Donovan Dynasty: Bind Part 32

She rested her head on his shoulder. "I had no idea."

He hadn't, either.

Because he'd never spent this much time with a woman, he hadn't known what it was like to be constantly intrigued by someone so eager. Not just any woman, but a submissive one.

He held her for a bit. While he'd always enjoyed giving aftercare, until her, it hadn't felt so essential.

He removed her silken bond, and she put her hands on either side of his face. "How are your nipples?" he asked.

"Sore." She looked at him, and there was a wry twist to her lips. "That was mean."

"If they had been a different type of clamp, maybe," he replied. "Those are lightweight, and they came off easily."

"In your opinion," she countered.

"Made you climax."

She sought a response, wrinkling her nose. "There is that."

He juggled her off his lap and put his hands on her waist to support her until she found her footing.

The doorbell rang from the lobby.

"Pizza," a voice said when he answered.

"That was fast."

Lara scooped up her clothes and scampered toward the bedroom while he quickly disposed of the condom and yanked his pants on then buzzed the guy up.

When she returned, he inhaled the faint scent of magnolias, and her hair was piled on top of her head. Her skin was slightly damp and she had on one of his long-sleeved s.h.i.+rts. She'd rolled up the sleeves and secured the cuffs above her elbows. The top b.u.t.ton was open, and she'd skipped the bottom two, as well.

Since the material didn't appear to be starched, he guessed she'd grabbed the s.h.i.+rt from the dry-cleaning bag. "You could have chosen an unworn one," he said.

"This one smelled like you."

Everything in his body became slow-moving. He looked at her a second time. "You're not wearing any undergarments."

"No, Sir. I'm not."

G.o.d help him.

He deliberately focused on dinner. Anything other than the sensual daze she'd plunged him into.

When he'd insisted she move in with him, he hadn't thought through everything that would be involved. He'd figured out how to share the closet and the bathroom and mentally sorted through the logistics of sharing an office. But he hadn't considered the small, intimate moments such as sharing a pot of coffee, a fine merlot, or deciding what to eat for dinner. He'd never imagined she'd put on his clothes, or that she'd look so f.u.c.king hot when she did.

He had the sensation that he was in emotional quicksand, and he'd walked in willingly.

"Where are the plates?" she asked.

When he didn't respond right away, she drew her eyebrows together. "What? Seeing me half-naked is bothering you?" she asked, voice light with teasing.

"I may put you in a snowsuit," he said.

"But then you won't see my nipples, all hard from the scratchiness of your s.h.i.+rt."

"Some Doms like to put electrical tape on their sub's nipples."

She gasped.

"Don't push me, little Lara. I will find a way to avoid temptation." Or maybe he'd skip that and just keep her tied up and f.u.c.ked all day, every day. The second thought appealed to him most of all.

"Looks yummy," she said, flipping open the lid of the pizza box. "You were in charge of the plates," she reminded him.

"Plates," he repeated, and she laughed.

He shook his head to clear his brain circuits and took down plates from a cabinet. Then he pulled a shaker of Parmesan cheese from the refrigerator and put it on the counter.

She scooped out a slice of the pizza for him then selected one for herself.

"Cheese?" he offered.

"No, thanks." The box had several packets of crushed red pepper tucked inside. She picked up one, ripped it open, then she covered her entire slice with the spicy stuff.

"I wouldn't be able to eat for a week if I did that."

"They're delicious. Lots of nutrients."

"Sure."

"No. Really. They have vitamin A"-she tipped her head to the side-"and anti-inflammatory properties." Not waiting until they moved from the kitchen counter, she took a big bite, and her eyes instantly watered. "That one was hot." She started to cough.

"CPR is not on the menu," he cautioned.

"How about mouth-to-mouth?"

"That could be."

She looked at the pizza then back at him. That made her laugh, and the combination of that with her coughing made him hurry to fetch her a small gla.s.s of milk.

"Drink."

She downed it in two gulps, and the coughing stopped.

"Your milk mustache is attractive."

