Page 15 of Obey

Without another word, I crouch down in front of her, taking my time to open the straps without breaking eye contact. She nibbles on her bottom lip as I unbuckle her first leg. Her chest heaves with heavy breaths as I open the second.

“I didn’t mean to imply.” Her voice is barely a whisper on the cool air.

Except she did. The tone of her voice, the edge of judgmental hardness in her eyes, the quiver in her words, it all conveyed her thoughts loud and clear.

People fear what they don’t know. People are also conditioned to think anything outside of ‘normal’ is bad, dirty, and something to scorn.

If I had to put money on it, I’d say she’s from a religious upbringing. And while I have nothing against religion, I’m tired of all the things it seems to have against me.

The weight of other people’s religious expectations on my shoulders is stifling.

As I lean forward to reach the straps around her left arm, her voice skates across my skin. “I’m sorry. I should know better than to judge a book by its cover.”

My continued quiet seems to be unsettling her, making her feel guilty, filling her with regret.

When I unbuckle the final restraint, the warmth of her breath grazes across my face. Has she leaned in? Or have I?

We’re close. Too close.

The air is thick with tension, charged with an unspoken argument, and my retort dies on the back of my tongue as I inhale. The irony in her smelling like vanilla would make me laugh if I wasn’t acutely aware her legs are now free and close enough to swing into my nuts. Bet she would, too.

My urge to kiss this woman seems to grow proportionately with how close I am to her. The need to show her how pleasurable my deviance can be is bubbling in my soul. But I don’t owe her anything. If she wants to live in judgment, it’s not on me to show her a different way.

Her tongue slipping out to wet her bottom lip is almost my undoing, until a shrill sound echoes around the room. Half-Pint shrieks, jumps up, and cracks my head with hers as she bounds out of the throne.

I’m already tipping back when it hits me, I’m going down. Half-Pint’s wide eyes register my fear as I splat hard against the floor of the club with a thud that steals the air from my lungs. I manage not to crack my head, but only just.

When she lands on my chest, I shouldn’t be surprised. This chick is as coordinated as a newborn fucking foal. No amount oftrying to save her from falling was going to work. I bet she falls over air on the regular. She braces her hands on my chest to push off and stand, which makes her hips rock against my groin.

We both realize at the same time, I have a semi, and her exaggerated movement doesn’t help. I swallow a groan. My dick believes it’s go-time while this tiny terror is now muttering “Oh no,” to herself over and over as she tries to dismount my splayed out body on the floor.

“For fuck’s sake.” I pluck her off me and plop her on the floor next to me then roll over to stand accidentally kicking her discarded bag over.

A notebook and some loose pages stutter out across the floor as her phone starts ringing again. She launches herself at the bag while I set about collecting the debris. Why the fuck did she leave the damn bag open and on the floor in the first place? There are perfectly good hooks and shelves around the room.

“No!” Her shriek only makes me infinitely more curious about what she doesn’t want me to see on the pages, but apparently, the phone seems to be the priority. It’s tangled in something in the pocket, so she’s now not-swearing under her breath, her irritation building with every utterance.

I’ve never heard someone use the words “sugar drops” with such vehemence before, but Half-Pint makes it work. I collect the pages, and as I hold the pile out to her, the top sheet catches my attention.

“Talia’s Bedroom Bucket List.”

Chapter Six

TALIA

“Hi, Mama.” My whole body is on fire from shame and embarrassment. The pitch of my voice is so unusually high if any dogs are passing this building they’d understand what I’m saying. And I can’t take my eyes away from the piece of paper held outstretched in Jagger’s hand.

“Talia Marie Barclay, what in the good Lord’s name do you think you’re doing?”

The cringe is so strong, I almost drop the phone. Her voice is so loud, there’s no way Jagger can’t hear her. Now, he knows my name, too. My full name.

“Mama, I can’t talk right now. I’m stranded in Minnesota ‘cause of the storm.” Apparently my accent goes even more full-blown Kentucky when I’m chatting to my Mama. If such a thing was even possible.

“Sweetheart, if you’re stranded, seems all you can do is talk right now. Where else you gotta be?”

She’s got a point. But I can’t think logically when Jagger, the most beautiful, grumpy, and intriguing man I’ve ever met, Mr. Dominant himself, stands staring at my meager and embarrassing ‘Bucket List’ of things I wanted to try with Harry when we tied the knot.

#1 Oral Sex

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