She sighed and looked around. His bedroom was beautiful, and not at all what she expected a man to have. The bed was a white four-poster with an heirloom quilt that looked like something straight from a grandmother’s hope chest. The pillows had matching shams, and a knit blanket stretched across the foot of the bed. The curtains were edged with white eyelet lace, the windows now dark. A colorful braided rug peeked out from under the bed, and a white rocking chair sat in the corner.
Jake came in the room finally, carrying their bags, wearing a conflicted look that made her wary. “I don’t know if you feel comfortable sleeping here with me or not.”
She looked longingly at the bed. “Do I get sex if I sleep here, with you?”
“Yes.”
“Then here is fine.”
He hesitated, and his stance became one of deep conflict. “There are rules.”
“Of course there are.” She rolled her eyes. Freaking pansy man. “You live alone, you’re a man. You don’t need to make rules. You can do what you want. Run wild, live in your underwear, drink milk straight out the carton. Leave the toilet seat up. Why you need these rules is a mystery.”
He didn’t look amused or very pansy-like as he set her bag down and crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m serious about this. There are rules.”
“Fine.” She gestured to him with her open hand. “Just tell me.”
“You won’t like it.” He cocked his head in warning, a look she was starting to dread.
“I’m sure I won’t.” She sighed. Why was this man so irresistibly difficult?
“If we have sex tonight, we have to role-play.”
Well, that wasn’t so bad. They did that all the time. “Is that vanilla?”
“I guess.” He looked very uncomfortable, and that worried her quite a bit more than his conflicted look. “We’re going to be married.”
“As in, you’re married, I’m married, and this is an affair?” She stared. Married affair role-play wasn’t his favorite, nor hers. But maybe it was more vanilla. Married people had affairs all the time.
He shook his head, his brows furrowing over his blue eyes. “As in we’re married. To each other.”
The blood ran from Tia’s face down to somewhere else. He had to be sick. Insane. Or had to be having an early mid-life crisis that affected him in a weird way. In any case, she was not playing married. “I think this is exactly why Chase believes being impulsive is not an asset.”
“I’ve put thought into this. Believe me. Nothing impulsive going on here.”
“Then you need to go back to impulsive, because this is
not
a good idea.”
He blew out a breath, frustrated. “It’s role-playing. We’ve done this a lot.”
She gave him a look that hopefully told him she questioned his sanity. “Crazy role-playing.”
“Really?” He arched a brow and stepped between her legs. “Crazier than me being the dungeon master? Crazier than naughty virgin school girl, French maid—which I really, really liked—or my absolute favorite, Master and slave?”
He had a point, damn him, and he was standing way too close for her to think straight. Especially when he dropped down to kneel between her legs, his hands burning her thighs. She sighed, exasperated. “Why married?”
Desperation clouded his eyes, and conflict made his mouth crease with a frown. “Because I have never brought a woman home before. The rule was no sex. Remember? That’s why we made the vanilla option. I don’t bring women home.” His look turned to one that pleaded for her to understand. “I thought I could do just vanilla. But this is my bed. And I can’t take you here, unless we’re married. So if we pretend…”
“You’re not joking.” Jake Anderson, club legend, had a bed complex. Hell, he had a house conflict.
“Never been more serious.”
Despite thinking he was crazy, a part of her got it. That part of her had been dormant for a long, long, time and had stirred this afternoon now woke up like a creature from a long, winter’s nap. That part of her hungered to play married, make love, and play house. With Jake.
She wet her lips with her tongue and tried to keep that girly girl part at bay, because the part of her that wanted to play house with Jake was more dangerous than any bad guy she’d ever faced. “You’re really not joking.”
He shook his head. “No. This is a bit of the good Catholic boy upbringing rearing its ugly head. Good men bring wives to their bed, not girlfriends. And definitely not their work partner. Definitely not for sex. Good men make love to their wives. And I’m not a good man.”
So wrong. He was a wonderful man. Just not right for her. “You’re a good man, Jake.”
He set his jaw, as if his mind was made up. “Married sex or no sex.”
Married sex or no sex…
Was there really a choice? She wanted him. Needed him. She opened her mouth to say, “No, please take my bags into the other room,” and her body protested. She’d been lonely for a long time, and sleeping here, with Jake, in his pretend marriage bed, was a hell of a lot better than the guest room with her pink vibrator.
