She nibbled her lower lip, wondering what the Drs. Hurst had in store for Hannah and Morgan today. After clicking through a few
have-to
items on her list, Hannah had taken the afternoon off for some self-pampering. She’d sunbathed on her tiny terrace for a while, then showered and shaved her legs and taken a short nap.
The lazy afternoon should have relaxed her, but she’d spent far too much time brooding about her confrontation with her parents. Although she would die rather than admit to any curiosity about the matter, it was difficult not to wonder if Raymond really was her father.
But if he was, so what? A successful sperm and a drug-hazed quickie didn’t make a man a parent. For that matter, it hadn’t made Vivian one, either.
She twitched the curtain one last time, feeling jumpy and strangely apprehensive. A little while ago, she’d poured herself a glass of wine in hopes of calming her nerves. But the alcohol had done nothing more than make her feel all warm and woozy. Which in turn made her think of sex and Morgan, which in turn brought her thoughts back to what might happen in the next few hours.
After the bondage scenario and the even more challenging wedding-night charade, she was desperate to know what she might be facing. And her imagination was working at warp speed. When Morgan rang the doorbell, she jumped. Showtime.
He bussed her cheek and headed back outside, his demeanor distracted. In the car, she tried to break the tension. At least it seemed like tension on her part. Morgan hardly registered her presence.
She drummed her fingers on her thighs. She had dressed in a daring red sundress made of pseudobandana fabric. The hem fell in sharp points that flirted with her knees. Morgan barely noticed.
She sighed . . . loudly.
He muttered something when the car in the next lane cut them off. His attention never wavered from the traffic. And even if his devotion to driver safety was commendable, it was starting to piss her off.
She waved a hand on front of his face. “Hellooo. Morgan. Remember me?”
He slanted an irritated gaze her way. “What’s the matter, Hannah? Am I not paying you enough attention? Is that it?”
She was shocked, speechless even. Morgan in a surly mood was such an unusual occurrence, she didn’t know how to react. She turned her head away, staring out the passenger window. She wasn’t so touchy that one terse comment could hurt her feelings. But even so, her eyes burned with something she couldn’t quite name.
After that, they didn’t say anything at all. When Morgan pulled up in the now-familiar parking garage, she couldn’t help herself. She put a hand on his forearm. “Have I done something to make you angry?”
His big hands gripped the steering wheel as if he would like to choke it . . . or somebody. His whole body vibrated with pent-up emotion. Finally, as the uneasy silence dragged on, she saw the tension begin to drain out of him.
She waited, wondering if she was entirely to blame, or if his mood was the result a combination of factors.
He ran a hand across the back of his neck and turned off the engine. Almost immediately, the late-afternoon heat began to make the inside of the car uncomfortable. She felt a drop of sweat trickle down between her breasts and she shifted in her seat.
Morgan looked at her, his mouth twisted in a wry smile. “I’ll shake it off before we get upstairs. Let’s go. We’re on the clock.”
Thirteen
It no longer bothered Hannah to ask the receptionist for the key. It did, however, still make her stomach plunge to step into the hallway and approach the door to their appointment room. She fumbled with getting the lock to open, and Morgan nudged her aside. “Let me do it.”
She stepped back and then crossed the threshold when he ushered her inside. They both stopped cold three steps into the room. A large, rice-carved four-poster bed dominated the space. The mattress was covered with pristine white sheets and a white embroidered comforter.
The luxurious bedding was folded back, and a black satin blindfold was tossed carelessly on one of the plump pillows. A couple of documents lay neatly near the foot of the massive bed.
Taped to one of the posts was a cream envelope marked
instructions
. Morgan reached for it. When he turned it over and lifted the flap, Hannah saw him extract two smaller envelopes. This was something new.
He handed her the one with her name on it. She frowned, but opened it and read the contents:
Hannah—
Please take a look at the papers on the bed. They are fairly self-explanatory. All the information has already been filled out, with the exception of your two signatures. The documents are real, but of course they are not legally binding unless you sign and file them. They need not leave this room. We have placed a paper shredder near the door for your convenience.
