His Forbidden Submissive (5 page)

But then she’d mentioned his brother’s name.

And he’d seen red.

A bright, furious fireball of pain, hatred, love and betrayal crashed right into the center of his chest. With that one word—
Eugene
—she’d released the dark torrent of feelings he’d been downright refusing to face for years. What if that reaction had happened while they’d been in a Dom/sub situation? What if, in his fury, he went too far, pushed her too hard? He’d never be able to forgive himself if he hurt her, which was why he needed to push her away. Just for a little while.

He needed some time to quell the fire raging inside him.

Her voice was so soft when she finally spoke again. “Do you honestly think, for one second, I’m buying your ‘resentment between you and Eugene’ line? If so, baby, you’re an idiot. I know you two don’t particularly like each other, but that’s not what this is about, is it?”

He shook his head.

“Then fucking tell me what’s going on.”

“I don’t want to hurt you, that’s what’s going on.” The words tumbled out before he could stop them. He spoke quickly, hoping she wouldn’t have enough time to really think about them. “There’s just so much going on. I think it would be best if we simply give our hormones a chance to cool down before we take things any further.”

“Bullshit.”

It amazed him how much credulousness she could fit into just one word.

She continued berating him. “You want to slow things down? Where was this notion a couple of hours ago, when you were banging me back into the Stone Age?”

He scrubbed his hands over his head. It was a damn good question and one he had no answer to, at least not an honest one. Because he
didn’t
want to slow things down. He wanted to take her to his club, show her his world. He wanted to offer himself to her fully. He wanted to strip away everything between them.

But not until he
knew
he was in control of himself—but being in control was only the first step.

His control wouldn’t matter in the damndest if drove her away before he had a chance to tell her the complete truth about him and his lifestyle. Slowing things down, putting a wedge between them so he could regain himself would only serve to interfere with his ability to ease her into his BDSM secret.

Fuck.

Talk about being stuck between a rock and a hard place.

Before he could figure anything out, Viv spoke. “Okay, fine, be a jerk.” A forced-sounding laugh echoed through the room. “And here I was thinking we actually had something real. Stupid me.”

Pain and guilt and something he couldn’t quite get a handle on reverberated around in his chest like the concussive blast of eighteen tons of dynamite. The force of the verbal impact pushed him backward, but before he had time to recover, the sound of footsteps padded on the hardwood floors at a furious clip, moving farther and farther away from him.

She was running.

“Damn it, Viv, wait.” Brock took off after her. He didn’t know what he’d say, but he couldn’t let her walk out angry, thinking he had no feelings for her.

Nothing could be further from the truth.

He caught up with her at the bottom of the staircase. “Viv, sweetheart, I do care about you. Please hear me out before—”

The shrill intro to
Ride of the Valkyries
sounded from somewhere in the kitchen—and she instantly froze. “Oh no.”

Concern took center stage. “What?”

She covered her mouth and spoke through her hands. “That’s Eugene’s ringtone.”

“Oh.” The weight of her words hit him squarely in the chest, and in that moment, his fears, his confusion, his
everything
took a backseat to her needs.

Oh god, oh god, oh god.

Viv didn’t need to be clairvoyant to know why her husband was calling. He’d received her petition for divorce.

Guilt made her stomach roll. She thought she’d been prepared for this moment, for the ultimate confrontation—obviously not.

Damn her body’s stupid response.

“It’s okay, love. It’s okay…” Brock cradled her against him, all six-feet-plus of him. Muscled arms closed around her, settling her against an even more muscular chest. He bent close and rested his cheek against the top of her head. He was comforting, reassuring…

Confusing the hell out of her.

Hadn’t he, just a few damn minutes ago, told her they needed to slow things down?

But she couldn’t bring herself to care about what he’d said, not now, not with his arms wrapped so perfectly around her as her world raged out of control. She clung to him, comfort radiating off him like the warm rays of the sun on a cool autumn afternoon.

Her phone made its customary “voicemail” ding—then almost immediately rang again. “I have to make it stop…” She made a move toward the phone, but Brock held her firm.

“Let me, love.” He brushed his lips against her forehead. “Be right back.”

Determined strides ate up the ground between her and where her satchel sat, strewn out beside the kitchen table, a victim to their passion. In a few seconds, he had her iPhone in hand. “There…” He returned the device to her bag. “No more calls from Señor Asswipe until you’re ready.”

“Th-thank you.”

“Anytime.”

She wanted to leap back into his arms, into the comfort she knew she’d find there, but it still didn’t quite feel right, not after what had happened upstairs. Taking the comfort he offered was one thing, but asking for it was another.

He plucked her dress from the floor, leaving her bra and panties where they’d fallen, then flashed a grin brimming with seduction. “Ya know, guys make a big deal about undressing a woman, but too many often forget the lost art of
dressing
a woman.” He took a step toward her, outstretched dress in his hands, the proverbial carrot on a stick. “Allow me to show you what I mean?”

