all the way.

"It's my rule for me, babe."

If I strained hard on the chains, my nose might graze his. Mark stood a hair out of reach on purpose. I jerked on the restraints, thrusting my b.r.e.a.s.t.s at him.

"Now you're just being mean." My voice dripped with s.e.x.

Scared Abbie was gone. I hardly recognized the woman I was becoming. Engorged flesh pulsed between my legs. Both nipples tingled at the thought of him playing with the achy tips. And a kiss? I stared at his mouth, pleased to see his lips parting. Mark was hungry too. His pupils were big, black orbs as he took in what I offered. If he touched me anywhere, I'd climax. I was strung up and strung out on him.

I exaggerated licking my lips and his p.e.n.i.s twitched. "You owe me a kiss."

"How do you figure that?" His voice was deliciously low.

"Because you're getting more pleasure out of this than me."

His smile morphed into the wicked one I'd seen earlier. The transformation was subtle, a hardening of his features, his shoulders squaring a fraction as he crossed his arms. All signs I'd thrown down another gauntlet between us.

"Your p.u.s.s.y's dripping."

"So," I taunted. "You've got a hard on."

A low laugh rumbled in his chest. "It's why we're here."

"Then how about we make a deal?"

The line at the side of his mouth etched deeper. "I'm listening."

We teetered on an invisible balance, the ground shaky underneath us. Air weighed heavy. I pushed up on my toes, straining hard enough both shoes slipped off my heels. Part of me had no idea what I grasped for. And the other?

Honed in laser sharp and certain. I wanted Mark. His body, yes, and whatever else he was willing to give. Tension ratcheted between us, an energy I'd not felt before. Hot, enticing, addictive.

He was more experienced, but I was more honest. What made for better s.e.x?

"I think you want to kiss me, but you're afraid."

Another tendon popped out in his neck. "What the h.e.l.l's that supposed to mean?" His voice wasn't nice, yet I wanted to push him over the edge.

"It means, kiss me and prove me wrong." My voice got quiet, making him dip closer. "It means kiss me and I'll follow every one of your d.a.m.n rules. I'll keep my mouth shut. I'll do whatever you say the first time you say it." I glanced down at the funny clamps he'd stuck to my underwear. "It means I'll willingly stick my t.i.ts out for your clamps."

The f.u.c.k you flame burned in his eyes. He'd shed layers to be gentle with me, now I wanted them back on. That light in his eyes told me what I'd already guessed. Nipple clamps were part of his repertoire, but he'd set aside his wants because he sensed I didn't like them. My death grip self-hug when he came in might've given me away. Could be I was reaching here, but the ground s.h.i.+fted on our square, red lit island.

Mark reached out and clasped the front of my neck with one hand, driving my heels back into my shoes. His palm warmed my skin like a collar. What was going on here was nothing like the BDSM books I'd read...more like a watered-down version, yet what simmered between us was close to a boil. Mark's adaptations in this room weren't about me alone. I took a wild guess at what we were doing. He needed to dip into his BDSM world tonight -to free himself from it.

The bigger question was why?

CHAPTER SIX.

"You think I don't know what you're doing?" My voice was razor sharp.

Abbie softened. Eyes dewy, her body slackened, letting the chain hold her weight. I stared at my hand on her neck. The grip wasn't tight, but I covered both carotid arteries. Another sweaty, desperate scene flashed before me. Another neck, another time and place. Ugly heat flushed me.

"Mark."

Sweat beaded my hairline. I fixated on my hand.

"Mark," she said again, calling me out of the past.

Abbie's lips relaxed. She was kissable, pliant. Her pulse fluttered under my touch. She trusted me. f.u.c.k me if it didn't work. I ached to be inside her. Control was of the essence, yet I didn't want it. I wanted my mouth on hers.

My thumb feathered her jaw and Abbie melted against me. Her lashes dropped half-mast and the only thing I craved was her body against mine. The taut energy we'd been spinning since I first laid eyes on her twisted and coiled inside me. I read the yielding in her eyes, the want, the hunger driving her crazy. My hand slid to her nape. I grasped a handful of hair and guided her head back a few degrees.

