Out of Control (34 page)

He loved Jen Kessler. He’d probably loved her from the moment she turned up on his porch, all bright colors and energy at eight in the morning, looking for an apartment.

All these years he’d been convinced he couldn’t love, wouldn’t love, was content with fly-by-night games with friends and acquaintances. He’d always guarded himself against sneaky incursions of softer emotions that might wreck his control. Yet he’d been steamrollered by a cheeky, stubborn, overcommitted artist with crazy hair and even crazier habits who walked right in the front door of his house and heart, bold as brass while he’d been busy guarding all the windows and side entrances.

Drake had no idea how you went about loving someone. Caring was frightening enough. Really loving? Terrifying. Relationships were equations with no clear solution, math with irrational numbers and fuzzy answers. Love added another variable.

But he knew one thing. If Jen wanted his love, he’d do a better job as a partner than his father.

And he’d get there one step at a time. First step: finish what he’d started. Raise her up, set her flying in the freedom of bondage, then quench their desire.

Then she cried out, a sad, lonely, lost sound, and all Drake could think about was comforting her.

Jen was lost, but it didn’t bother her. Drake was there to guide her back when the time came, and Drake’s ropes embraced her. She had no idea what time it was. She had little idea what had been done to her, how she was bound, what might come next. All she knew for sure was the texture of rope on her skin, scratchy and soft at the same time, the ache of arousal in her belly, the keen, pleasurable throbbing in her clit and pussy where the ropes tormented her most sensitive places, and the waves of passion, crimson and purple behind her blindfolded eyelids, murky and swirling and beautiful. All that mattered was the next touch, the next kiss, even the next word from Drake.

And when he began kissing his way down her body, all that mattered was the warm, wet touch of his lips, the path of his tongue, the pressure of his hands on her sensitized skin. By the time he reached her pussy, the colors swirled madly in Jen’s head. She could barely speak, and her belly was rolling like a Middle Eastern dancer’s, making her hips undulate. She stammered out a plea for mercy, for release…

And realized as soon as the words were spoken that she could wait. Her lips kept babbling, “Please,” as Drake licked her just to the edge but not over it, but she wasn’t begging for permission to come anymore. She wasn’t sure what she
was
pleading for, but it was something beyond orgasm. Maybe for the connection of this moment to continue, to deepen. Maybe for a resolution beyond orgasm, something she couldn’t identify because she’d never experienced it.

Then she stopped trying to figure it out and just let herself babble as she rode the multicolored waves of sensation and enjoyed the safe, intimate confinement of the rope.

When Drake stopped licking her, she could bear it. Almost welcomed the break from the overwhelming pleasure. But when he moved away from her, when she no longer felt his skin against hers, everything shifted to gray, and she couldn’t help letting out a desolate cry.

“It’s all right, Jen. I’m here.” A hand touched her shoulder, and the touch soothed her.

“I didn’t know… I couldn’t find…”

She felt Drake’s breath on her face, felt his body close to hers, though touching only her shoulder, and her panic eased. A bright, clear rose joined the colors of lust, and the darkness eased.

“I know,” he said, his voice low and smoky and soothing. “It’s scary in the dark. But I’ll be right here. I have to step away for a minute or two, but just over to the wall to raise you up. I know you can picture how close I’ll be, with your visual mind.”

As he predicted, the image filled her mind in precise detail. The wall. The pulley, usually hidden by that crazy hanging, the one she’d thought was a close-up of a flower but was actually a representation of fractals, whatever they were. Three or four steps for Drake’s long legs, maybe a few more for her. Farther away than she wanted him right now, but close enough he could reach out and touch her if she needed. It would be all right. And if she stayed quiet, she could hear his movements, keep track of where he was.