God, he was killing her. Did he want her or didn’t he?

Her emotions were like a shoreline community after a hurricane, ravaged and ruined, but damn those beautiful blue eyes of his, that not-so-subtle smile drew her in, comforted her. She was helpless against his charm.

“Okay,” she said finally, letting the sheet she’d wrapped around herself slither to the floor, and stepped close to him. “Show me.”

“With pleasure.” He dropped to his knees, held the dress open. “First your left foot.”

She obeyed. Unlike when he’d removed the garment, he took his time pulling on the dress. His knuckles brushed her sides, the outer edges of her breasts. Each touch of his skin against hers sizzled, and it wasn’t long before the anguish Eugene’s call or Brock’s earlier words had stirred evaporated in the heat of his touch.

“And now my favorite part…zipping it.” His lips kissed a path for the zipper to follow. He lingered over each inch of skin as he kissed her, until she wanted to scream at him to take her all over again.

She pressed backward into him. “You’re right. This is very nice.”

“Yeah.” He kissed the side of her neck. “Makes me want to undress you again.”

Laughter bubbled from her mouth. “This could become a very circular act.”

“Don’t hear me complaining, do ya?” He spun her around to face him and then brushed a quick kiss against her lips. “Now how can I help make this easier for you? I hate seeing you hurting.”

His question shocked her for a moment, which was positively stupid. Wanting to know what he could do to lessen her emotional pain was such a Brock thing to do she almost cried.

“Being in your arms helps,” she whispered, unable to stop herself. “Just being in your arms.”

He nuzzled his nose against the top of her head. “Then it’s a damn good thing I like you being here.”

Then why were you trying to send me away?

She held tighter to him, her life preserver as her emotions raged. She didn’t know what was going on with him or why he’d suggested what he’d suggested. All she knew for sure was she wanted to know. Living the past year without Brock had been almost impossible, and she didn’t want to test what another year—or the rest of her life—would be like without the man she loved at her side.

They moved to the couch, and for a long, long while, they simply sat in silence, Brock’s arms wrapped protectively around her, holding her, just holding her. His hand stroked up and down her back, a continual motion, never stopping. She lost track of the time that passed. Outside, the sky changed from bright to dull. The sun was setting lower and lower on the horizon.

Without warning, her stomach let loose a growl so loud she couldn’t help but giggle. “Apparently, I’m hungry.”

“Apparently,” he agreed with a chuckle.

She lifted her head from his massive shoulder. His eyes whirled with the same kind of conflicted emotions swirling inside her too. At least they were on somewhat of an equal footing.

He drew a knuckle along her jaw. “What do you say I whip us up a quick dinner?”

She raised her left eyebrow. “You cook?”

“Not really. But I can make a mean sandwich.”

She laughed. “That sounds good.”

“You stay right here, sweetheart. I’ll be right back.” He pressed a quick kiss to her lips and then left her alone, further confusing her.

She wanted him, no doubt about it, and despite his bedroom bombshell, he wanted her too. At least she wanted to believe he did. If he truly wanted to slow things down, he wouldn’t have been able to slip so easily back into the role of her savior when Eugene’s call had pulled the trapdoor on her emotional stability, would he?

No, no way. None of it made any flippin’ sense. What he’d said in the bedroom and what he’d done since that phone call starkly contradicted each other. He had her so damn confused she could scream. Or maybe cry. She wasn’t really sure.

Would she ever understand this man?

Yes. One day.

If she had to, she’d plant herself on this couch—or in his bed—until he came clean. She’d set her plan into motion and she’d be damned if she let their intense connection fizzle out and die. She’d waited too damn long to let the man she loved get away from her.

Chapter Four

Brock dished out the last scoop of double-chocolate-chip ice cream he was making for him and Viv and tried like hell to figure out how to tell her about his sexual lifestyle, a realization he’d come to during their deafly silent dinner. He wanted her. And pushing her away wasn’t an option anymore. He couldn’t do that to her. She needed him more.

Maybe the direct approach would be best.

I’m a Dom…

No, no. That was too direct. He needed to ease into his confession a bit. No sense just bitch-slapping her with the truth.

I practice the BDSM lifestyle…

Practice? Shit no. He wasn’t a doctor—or a magical practitioner for that matter. He tried again.

I own a popular BDSM club and BDSM-themed restaurant, but I’m not just the owner. I’m also an active participant in the lifestyle…

No, no and hell no. He slammed the empty ice-cream container in the trash can with all the finesse of a five-hundred-pound ballerina. That line sounded as if he were giving the BDSM equivalent of the Hair Club for Men shtick.
I’m not only the Hair Club President, but I’m also a client.

“Damn it.” Admitting who he was shouldn’t be this damn difficult. This was Viv for fuck’s sake, a woman who had always accepted him for who he was. She was the kindest, most accepting person he’d ever met. So why in god’s name was telling her the truth turning out to be so difficult?