“Married,” she whispered, terrified at the road they were taking. This smacked too close to her deepest, darkest fantasy for her tastes.
He rose then, looming over her. “Then get ready for me. This is your wedding night.”
“Oh, Jake,” she breathed. Definitely way too close to her darkest fantasy. Incestuous, kissing-cousin close.
“Virgin or not?” His voice began to take on that hard, Dom quality that it did when they usually negotiated.
That firm voice was what did her in. He knew how to pull the Dom card all too well, and she fought the urge to kneel before him. If she was to be his pretend wife, she wasn’t kneeling. She’d be powerless if she did. “I don’t know. Your choice.”
He thought about it a long moment, and then smiled in a sexy way that made her toes want to curl. “I think we’ve done this many, many times before.”
“Okay.”
No, not good.
“Condom or no?”
“What? Jesus, Jake.” She trembled slightly at the thought of him taking her bare, with nothing between them. She’d never had sex without one. Dangerous, dangerous ground. Dangerous in a way that soaked her panties and curled her toes. “I don’t think I can do that.”
His eyes glinted from the power he held. “If we were married, there’d be no condom. You’re clean? I’m clean. I assume you’re on the pill or something?”
She nodded. It was all she could manage. God help her, she was going to come against Jake’s hard, bare cock. She fought to breathe, fought to see straight. Deep inside, her heart gave a twinge of pain as it beat too fast. This wedding sex was going to hurt something fierce.
“Do you have an objection? Any other limits?”
She shook her head. If she had any, they no longer mattered. She no longer had a voice.
“Do you have a nightgown of some sort?”
She shook her head. She slept nude.
He frowned and sighed, leaving the room. Tia did everything in her power to keep from calling out to him, running after him. Thankfully, he returned, carrying something white in his large hands. “My brother’s wife left this here. Do you mind wearing it? You’re about the same size.”
She shook her head and took the silky garment, marveling at the lace, the delicate stitches. The four tiny white buttons at the throat. Her heart hammered as she fingered the top button. Too pretty. Too girly. Too…innocent.
“You want to shower, or something?”
She looked up. Anything to put this off. Maybe he’d change his mind in a bit. “Okay.”
“I’ll shower downstairs. And then I’ll come to you. As your husband.”
Chapter Seven
Tia showered and shaved everything that needed shaving, even though she’d done that in the morning. She then got out and rubbed lotion everywhere, hoping he’d come to his senses if she took enough time. But so far, he hadn’t. She was hell-bent on a path of wedding sex debauchery. Which sounded as wrong as it could get.
Nervously she slipped on the silken nightgown Jake had handed her, her fingers trembling as she did up the four white buttons in the front. The nightgown was so pretty, lacy, dainty, silky, and every bit appropriate to greet one’s husband in. She’d never owned anything like it, had never worn something like this for a man. Didn’t they like leather and corsets, thigh highs and stilettos? Jake used to.
She went out to the bedroom, unsure what to do, how much time he’d take, and then her heart went to her throat. He was already in bed, his chest bare except for the sprinkling of slightly darker hair than on his head and the covers around his waist. His hands were behind his head, and he leaned against fluffy white pillows. His blue eyes held no humor, only lusty appreciation for her, in the white nightgown. “You ready?”
“I don’t know if I can do this.” She swallowed and tugged at the silken hem at her thigh. It was foolish to have pre-wedding sex jitters when you weren’t even married. But her stomach did flip-flops, and her skin crawled with anxiety. No, not anxiety. Anticipation. “This is not something I expected to do.”
Jake frowned. “Tonight?”
“Ever.”
“I did, once. I was engaged eons ago. But that dream died.”
Somehow, that shocked the stuffing right out of her. He was a man whore, through and through. The sweetest, nicest kind of man whore, but no woman with half a brain expected Jake Anderson to end up on one knee, handing her a ring. That was part of what drew her to him in the first place.
She shifted, even more nervous. He’d never get on one knee except for wedding sex role-play. “You were engaged?”
“Stranger things have happened.” He cocked his head, studying her with a curious look on his handsome face. “Are you scared?”
“No,” she lied.
“This is just a fantasy, Tia. I won’t hurt you.”