Her body relaxed, letting her know how much tension she’d been holding in those few seconds of confusion. Drake brushed her hair gently off her forehead. “I’m moving now,” he said. She felt him pull away, felt the stirring of air as he moved, and once again she experienced that gray bereavement. But he said, well above her head, “I’m heading to the pulley,” and then, a few seconds later, “I’m beginning to lift you. Soon you’ll begin to feel pressure and pulling on the ropes. And then you’ll be flying.”

He kept talking as he pulled, mostly saying things like, “There you go,” and “Do you feel that?” Knowing where he was, hearing the caress of his voice, helped center her. So did the ropes, an extension of Drake that held her tight. Even when they began to tug and strain in odd ways, it was Drake’s embrace she felt, not something inanimate.

The floor melted away. She knew she must be rising, but it seemed she stayed in one place and the world around her vanished, leaving her alone with the ropes and Drake’s voice. Even following the sound of his voice, she couldn’t tell where he was. She could picture the room that used to be around her, and logic told her it hadn’t changed, but her spatial sense was saying something different. It was freaky, disorienting…and disarmingly hot, being anchored to reality only by Drake’s voice and the ropes in which Drake had wrapped her, like he had created a world in which there was only the two of them and rope.

Her senses swirled. She saw colors she couldn’t name. She was swaying gently in the ropes, swaying gently in the place Drake had made for her, and suddenly Drake was with her, not just his voice, but his hands steadying her as she floated. “I’m here,” he whispered.

“Don’t leave. Be with me.”

“Always,” he replied, with such conviction that tears filled Jen’s eyes and she didn’t try to hold them back.

Drake gently parted her legs, stood between them. He placed his hands under her ass, moving her in the floaty, strange space she occupied.

Moved her onto his cock, letting out a groan as he did that sounded like a homecoming, a benediction.

Everything became solid again, clear. She knew where she was. Knew the dimensions of the room and where she was within it. Knew how high, approximately, she hung above the floor.

And none of it mattered at all except that she hung at the right height for Drake to enter her. He moved her against him, the ropes shifting on her skin as he did. She wrapped her legs around him as best she could, somewhat hampered by the way she was suspended. He slammed her against him, pounded into her with all his martial artist’s strength. Floating above the ground while being fucked so fiercely was bizarre and wonderful, another sexy disconnect that snapped Jen’s synapses and heated her blood. She was going to come any second now, was going to come and wasn’t going to find the wits or the words to beg, and she wanted to hold off to please Drake, to obey Drake, but my God, he’d just put his thumb on her clit, circling slowly, and how the hell was a woman supposed to resist that kind of stimulation on top of everything else?

Jen bit her lip and drove her nails into her palms, trying to distract herself, but it wasn’t working. She was going to disappoint Drake, and that thought turned her off a little but not enough to save her. She opened her mouth, tried to speak, couldn’t manage to make a coherent sound. She mouthed,
Please
, hoping that Drake was watching her face, that his eyes weren’t screwed shut in pleasure or focused on her breasts or maybe straight ahead as he held off his own climax.

She never knew if he saw her, but he cried out, “Come, Jen. Come with me now!” and it didn’t matter anymore.

Everything spun. Everything shattered, but it was shattering like cracking the top on a crème brulée to release the creamy custard below, not breaking glass but destruction that led to something rich and sweet. She found her voice again as she came, but the words that came out seemed to be beyond her control. “Drake… Drake…love you.”

She wanted to clap her hand over her mouth as soon as she realized what she’d blurted out, but of course she couldn’t. Wanted to curl up in a ball until she knew it was safe to come out, but she couldn’t do that either. She was helpless, at Drake’s mercy. And she’d just said she loved him.

Drake pulled out of her, not abruptly, as if he was trying to get away, but slowly, reluctantly, as if he didn’t want to move but was finding the position awkward. That relieved her, but she was still holding her breath, waiting for a reaction. Maybe he’d missed it altogether, lost in his own pleasure. Maybe he’d figure it was one of those things that slipped out in the heat of the moment and he wouldn’t worry about it unless it came up again when she was more clear-headed. When they had clothes on, maybe.

