Page 19 of Hard Ride
I shut my eyes a moment as the thought echoes in my head, undeniable and unarguable. I didn’t say ‘red’ because, no, I didn’t want him to stop. I wanted him to touch me, and I wanted the pleasure only he has ever managed to give me.
Because that’s the real truth. I don’t want to be sexual, and I certainly don’t want to be kinky, but that kind of blinding pleasure… God, I’ve never found it with anyone other than him. I’ve always had to work for my orgasms. Sometimes I can’t even be bothered with them. But the one I just had came on so fast and so hard, there was nothing I could do to stop it.
Unable to face Tate quite yet, I open my eyes finally and stare through the glass at Lucas sitting in the armchair, holding Cherry in his arms instead. She’s nestled against him, and his hand is moving idly in her hair, but he’s not looking at her. His amber gaze is fierce as he focuses on the window, as if he’s burning a hole through the glass.
He can’t see me, but it doesn’t matter. My cheeks are flaming anyway. He held me like that the night of my big blow-up with Tate, and I know how it feels to be in his arms with his hand stroking my hair…
“Katherine,” Tate repeats, his deep voice making me shudder.
He knows how I got off on that, and no doubt he wants more.
You do too.
I close my eyes and take a breath. I don’t. I shouldn’t. I told myself I was vanilla all the way. But… maybe I’m not. Maybe Ican’t get this kind of pleasure from anyone else. I mean, I could find someone and tell them what I want, but that would involve a level of trust I’ve never given anyone. And I know Tate. Sure, I find his ferocity and his authority scary, but he would never hurt me. It’s funny. Even after ten years, I know I can trust him.
Submission is a gift…
It’s only a night, that’s what he said. And afterward, I can put both him and Lucas behind me. Definitely no talking, though, God forbid. Talking with Tate never leads anywhere good.
I collect myself and finally turn. He’s standing behind me, tall and broad, his green gaze on mine, and I can feel the part of me that still wants him quiver with anticipation.
“No talking,” I say coolly. “I think we’ve talked quite enough.
He raises one black brow. “Does that mean you’re done for the evening?”
I swallow and then lift my chin. “It means if you want a night, you have it.”
He is very still, but a spark in his eyes flickers then flares, like a match being struck. “Very well,” he says, his voice neutral. “Come with me, then.” He turns, and without looking back, walks down the dim hallway in the opposite direction to the club entrance.
I’m expecting him to gloat or even to show some kind of satisfaction at what he’s made me give him, so his merely walking away is disconcerting. Especially when it’s clear that I don’t actually have to follow him if I don’t want to, that he’s giving me a choice about it, and for a minute I think about walking straight out of the club. But then he stops halfway down the hallway and turns. “Well?” he asks mildly.
No, I can’t walk. If I want to exorcise some ghosts, then I need to commit. Test myself. The last time with Tate, I ran away, and I don’t want to do that again. I’m not a fucking coward, not anymore.
So, I shrug and then follow him. He leads me down a bit further, to another door. There are no windows in this door, or windows into the hallway, which relieves me. I might be curious about the submissive kink stuff, but I’m not ready for other people watching me while I do it.
He takes a key out of his pocket and unlocks the door, then opens it for me, gesturing that I should go first.
“You a gentleman now?” I say dryly as I step inside the room.
“Oh no,” Tate says, flashing me that smile of his. “Nothing gentlemanly about me.”
I want to tell him there was certainly nothing gentlemanly in what he did to me in the hallway, but then I get distracted by the room I’m standing in.
Regardless of what he says about being a gentleman, the room is certainly fitted out like an English gentleman’s club, with wood paneling, bookshelves full of books, armchairs, and a desk against one wall. The dark carpet is covered with silken rugs, and there’s a drinks cabinet against one wall, a big oak wardrobe and drawers against the other. Another door is opposite.
“This doesn’t look like a BDSM dungeon.” I try to sound calm as I move over to the bookshelves and examine the books on them.
“It’s not,” Tate says. “It’s my private office.”
I turn to face him, my heart rate climbing as he closes the door.
No going back now.
“So,” I say breathlessly. “Let’s get this over with.”
He examines me for a moment. “What exactly do you want to get over?”
“I said I didn’t want to talk, Tate.”