Abbie's breath stuttered as her nipples grazed my chest, the satiny peaks burning two holes in my skin. The chain shook as the rosy tips flattened against me and our mouths touched. Plush lips moved under mine...tender and slow, open-mouthed and warm. I brushed my tongue inside her bottom lip, no pressure, no rush, only sweet discovery.

I tasted Abbie and she tasted me. She slanted her mouth, sweeping the tip of her tongue along mine. One lazy kiss led to another. Her hair tickled my skin, driving me crazy. My other hand nudged between our bodies, and I molded my hand over her b.o.o.b. f.u.c.k. Her supple mounds drove me crazy, the size perfect, fitting in my palm. Abbie's skin glowed, smoother and softer against my fingers. My back muscles tensed before releasing the tension. I kneaded her b.o.o.b as we kissed, trailing the pad of my middle finger over her nipple. The sweetness of her lips, the shape her mouth fit mine, and me shaping to fit her. I devoured Abbie, kissing her lower lip and chin, eliciting a moan. Her leg rubbed mine. Skin rubbing my jeans...a tantalizing wisp of sound as she did her best to pull down my jeans.

Our foreplay was give and take, building up and tearing down.

Kisses heated to a boil and slowed hypnotic and relaxed. Our mouths pulled away, and we laughed before touching the tips of our tongues outside our mouths, rubbing and playing. I hadn't done that since making out as a h.o.r.n.y teen. It was f.u.c.king erotic.

Abbie's eyes glazed over when I broke the kiss. I let go of her hair and trailed my hand to her waist. My other hand drew circles around her b.o.o.b, her pale skin fascinating me. There were noises outside the room, in the hallway, but all I felt was Abbie. The orange, gingery scent of her skin, the taste of her, the feel.

The Stones' Beast of Burden blared through the vent. By her smile, she heard the song too. From the first notes, Abbie angled her hips, fitting her body with mine.

"It's slow dancing," she whispered.

We moved in a private dance, my one hand sliding to her hip, the other on her chest as if we held hands. I couldn't remember the last time I'd slowed danced with a woman. The intimacy of two bodies swaying...there was quietness to it, an implied understanding how we moved in our tight circle. Holding Abbie and smelling her skin, caressing her breast, time blurred. Our hips swung side to side. I looked in her eyes. She looked in mine. It was f.u.c.king magic.

Without a word, I bent my knees and nudged the tip of my c.o.c.k into Abbie. She bit her bottom lip, pus.h.i.+ng up on her toes to accommodate me.

I grabbed her a.s.s with one hand and pulled her knee up to my ribs. "Wrap your legs around me."

Abbie glanced at the hook, and her lips parted in the best s.e.xed up smile. I palmed both her a.s.s cheeks, and she hoisted herself up, her effervescent laughter light between us. The chain jingled and sc.r.a.ped. Muscles tensed in her thin arms as she wrapped her legs around me. Laughter rolled off her onto me. I knew it for what it was -the beginning of a trance state, a state of deeper arousal.

For a moment we were both suspended, relis.h.i.+ng seconds of antic.i.p.ation. My jeans slipped lower. The room vibrated with kinetic energy waiting to happen. The two of us breathed faster, the heat of her skin bouncing off mine, yet we were still as two statues looking into each other's eyes. I savored this, the powerful draw sucking me into Abbie. Strong, slender thighs wrapped around my waist, her hair grazing my chest. Our eyes almost level, we hung onto the single, heady moment before contact. Wetness collected at the corner of Abbie's mouth. A little drool. She was so s.e.xed up she forgot to swallow.

I wiped the corner of her mouth. "Still with me?"

"Uh."

With one hand, I guided my c.o.c.k through damp curls between Abbie's legs. The sensitive tip parted her l.a.b.i.a like a kiss about to happen. She whimpered. The wait was excruciating.

"Ready?"

She nodded and I slipped the crown inside her.

Abbie's spine arched. "Uhhhh...ahhh."