Only she was pretty sure it wasn’t the heat of the moment. She’d fallen for Drake Matthews, and she’d fallen hard. Fallen as she flew.

No, she’d fallen well before that. She just hadn’t fully owned up to it before.

“I’ll be back,” Drake said, his voice soft, serious, intense.

He stepped away, and within a time she couldn’t measure, she found herself back on the floor, back in reality.

And still in love with Drake.

Then he was with her, pulling off her blindfold, pulling her into his arms. “Thank you,” he said. It sounded almost like he was holding back a sob, though Jen couldn’t believe it. “Thank you for saying that.”

“Why?” Her voice sounded very small. She was having a hard time focusing on a thought, but that seemed important to ask.

“I couldn’t myself. And I wanted to.” Stunned, smiling, unsure what to say, Jen opened her eyes. Drake sat on the floor next to her, working on the ropes. His body glistened with sweat. He was all hard muscles and clean lines, masculine beauty in its purest form. But his eyes, often cool and calculating, were soft, like mist on a spring morning, and his usually clever hands didn’t seem to be working quite right. After fumbling with the knots for a few minutes, apparently trying to untie her without actually looking at the knots instead of her face, he grabbed the safety shears. “Fuck it,” he muttered. “Rope’s cheap. Time with you is priceless.”

The scissors were blunt, designed for cutting clothes off a patient in a medical emergency, and Drake took care that the blades barely touched her. But the slight, cool contact—not even really cold, just cooler than her heated skin—sent Jen into a shuddering mini-orgasm.

Or maybe it was Drake’s outburst, his emotional impatience when he usually tried so hard to control himself.

Then she realized what she’d done. She’d broken a rule, and at the worst possible time. Her brain was still muddled enough that for one wild, painful millisecond she imagined he’d take back the words of love. She rejected that fear almost immediately. No one who was looking at her that way, no matter how dominant he was, would turn on her for something that random. But she knew that according to his rules, she’d screwed up, and that mattered now more than it would have a little while ago. “I’m sorry, Drake. I couldn’t stop myself.” She was horrified to realize she was shedding a few quiet tears.

“I consider it a compliment.” He made a few more strategic cuts. “You’ve gotten good at holding off your orgasms, so when one catches you off-guard, I know I’m doing something right.”

She sighed with relief.

“And I’m sorry about crying. It’s just…a lot. Everything’s bright. Incandescent.”

Drake tossed the shears aside and drew Jen onto his lap. Pieces of rope slithered off as she moved. It tickled, but the world had taken on a pink glow that softened the tickle into a caress. “Incandescent? For once I know what you mean when you say something like that. I feel like I’m glowing. Weird, but I like it.”

“Does this mean…you own me or something?” she finally thought to ask. “Before…you said you wanted to work toward that.”

“Hush. Let me think.” He kissed her, and while he did, all she could do was give in to the kiss, open herself to him.

Maybe it was because she was so open to him, or maybe the colors told her, but she knew what his answer would be before he said it. “If so, it also means I belong to you. You’re my sub, but I’m your dom and your partner. Yours. And that gives you a lot of power.”

She smiled and snuggled closer. She still wasn’t sure what was going on. The thinking part of her was still lost in brilliant colors somewhere, but the colors, and Drake’s words, reassured her that whatever was going on was going to be wonderful.

They’d be wonderful together.

Everything else was details. Luckily, she was an artist and he was a mathematician. They were both, in their own way, good with details.

“Oh, and that idea?” Jen had to shift through her foggy brain to remember what Drake was talking about. “What popped into my head when you were talking about not having been able to finish your degree is that if we got married, you could take classes at Cornell for free.”

She smacked him feebly. “You’re insane. I love you, but isn’t it too soon to talk about getting married?”

“Probably. And you know what? I don’t care.”

“I’m not marrying you to finish my degree. Or to get health insurance. Or even to stop paying rent.”