This afternoon, you are to take charge of the sexual agenda between you and Morgan. You’ll find appropriate props in the dresser drawer. All the while, try to keep the documents in mind. Seek to understand why they frighten you so much. At the same time, we urge you to try and disappear so deeply into the encounter with your lover that the documents cease to have meaning.
If you wish, have Morgan sign the papers, both sets, before you commence. Then blindfold him and let the games begin. But do not tell him about any of this.
She refolded the note and put it back in the envelope. When she looked at Morgan, he was frowning.
He cocked an eyebrow. “What does yours say?”
She folded her arms at her waist. “I’m not supposed to tell you.”
He didn’t like that. His eyes flashed with displeasure, but he merely nodded. “Okay. But how am I supposed to know what to do?”
She licked her lips. “I’ll tell you.” She walked over to the bed and picked up the two sets of papers. Morgan was right beside her, reading over her shoulder. One document was an application for a marriage license. It was dated for Wednesday of the following week.
The thicker sheaf of legalese was divorce papers. Hannah’s hand shook. They were dated for three years in the future.
Morgan cursed beneath his breath. “What kind of bogus shit are they up to?” Clearly he was still in his badass mood.
She picked up the pen on the bedside table. “Nothing here is real. You know that. It’s part of the charade. Here, sign them.”
He cooperated, but continued to grumble. “I don’t like this one bit.”
When he finished, Hannah followed suit and then put the papers on the dresser. She turned around and looked at him. “Get undressed.”
Morgan’s eyes narrowed, and a shiver snaked down her back. He appeared neither amiable nor conciliatory. But he obeyed her blunt command.
When he was completely nude, he faced her, his arms crossed over his broad, lightly hair-covered chest. He didn’t speak.
Breathless, she tried to focus on her instructions. She waved an imperious hand. “Stand beside one of the posts. Put your back to it.” She didn’t wait to see if he would comply. Instead, she went to a drawer and pulled out some cloth ties. Her gaze fell on the papers. The divorce-related ones were ugly, but the simpler form was more daunting still. Why did it seem so threatening?
She poured herself a glass of water from the carafe left by unseen hands and downed it thirstily. When she approached the bed, Morgan was right where she had told him to be. She avoided looking at his penis, though she could tell it was not erect. Had his inexplicable anger overridden his desire for her?
She looked him in the eyes. “Put your hands over your head.” He obeyed slowly, his gray gaze stormy as a winter sea. She knelt on the bed and tied his wrists tightly to the finial at the top of the bedpost. She pulled at the knot until she was sure he couldn’t wriggle free.
Then she moved around him, retrieved the blindfold from the bed, and returned to slip it gently over his head. The sharp little puff of breath that brushed her check was his only outward response.
She settled the elastic band behind his ears and smoothed his silky hair. She was so close to him, she could feel the heat from his body. When he was blind and immobile, she left him and crossed the room.
She picked up the thicker set of papers she and Morgan had signed and read them carefully. The divorce decree hardly seemed applicable. Morgan was not the kind of man to admit failure at anything, especially marriage. And since she couldn’t ever imagine wanting to leave him, the whole idea wasn’t quite real. She tossed it aside.
The application for a marriage license, however, was all too persuasive. All it lacked to be legit was a quick trip to the courthouse. Sick anxiety gripped her as she visualized herself and Morgan doing just that, walking inside, papers in hand, to declare their intent before the great state of Florida. And if she didn’t think Morgan would ever divorce her, why in the heck was she so scared?
She bowed her head, eyes closed, acutely aware of her captive and his helpless passivity. Thoughts and images whirled in her brain. Her mother. The man who claimed to be her father. Grammy and Papaw. The boy who had clumsily taken her virginity. The gynecologist who had looked at her with such naked disapproval. The goldfish Vivian had carelessly washed down the drain in the kitchen sink when she was supposed to be helping Hannah change the water in the dirty tank.