Her face tightened and mellowed all at once. Her mouth fell open. Ecstasy lit her hooded eyes, the blue-green a glimmering crescent behind her lashes. Abbie's pleasure became my pleasure. The waiting and the wonder. Another level of antic.i.p.ation. Her skin against mine. The sultry kiss of her p.u.s.s.y's opening nearly sucked me in. I teased her entrance with small rocking motions. Abbie was pure carnal joy, arching against me, her head back, arms tense and shaking. Both hands curled and uncurled, safely bound by the leather wrist cuffs.

The sight was as hot as my c.o.c.k nestled between her legs.

The chain rattled. Abbie's arms shook and I wrapped both arms under her a.s.s, taking more of her weight. Breath skipped in and out of her lungs. s.h.i.+t, mine did too. Both of us were lost to a place of our own making.

"Now you'll take all of me," I said my voice thick.

The end of her nose brushed mine. "Yes. Please."

Abbie pushed down as I drove up. My eyes shut. I had to. All feeling centered where my body joined hers. The gloved hotness. Abbie's inner muscles clasped my c.o.c.k with sweet, pulsing pleasure. She plastered her body against me, burying her face in my neck. So much skin touching...my nerves snapped like a live electrical line.

We groaned barely rocking in our tight embrace. We were both shaking. Metal ground metal. The hook and chain. We were one, hardly budging yet Abbie panted hard, quivering in my arms. Her hips rocked mine with perfect infinitesimal moves. No sloppy wet noises. We were locked together.

"Ma-rk." Her m.u.f.fled plea quavered against my neck.

"I know." My ragged-voiced a.s.surance was false. I didn't know s.h.i.+t except to hold her.

Something powerful connected us.

My hips pumped hers, tender and careful. Nothing big or fast. This whole thing had already ripped us. I wanted to put us back together. f.u.c.k, I wanted to feel Abbie more than I already did. A white ball of heat rolled down my spine like hot wax. Thighs and a.s.s clenching I tried to hold back. The power of us joined together was coming...big, erratic, drumming through me. Abbie's legs shook. A shoe clattered on cement.

"Ma-rkkkk," she cried, grinding herself against me with all her might.

f.u.c.k this wouldn't last. Abbie was already coming.

Sweat made her thighs slick on my waist. Tremors rocked her. Her breath jagged, Abbie slumped against me, her p.u.s.s.y milking me, a perfect ring cloaking my c.o.c.k. I squeezed her a.s.s and opened my mouth on her shoulder, salty silky ginger-flavored skin on my tongue. My hips pistoned Abbie, the short tight bursts driving me mad.

A blinding explosion of pleasure spun down my spine, turning off my brain. I shut my eyes. The hot release took over. I held onto Abbie in my free fall...cras.h.i.+ng in an ocean of deep blue-green waters.

CHAPTER SEVEN.

I never had to dust the Romance section of Howell's Bookstore. Philosophy gathered the most dust. New Age was so...old age. It came in second for the most dust bunnies. Cars and Mechanics never took, not in this neighborhood. Romance thrived along with Self-Help and its sister shelves, Marriage/Relations.h.i.+ps, Personal Growth, and s.e.xuality. Every section told a story about the books and the readers who browsed them. The History shelves were as solid as the hardbound tomes stacked side by side. But, s.e.xuality was an island unlike any other in the store. Pull out one of those trade paperbacks and you'll find curled front covers from browsers who read several chapters yet couldn't bring themselves to actually buy the book. Paying for something was a commitment, a statement of what you wanted and valued.

Hadn't I learned that last night when a man paid to handcuff me to a hook?

I should buy one of those well-thumbed books. It'd get my co-workers buzzing.

Smiling ruefully, I lifted a handful of ma.s.s market paperbacks from a box. "Do readers ever question how many hot billionaires there are in the world?" I held up a book featuring the latest billionaire with washboard abs. "I've googled them and none look like this guy."

Jill's head poked up from the other side of the shelf. It's Friday. We're filling the new shoulder high romance shelves the store owners bought to meet reader demand. Job number one on Friday is prep all hot zones for weekend shoppers. Moms in need of a romance novel fix. Kids in search of book report material. Dad's hunting down the latest sports or business magazine. We knew the drill.

