Authors: Delphine Dryden
“Comfortable?” he asked out of habit. “Nothing hurts, you
can feel all your fingers?”
“I’m fine,” she responded, too quickly. “Fine.”
“Drew, you’re in the frame, dude,” Danny complained.
Drew backed up and watched as his friend took shot after shot,
moving Eva’s hands and arms slightly from time to time in order to shift the
focus provided by the vividly colored tie.
Days later, Danny emailed Drew a copy of the finished photo,
cropped to focus on Brandon’s throat and chest, with Eva’s arms encircling his
neck. Her bound hands and wrists looked almost childlike in their
vulnerability. No faces were visible. The scarf formed a vivid note of pinkish
red against her fair skin and the pale blue of Brandon’s shirt. But what Drew
remembered about the moment itself was not captured in the photo. He could
recall only Eva’s face, turned slightly into the cowhide upholstery above
Brandon’s shoulder, and the much subtler pink that had flushed her carved
marble cheek.
Chapter Two
It had taken him over a month to think up his ploy and
implement it, and that had only come after about eight weeks of what probably
bordered on stalking.
When he’d started, it had been unseasonably hot even for
August, and Eva had cooled the room in sleeveless white. Now it was cold enough
outside that when she answered the doorbell for their date, she was already
shrugging her way into a cream-colored overcoat.
Cashmere
, Drew thought
as he automatically reached out to help her find the sleeve. Her hair caught in
the collar when she settled the coat on her shoulders, and he had to resist the
temptation to work the silky strands free when she turned to lock her door.
It was all chilly cordiality at first. But then she threw
him a dark look when he took his seat after handing her gallantly into his car.
“Hieronymus Bosch. I can’t
believe
I didn’t think of
Hieronymus fucking Bosch. It was so obvious.”
Drew thought she must be really pissed off if she was
dropping the F-bomb. He’d never heard her curse before. On the whole, he didn’t
mind it one bit. “Well, you know. Everybody has their areas of expertise.
Nobody can know everything.”
The glare she shot him was venomous but heavily laced with
amusement. “It wasn’t even a question about art, it was a question about punk
music. I never claimed to know a thing about punk music.”
“I don’t really know much about either one,” Drew admitted
with a shrug. “But I had this roommate in college who loved that band, and he
had a poster of the painting on the wall over his bed.
The Extraction of the
Stone of Madness
. The guy was kind of an asshole, actually.”
“He left you with an appreciation for art, at least. Or
maybe just punk?”
Drew smiled. “Not exactly. I mean the band was okay, but the
painting creeped me out. I mainly remembered it because there was a guy in it
with a funnel on his head, kinda looked like the Tin Woodman.”
“You don’t know anything about art.” It was a statement, not
a question. She didn’t sound that surprised. Drew was glad to hear she didn’t
sound particularly upset about it, either.
“I know some. I know about photography. And hey, I knew
enough to get you to go out with me, right?”
Eva’s silvery laugh was unexpected. It curled around Drew, a
slender ribbon of temptation, almost making him miss his turn. “A sucker bet.
Your one piece of art trivia, and you caught me. Now I’ll know to be on my
guard.”
The topic of their mutual friends didn’t arise until later,
when the meal was almost over.
“I thought the Boy Scout thing was a joke,” Eva said with
surprise when Drew revealed how far back he and Danny went.
“Nope. And yes, before you ask, I did get a merit badge for
knots.”
“I didn’t need to ask.” She lifted her glass to him and took
a sip before continuing. “You do beautiful work.”
Drew shrugged. “Aw, shucks, ma’am. Glad you think my knots
are purdy.”
“You don’t seem like a lot of the…the people Danny and
Sheila know.”
“Well, they hang out with a lot of artists. I’m not really
in that business.”
She frowned. “True, but I wasn’t really talking about the
art crowd.”
Leaning forward, Drew murmured dramatically, “You mean the
evil, bad, kinky sex crowd?” His corny wink made her smile, even as she blushed
at his words.
“Of course there’s quite a bit of crossover,” she
acknowledged.