She ripped off a square from the paper towel roll and immediately pressed it to her lips. After she pulled it back, she looked at it then glared at him. "There was no milk mustache."

"No. There wasn't. But that look on your face was priceless."

She wadded the paper towel and threw it at him.

He caught it and tossed it in the trash can.

"Peppers?" she offered, holding up her half-empty packet.

"I think I'll skip them." He added a couple of liberal shakes of cheese to his slice, then closed up the box. "Let's eat in the living room."

She wrinkled her nose. "That seems like it should be off limits for you."

"Pizza is the exception to almost every rule."

"What other rules?"

He pretended not to notice the way she shook some of the peppers from her slice. "The ones about healthy eating and watching television."

"Television?"

"And I'll let you pick the movie."

"I like chick flicks," she warned. Then she floored him by adding, "Like Indiana Jones."

"I object. Indiana Jones is action-adventure, not a chick flick," he protested. "That franchise is the coolest thing on the planet for men."

"So why is Indy so appealing to women?" she demanded. "Besides the whip?"

"You tell me."

"He's gorgeous, for one. And the hat. Did I mention the whip?"

"I have a great whip."

"And you're pretty good with it, too. Well, as far as I can tell, that is. Maybe if I had a little more experience, I'd be a better judge." She ripped a couple of more pieces of paper towel to use as napkins then followed him into the living room.

He sat. In invitation, he patted the couch cus.h.i.+on next to him. Her hesitation was slight, but discernible.

With a small shrug that he wouldn't have noticed if he hadn't been watching, she joined him. "What else?" he asked.

"He's a pretty good dresser. Well, for an archeologist. You've got better taste. But you don't have a hat. A hat would complete your whip outfit."

"I'll keep it in mind." He picked up the remote and scrolled through the available movie t.i.tles, though he had to admit, the earlier music had been an excellent idea.

"Stop," she ordered when she saw her choice of movie.

He pushed the b.u.t.ton to make the selection, and the familiar theme began to play. "You haven't convinced me it's a chick flick."

"Chick flicks make women all melty," she said. "And thinking about your single tail and a hat makes me all melty. I win."

He shook his head. "Maybe I should take a whip to the office."

"Only if you want me visiting you at work every day."

"You know..." He studied her.

She was ripping a piece off her pizza crust, and she paused.

"You, over my desk, begging for my lash? Show up anytime."

Something heated throbbed between them. Not that it surprised him. It was always there, just waiting. "Let me get your wine," he said to divert both of them.

"Thanks."

He retrieved her gla.s.s from the far side of the room then set it down in front of them. "I'll never look at the coffee table the same way again," he said.

She snuggled into him, but pulled away and sat up to cheer when she saw Indy and his whip for the first time. "Can you really do things like him? Like wrap it around people's wrists and yank swords out of their hands?"

"I imagine you can with a bullwhip."

She s.h.i.+vered then settled back against his body.

For the next couple of hours, while they kept reality at bay-the upcoming board meeting, Lara going behind her father's back and working out the final details of their agreement-he had a glimpse of what the future might look like.

As the credits eventually scrolled, reality encroached.

She moved out of his arms, and he reached for the remote to kill the television.

Lara picked up the dishes and carried them into the kitchen.

"It's late," she told him.

"You could stay."

"We'd have to get up ridiculously early so that you could get me home in time for me to get ready and pick up my car."

He nodded. The drive time would allow them to talk, as well. "You're welcome to leave anything you want here."

Explaining that she needed everything at home, she repacked her bag. More than anything, it was a reminder that she still hadn't agreed to move in.

Once they were on the road, he brought that up. "Have you given any further thought to our living arrangements?"

She tightened her grip on her purse.

Since the evening was breezy, she was using his s.h.i.+rt as a jacket over her dress. He liked the combination.

"I see your point about living downtown," she said hesitatingly. "But I already come in every day. We could commute together."

"Or walk in ten minutes."

"Honestly, it's more than that. I'd have a difficult time giving up my place. Even if it was only for a couple of years."