Hannah gripped the edge of the dresser. She had never let a physical fear stop her from doing something she wanted to do. Maybe it was time to let go of a few of her emotional fears. And Dr. Sheila was right. It
was
a fear. She was afraid of getting hurt, because she knew just how terribly painful it could be when the people you loved let you down. Even Grammy and Papaw hadn’t kept their promise. They had died when Hannah still needed them.
She sniffed and opened her eyes. She wasn’t sure what she was supposed to do now, but she had to do something. And dwelling on the past was only confusing her.
She took a deep breath, gave herself a pep talk, and then began to get undressed.
Morgan strained to hear any sound from Hannah. With his sight gone, his other senses were supposed to be heightened . . . right? Or was that only true with permanent sight deprivation?
He heard a rustle, and his pulse quickened. He was at least seventy-five percent sure she was taking off her clothes. About damn time. He was none too pleased to be blind and trussed up like a sacrifice, so the sooner they got started, the better.
He figured that once things got rolling, Hannah would eventually let him go so he could pay some attention to
her
needs. He just hoped it wouldn’t be too long.
His arms were already aching, and the carving on the bedpost was rough against his back and butt. The carpet beneath his toes was soft and plush, though. He imagined laying Hannah down on it and fucking her. Ah . . . he could only dream.
Strangely, now that he was at her mercy physically, his frustration and anger over her ambivalence about marriage faded away. He should accept his fate like a man. He was at her mercy emotionally, as well.
Either she would be his bride or she wouldn’t. And apparently, given her stubborn nature and the burdens she’d had to bear because of her upbringing, it could be a hell of a long time before she trusted him enough to say yes.
But he could wait. He
would
wait. It was the only viable choice he had.
A hand brushed his groin, and he yelped. Then hot color flooded his face, partly from embarrassment and partly from what Hannah was doing to him. She fondled his balls, scraping lightly at the hair with her fingernails and testing their weight with her palms.
He locked his knees to keep his legs from trembling. His cock rose firm and eager in a throbbing erection. But she avoided his penis, choosing instead to concentrate on less volatile spots like his calves and his feet.
He heard the scrape of a lid and smelled a sweet, heady fragrance. Moments later Hannah was smearing lotion from his lower thighs all the way down to the arches of his feet. The scent was overpowering, filling his head and his bloodstream and making him think about sex.
And then it dawned on him. He was going to have to walk out of here smelling like a damned sissy. She rubbed the back of his knee and a bolt of lust made him weak. His hips thrust forward in an unconscious effort to find her body and mate with it. But she must have moved out of range.
Moments later, she resumed her torture. He’d never particularly thought of himself as having erogenous zones anywhere below his sex . . . but his innovative Hannah was showing him some vulnerable areas that were a complete surprise.
She circled his ankles with her hands, squeezing lightly. Then he felt her tongue on his ankle bone, and he groaned aloud. She wet the spot and licked it lazily, first one ankle and then the other.
His cock swelled and ached. He wanted to drag her by the hair up to his crotch and force her to eat him. But he hung there, helpless as a baby, while she played with him like a sex-shop toy.
Her thumbs rubbed his shinbones. Her teeth grazed his arches. Eventually she abandoned his lower legs and moved up his thighs. His entire body tightened in anticipation of the moment when her mouth would close over his prick and take him deep.
But he was dreaming. Hannah rubbed lotion into his skin from his knees to his hips, but she never touched his genitals, not even by accident. She reached behind him and caressed his ass, but though he felt her breath on his cock, there was no physical contact.
His breathing grew ragged and his heart rate spiked. How much of this could he stand?
Now she was at his chest, stroking him in large, lazy circles. His skin absorbed the scent and his brain internalized it. From now and forever he would associate this particular fragrance with Hannah and sex.
Assuming he ever got to screw her. She tugged at his small, flat nipples and he shuddered. Damn. She was slowly destroying him.