“I heard that.”
She laughed, breaking the tension. And knowing Allie, that had been her purpose.
“I’ll see you Friday,” he told her. “We should both talk to Jamie, just in case.”
“I’ll do that.”
“And give Marie Dawn a heads-up.”
“Yes, Sir.”
He could hear the capital S in the way she said it, that breathiness again. His cock twitched.
“Friday at eight. Don’t be late.”
“I wouldn’t think of it.”
“And Allie?”
“Yes?”
“Be prepared for me to smack some of that sass out of you.”
“I’ll count on it.”
They hung up and the view through the window came into focus. He braced himself with one hand on the frame.
She would be perfect. She always had been, always would be. But at The Bastille . . .
He groaned.
He knew he was damn good at what he did. He’d had years of practice, was confident in his abilities. But this one girl just threw him off his game. He’d find a way to overcome it. He’d have to. For his own sake as well as hers. He’d have to really watch himself with her.
Allie was definitely back in town, and was under his skin already.
CHAPTER Four
FRIDAY EVENING CAME, and Allie was trying to remind herself of what she’d told Mick—that her needs were simple. But there was nothing simple about the way she couldn’t stop thinking about him.
She’d had a long lunch with her mother, catching up on news of family and old friends, local politics and concerns about the bakery’s neighborhood, but Mick had been firmly in the back of her mind the entire time. Enough that her mother had asked her several times what she’d been daydreaming about. Allie had thought she’d managed to skirt the question, but by the end of lunch her mother’s appraising gaze told her nothing had escaped her, and Allie realized hiding her obsession with Mick—she didn’t currently know what else to call it—wasn’t going to be simple at all when it came to her family.
She breathed out a sigh as she checked her reflection in the full-length mirror on the closet door for the tenth time, looking for a bit of mussed hair, a smudge in her makeup. She liked the way her simple black knit dress fit her—short and tight across her hips, but blousy on top, with a wide neckline that fell off one shoulder.
There was nothing simple about the way her heart was beating, as if a train were chugging through her chest. There was nothing simple about the way fear had set in the day before, the way it had grown all day until she was nearly bursting with it. But there was one thing that was simple.
Her need for him was simple. Primal. Primitive.
The need was like fire in her veins, burning her up inside, making her nipples hard beneath the filmy black mesh of her bra. She was wet simply thinking about the evening ahead, about Mick touching her, finally, after all these years. She could remember the feel of his rough hands on her body . . .
She put her own hand over her chest, trying to calm her racing heartbeat, but she knew nothing would help other than getting to The Bastille, having Mick put her in his ropes, and silencing her fears and need with subspace.
She glanced at the clock on her nightstand. Seven forty-five.
Somehow she could not stand the next fifteen minutes. She dug in her purse and found her cell phone, dialed Marie Dawn’s number.
“Hello?”
“It’s me.”
“Allie, I thought tonight was the big playdate?”
“It is. He’ll be here in a few minutes. Just . . . tell me I’m doing the right thing.”
“Oh, chérie, only you can know what’s right. But . . . you’ve been convinced this was what you had to do until now. What’s changed?” her friend asked.
“It’s more real. This is when I’ll know . . . when we’ll know . . . if there’s anything there between us. If he’ll . . . have me. And God, I hate to sound so pathetic. I felt so strong going into this. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
“Allie, we both know I don’t really get this BDSM stuff, so feel free to correct me if I’m wrong, but could part of it be that subspace thing you told me about?” Marie Dawn asked. “You did say he specifically asked you to think of him and what’ll happen tonight while you were getting ready, and you’ve explained to me how the getting ready part is like a little ritual . . . Well, do you think you’re hitting subspace at all? Could it be making you feel more raw? This evening is important for you. I don’t know if you’ve ever played with anyone where there was this heavy an emotional load going into it. That’s got to affect you.”
“No. I mean, yes—you’re absolutely right.”
She was. If Allie took a moment to step back and detach from her nerves, she could see it clearly. She was starting to drop into subspace already, simply knowing it was Mick who would play her tonight. And that meant a certain level of vulnerability, with much more to come.
“It’s all the strain of . . . hope, I guess. Hope that’s had nearly eleven years to build. Hope that built in the time between him leaving me in high school and that one night we had when I was twenty years old.”
“That’s a lot for anyone to deal with. Under these circumstances where, from what you’ve told me, you have to have a large element of trust . . . I can’t even imagine what that has to do to your head.”
“That’s it exactly. Although the psychology of it, the mind-fuck, is also what makes it so damn thrilling.”
Marie Dawn laughed. “Better you than me, chérie. I’d rather get my thrills in a fast car or skiing down a mountain.”
Allie couldn’t help but smile. “What can I say? We kinky folks are a strange bunch.”
“Yes, you are, but I love you anyway.”
“Love you, too. Oh, God, there’s the door.”
“Lunch tomorrow—don’t forget!”
“I won’t. Must go!”
“Bye!”
She tucked her phone back into her small black purse and went to answer the door, pausing to check her reflection in the hall mirror. She set her purse down on the narrow table beneath the mirror, freeing her hands to quickly smooth her hair, her dress. She inhaled, murmured to herself, “This is it,” and opened the front door.
He looked enormous in the doorway of the old house. Big and handsome and radiating authority. He was dressed in dark jeans, a black dress shirt with the sleeves rolled at the cuffs, a dark undershirt beneath it. Around his neck was a leather thong with a silver cross hanging from it. Simple. Utterly masculine, like everything else about him.
“You letting me in, Allie?”
“Oh. Yes, come in.”
She opened the screen door, and he took it from her and swung it wide. Then he charged in—it was more sudden and forceful than merely walking—and he was on her. One hand went to her shoulder and held on just tight enough for her to understand he was taking over already. The other took one of her wrists and pinned it behind her back as he pushed her up against the wall. She could feel the heat of his breath on her face. Could see the glittering gray depths of his eyes, the pupils wide and dark. He leaned in and a lock of his hair tickled her forehead. And all she could do was take in slow, gasping breaths, her body and her mind giving over to his command immediately, her muscles going slack.
“That’s it,” he said so softly she could barely hear him over the blood pounding in her ears. “You go down nice and easy, like silk under the water. I like it, Allie. I do.”
He tightened his hold on her wrist and shoulder, gave her a small, hard jerk. Her heart hammered. Her nipples went tight. Her knees went weak.
“Yeah, just give it over to me, princess. I can feel it, you know. The way your limbs have gone all soft. Weak against me. And if I wanted to I could slip my thigh right between yours. Like this.”