“With their friends, at least, yeah. That’s also partly due
to the subject matter of their art. It does tend to draw a certain demographic.
The evil, bad, kinky sex crowd demographic.”
“Are you in that demographic?”
Drew was startled by that. By the direct question, by the
suddenly dispassionate gaze she leveled at him with those very pale blue-gray
eyes.
“That’s a deal-breaker for you,” he said, feeling a hint of
anxiety as the knowledge broke.
After a moment of hesitation, she nodded. “Yes.”
Drew couldn’t help thinking she looked sad. Recalling her
obvious—at least obvious to him—reaction to being tied up, he wondered what her
history was. He was distracted from pursuing it, however, when the waiter
returned with his credit card. It wasn’t until they were safely in the car
again, pulling away from the curb, that he returned to the subject.
“So I have a question for you. About your deal-breaker.”
“All right.” The wariness in her voice warned him to tread
lightly. “You never answered
my
question, actually.”
“I know. When we were at that party, when I tied you up, I
heard the comments about how you weren’t into that. But I was right next to
you. I could feel your pulse under my fingers. I could see your reaction. And
it was not the reaction of a girl who wasn’t into it.”
“Oh?” From wary to frosty in nothing flat.
“I’m just curious. It didn’t add up.” Eva had turned so cold
he was tempted to crank the car heater. Drew figured he had nothing more to
lose at that point. Might as well go for broke. “You say you’re not into it,
but you surround yourself with it. You run a private art gallery in a small
town. You could hardly find a more vanilla setting, but you invite a fair
number of artists you know are involved in BDSM whether it’s reflected in their
art or not. As far as I can tell, you’re good friends or at least close acquaintances
with practically everybody in the local kink community. You agreed to let
yourself be tied up for that photo, and it was glaringly obvious you enjoyed
it. In
that
way. So what’s up, Miss Godfrey? What’s your deal?”
A few seconds of pained silence later, he chanced a glance
over at Eva. She was still staring at him in shock, eyes wide as saucers. Her
lips parted slightly, and Drew had to drag his eyes back to the road before he
could become distracted. He’d had a sudden, almost overwhelming urge to kiss
the look right off her face. To warm her up, lips first.
Crap. I should apologize.
“Um. Look, I—”
“Did it ever occur to you,” she said in a tiny, strained
voice, “that I might have had a bad experience?”
He didn’t even look this time, just started glancing toward
the shoulder, searching for a place to pull over. Eva didn’t comment. She sat
and stared as he eased over to the side of the road and brought the car to a
halt.
“I am so, so sorry,” he started, but she cut him off with a
sharp gesture of her hand.
“Don’t!”
He caught her hand and held it in both of his, taking his
seat belt off and turning to face her.
Then things got confusing for a while.
Drew remembered the sensation coming over him again, of
needing to kiss her, of wanting to fold her into his arms. He remembered the
shine of tears, and then the thing that was his undoing, the tiniest tremble of
her lower lip. It was pink. It looked soft.
It tasted like wine and apple pie a la mode. Which, Drew
decided, was the exact taste of heaven. When he laced his fingers through her
hair, he was surprised at how warm she was. Surprised, too, when she tugged at
his shirt, pulling him closer, angling her head back and making a sweet
offering of her mouth. He took it, curling his tongue between her lips, nibbling
and sucking until he fell into a happy delirium of frustration and delight.
When they finally broke apart, he noticed her lip was no
longer trembling, although his hands seemed to be. They were framing her face.
When had that happened? Eva’s hands were entwined in the fabric of his dress
shirt. She wasn’t crying anymore.
His cock was straining to get closer to the source of the
happiness, and Eva looked so flushed and breathless and
mussed
all of a
sudden. It was mind-blowingly hot. His lips moved faster than his conscience.
“I’m not in that demographic.” It was more than half a lie,
and he was old enough to know he was stupid to say it.
She stared at him for a few seconds then her gaze flicked
away to the window. “I need some fresh air. Do you mind?”
“What? Oh. Not at all.”
He nearly ran around the car in his haste to open her door,
as eager as a teenager on his first date. And suddenly feeling about as
unlikely to get past first base, judging by the wave of shyness that appeared
to sweep over Eva when he offered his arm.