Oh, yes, this would hurt, but the pain wouldn’t be physical. She’d feel this emotionally for the rest of her life. Maybe that was the punishment handed down to her—to never be married but have to role-play it instead. God knew she had done worse to herself than this. She’d gone to horrible lengths to learn to feel again. But she didn’t know if she could take this punishment like a good submissive.
“Come here,” he whispered.
“Do you want me to strip for you?” She could handle stripping. She’d done that so many times. Hell, if he had made her come out naked, she would have been more comfortable. The virginal whiteness was cloying, reminding her of all she had done and everything she wasn’t. She didn’t deserve him.
“No. I want to hold you.”
“Red,” she whispered before she could stop herself, the fear paralyzing at the thought of his arms around her. And then she realized what an ass she was, safewording because he just wanted to hold her. She had to make this evening something easier, something she could handle. Maybe if she pretended he was a work cover and she had to do him? Fuck him or die. She could handle that.
“You can’t safeword out, Tia. This is a vanilla fantasy. My house, my rules. Come. Hold me.” Jake hesitated. “If you’re truly scared, I’ll stop.”
She really didn’t want to stop, because the sex that would follow would be mind-blowing. Every cell, every pore was aware of him, of his energy. If he took her now, she’d be completely ready, the white thong she’d found in her suitcase soaked, her nipples hard and poking through the soft silk. And that’s what scared her the most. She wanted him, could taste how bad she wanted him, and she feared the lengths she would go to get him.
But all he wanted was to hold her, so she went to the side of the bed and stood, unsure. He held out his arms, and she crawled next to him, on top of the covers, closing her eyes as he wrapped her into his strong arms. He kissed her forehead. “Did you enjoy the wedding?”
“Yes?” He was insane.
He chuckled, his chest shaking under her cheek. “You should have made the bridesmaids happier. I don’t think they liked your choice of dress color or the flowers.”
“What color were they?”
“You tell me. Women seem to dream of this stuff. I’m good in a tux.”
“I never planned my wedding as a girl.” White trash didn’t hope to be married. She had hoped to hit eighteen and not be knocked up two or three times.
“Then plan it now.”
She closed her eyes, and something feminine leaped forward, a part of her that longed for girlfriends, sleepovers, and a wedding of her own. “Then they were happy with their dresses and flowers. They were green, like a fern green. Green dresses, pink flowers. I had pink roses. You had a dark gray suit with a pink boutonnière. But not a fancy dress for me—something simple. Strapless.” She inferred white but couldn’t bring herself to say it. It seemed wrong to even hope.
“Pink?” he asked. She looked up at him, and he wrinkled his nose like a little kid offered spinach or lima beans. “What happened to yellow?”
“Pink.” If he didn’t like it, then she’d go for it. Part of her really wanted pink. “And no alcohol at the reception. My Aunt Trudy is a drinker.” She wasn’t, but it would probably piss him off, so she went with that, too.
“Fine.” He glanced down at her and smoothed the hair from her cheek. “Less nervous?”
She blinked. The terror had fled, the pain subsided, and she was just Tia again. A very aroused Tia at that. “Yes.”
“Any idea what made you so nervous?”
She shrugged. “It’s just not what we do, that’s all.”
What a sweet little liar. Jake assessed Tia, how her eyes darted from his, so uncomfortable. She knew exactly what her problem was, and he wanted to know what made the hardcore tough girl tremble and safeword out of something so simple. Innocent.
He hated laying down the wedding sex rule but still couldn’t see a way around it. He hadn’t thought of marriage in years and years, except to know it wasn’t right for the man that he’d become. Once, a long time ago, definitely. But now, it wasn’t right for him.
But he truly felt what he told Tia. Good men didn’t bring home work partners to bed. If he could role-play it enough to satisfy that part of him, then maybe tomorrow he wouldn’t feel so guilty. He already knew he would burn in hell for his life. He’d add this to his list of sins, too.
She’d looked so damned beautiful as she came out of the bathroom, the hem of that nightdress caressing her mid-thigh, the buttons done up tight to her throat. The silk clung in all the right places, the white so perfect against her tan skin. His cock had hardened immediately, and he ached to taste her even more than he had wanted to when she was dressed in crotchless panties and thigh highs.