Pus.h.i.+ng her gla.s.ses up her nose, Jill scanned the cover. "That looks good."

"This is not real life." I waggled the book with the enthusiasm of a TV show lawyer holding hot evidence. "We should shelve these in Sci-Fi/Fantasy. Finding a billionaire who looks like this is about as realistic as living on Mars."

"Nasa's working on that. So's that billionaire car guy." She gave me a cheeky grin and reached for the book. "Let me see it."

I handed it over, wincing at my aching shoulder. Jill thought I'd tweaked a muscle lifting heavy boxes this morning. Rubbing the pain away, I wasn't about to tell her I'd been chained to a ceiling hook last night.

"I'd like to see a realistic romance novel for a change."

"Love happens all kinds of ways. You're just jaded because of your mom."

I paused my shoulder rubbing. "Ouch. That's. .h.i.tting below the belt."

"You know what I mean," Jill said, her nose buried in the book. "You've said yourself you wouldn't be here if she hadn't gotten mixed up with Mr. Wonderful."

Here. As in Howell's Bookstore. Probably not. I'd have finished my psychology degree and been on my way to, to...well something else. Five years ago I was your average third year college student at CSU Northridge in LA. Life was cla.s.ses, crazy dance clubs on Friday nights, and living on ramen noodles in an overcrowded apartment with friends until my grandma called to say my mom had been indicted on several counts of check fraud. Even worse, mom had skipped bail.

Jill knew my story. I'd confided in her because she was the comfortable friend, the one you could hang out with sans make-up, no shower, and gorge on junk food on a Sat.u.r.day night. I'd long ago told her everything. How my mom asked my grandma to put her clapboard house up for collateral with a bail bondsman and disappeared when her court date came. The whole thing shocked me. Growing up, we were the Three Musketeers-Grandma, Mom, and me. If one of us hurt, the other two cried.

I'd packed up and drove my car as fast as it would go to St. Louis, arriving in time to see Mom slink through Grandma's front door. She'd been taken in by Mr. Wonderful as I'd named him, a sleazy con-man who promised love but tricked her into a "little check scheme" sure to set them up for good. Buy clothes, electronics, small appliances, you name it, then turn around and sell the goods at swap meets. Money to cover the checks was a minor detail. He'd convinced her if they kept their purchases under a certain dollar amount, they'd slide under the radar. Unlike California, lots of mid-western stores accepted checks. Mr. Wonderful's garage was crammed with stuff some of it legit, some not, but Mom's name was on the checks.

We didn't grow up rich, but Rutledge women weren't stupid.

My mom sat on my grandma's plaid sofa, crying her eyes out, mascara streaking down her cheeks. I couldn't believe she knowingly broke the law, or that she left Grandma high and dry. When the shock wore off, I looked deeper and saw my mom's vulnerability, her loneliness and the need to be with a man. Mom was trying to escape her own life, but in the process she hurt the two who mattered most.

I grew up in that little house. It was the three of us against the world. Grandma was the original, single working mom in the neighborhood. My mom followed, having gotten pregnant before finis.h.i.+ng a few courses at the community college. All through my growing up, she dated a string of bad men, one after the other. I swore I'd stop the cycle, get my college degree, and not get sucked into the pattern.

After last night, doubts plagued me. Was I falling into my own pattern of bad choices?

I was always the practical one. That day in St. Louis I'd gathered the three of us at the table, my hysterical mom and close-to-a-heart-attack grandma, and we hammered out a plan. A good lawyer financed by an ugly high interest five year loan saved the day, thanks to Grandma's sterling credit. All of us agreed to split the payment three ways. My mom faced two months in minimum security prison and years of probation. I spent a life-draining year in St. Louis, working my b.u.t.t off until my mom found employment as a receptionist. Then I came back to California.

As long as I sent my monthly check, life was good. I could live anywhere that wasn't St. Louis. Finis.h.i.+ng my degree would come. Reading self-medicated me, made the grind of these past few years livable. Holding the latest romance in my hand, I faced facts. Books weren't filling the void so much anymore. I wanted more.