It had started to snow, a light fall of powdery white. The
night was crisp, and very cold. They had parked near one of the university’s
two large fountains, and the soft splash of water was a strange contrast with
the silent snow.
“I know, I know,” Eva said as she brushed the fine, powdery
stuff from the creamy cashmere of her overcoat. “Now I look like a real, live
ice princess.”
“Not even close to what I was thinking.” Drew reached over
and carefully scooped a dusting of snow from the edge of her scarf before it
could melt against the skin of her neck.
“Then what were you thinking?” she demanded. She tilted her
head—whether to avoid his fingers or give him better access, he wasn’t sure. He
thought maybe she wasn’t sure, either.
“I was thinking you looked like a real, live snow angel.” He
smiled and then kissed her before she could formulate a protest, grabbing her
upper arms and pulling her closer to put her off balance.
He could feel her breath, as rapid and shallow as it had
been that night he tied her wrists around Brandon’s neck. She was turned-on.
She wanted this. She wanted
him
. And God knew he wanted her. Had walked
around for nearly three months semihard and hurting for her, despite her
obvious reticence. Just kissing her, and a fairly innocent kiss at that, was
enough to make his pants uncomfortably snug.
Cautiously, he shifted his hands, one sliding around Eva’s
slim waist to draw her closer still, the other cupping the back of her neck
lightly as he deepened the kiss. Tasting her, all softness and heat and
unexpected willingness. Her tongue was soft as velvet against his. When she
finally, hesitantly, began to kiss him back, Drew had to restrain himself from
moaning. With all the control he could muster, he let Eva set the pace for a
time. She explored his mouth with excruciating patience, learning each curve
and slide of his lips and tongue against hers. Her hands, still balled in
clenched fists against his chest, never moved. Almost as though she was holding
back too.
The suspense, the tension, became almost an end in itself.
Drew realized they were torturing themselves and each other but also feared
what might happen if he raised the stakes. It felt almost like a magic spell,
this equilibrium between them, something that could be broken all too easily by
one wrong move.
Except that the next move was Eva’s. She shifted her hands
without warning, tugging Drew closer by the neck, suddenly plunging her tongue
into his mouth and pressing herself against him with an enthusiastic whimper.
Then, as abruptly, she pushed him away and stumbled back a
few steps, wiping a shaky hand across her mouth.
“Eva, I—”
“That was—”
“Sorry, go ahead.”
“No, you go.”
Drew couldn’t remember what he had started to say. Now,
seeing her flushed cheeks and kiss-reddened lips, so bright against the
paleness of her skin and the snowy backdrop, he was dumbstruck. She was too
beautiful, too breathtaking to talk to. A snow angel, as he’d said.
“I really didn’t want you to stop then,” he finally blurted,
honesty bubbling to the top under pressure. “Or, you know…ever.”
“It was a bad idea,” Eva said, as though he hadn’t spoken.
“Really. I don’t know what got into me.”
My tongue?
Drew thought, but was smart enough not to
say.
“I thought it was a really good idea. Whatever got into you
had exactly the right idea, and you should let it back in there.”
“Let what back in there,” she asked with an arch look, “your
tongue?”
At least I wasn’t the one to say it.
“For starters.” He stared her down, willing her to stop
reassembling the chilly shell she seemed determined to draw around herself. Her
protective covering. For a minute there, she hadn’t acted like a girl who
wanted or needed protection.
“Then what? You take me home, we throw caution to the wind?”
“You say that like it’s unheard of. People have been known
to do that sort of thing.”
The wind was picking up, and a flurry of snow skittered
across the lawn and around their legs.
“I don’t do that sort of thing,” Eva said firmly.
“How about after the third date? Would you do it then?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“The night is still young, Miss Godfrey. I just took you on
our first date, and it’s barely nine o’clock. So now, after a brief stop at
your place so you can put on some warmer clothes, I am going to take you on our
second date.”
Eva’s upper lip curved as though she was trying to keep from
smiling. “Isn’t that an extended version of the first date?”