Easy. Viv meant more to him than any woman ever had.

He collapsed forward on the counter beside their dessert. Viv wasn’t a one-night sub. He loved her. He had since those seemingly endless days when she’d been battling cancer. For months and months, he’d sat by her side, falling in love with her zest, her zeal. Her. Too bad it had been under such horrific circumstances. And he wasn’t just talking about the cancer but about what his brother had asked him to—

“You okay in here?”

He spun toward Viv’s voice. She still wore the same dress she had when she’d first walked back into his life, but now, her appearance had a different allure to it. She no longer looked sleek and stylish—she looked used and owned. Barefoot, her dress showing off wrinkles from being in a pile on the floor, her hair a wild mess from his hands, his bed, his pillows, she looked like a woman who had been well,
well
-loved. It’d be a hard-on-inducing sight if it wasn’t for the uncertainty scrunching her beautiful face.

He wanted to yank her into his arms and kiss her until that uncertainty evaporated. Wanted to throw her into his bed and stroke deep into her sweet body until she couldn’t think of anything else, but only once he came clean. He owed her nothing less.

“Yeah, I’m good.” He turned back to the desserts. Maybe after a sugar rush he’d be able to come up with the right words. “I was just wondering if I wanted to add some syrup to our ice cream. What do you think?”

She didn’t answer, but he knew she was still there. He’d heard no footsteps, nothing to indicate she’d moved in the slightest. “I think you need to tell me the truth. Why do you
really
want to slow things down? And don’t you dare think about lying to me.”

Christ. He wasn’t fucking ready for this conversation. He was still formulating his strategy. “Well, considering your upcoming divorce and the fact the man you’re leaving is my older brother, I just think it would be best—”

“Bullshit.” In a flash, she crossed the room then yanked on the sleeve of his t-shirt until they stood face-to-face. “You and I are fantastic together. You can’t honestly tell me you really want to pull the brakes on what we had…what we could have.”

No, he didn’t want to slow things down. “It’s…complicated, Viv,” he finally said.

“Then uncomplicate it.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“Bull. Shit.” She stepped into him until they were toe-to-toe.

The soft aroma of vanilla and sex teased his senses, and despite his good intentions, lust rocketed straight to his groin. His cock lengthened, hardened in a matter of nanoseconds. His hands fisted at his side and it took all his strength to keep from grabbing her and throwing her down on the kitchen table and pushing deep into her pussy until he created enough heat to bind reality and fantasy together.

Viv continued, whispering a line that threatened to completely and utterly do him in. “I’m gonna get the truth out of you, Brock, even if I have to chain myself to your side.”

“That’s a dangerous thing to say around me, sweetheart.”

Vivian’s heart pounded, but she wasn’t sure if it was out of fear or arousal. Or maybe a little bit of both.

Before following Brock into the kitchen, she’d made up her mind—she was getting the damn truth out of him one way or the other. And if she had to, she’d use every erotic weapon in her arsenal to get the truth. At least that had been the theory, but now, she wasn’t so sure.

Brock’s blues eyes darkened to a tumultuous black. He looked like a man on the verge of spontaneously combusting. His fisted hands shook. His shaved head took on a slight red hue. The creases of his forehead formed a treacherous series of hard lines. If it were any other man looking at her like this, she’d most likely already be running for safety.

Somehow, she found the courage to speak. “Dangerous how?”

“In ways you have yet to imagine.” He hooked his index finger beneath her chin and held her gaze against his. “Would you really chain yourself to my side, Viv?”

She opened her mouth to answer, but not a single word made it past the lump of emotions lodged in her throat. She’d meant it as a figure of speech but nothing on Brock’s face said he was talking about anything in the figurative. The expressions were raw and primal. Part of her expected him to go all Neanderthal and whack her over the head, carry her off to his bedroom and literally tie her to something.

The idea thrilled her more than she wanted to admit.

“I want more than one fabulous round of sex out of you,” she said, “and if I have to become a permanent fixture around here until you finally tell me what’s going through that hard head of yours, so be it.”

His nostrils flared. She was close to breaking through to him. He was about to crack. She felt it in her bones. She just needed to keep up the pressure.

Time to pull weapon one out of her erotic arsenal.

She breached the invisible barricade he’d constructed between them and wrapped her arms around his neck. “You care for me, Brock. I know you do, so there must be a damn good reason you’re pushing me away. I’m gonna get that reason out of you. Someday. Somehow. But in the meantime…” She half pulled him to her, half pushed up to him, stopping only when her lips grazed his. “How about I help you release some of the tension tightening these broad shoulders?”

Despite the rigidness of his form, his hands cinched around her waist, pulled her body against him. “And just how might you help me?”

“I’ve got a condom tucked between the girls, and it’s all yours.
I’m
all yours, all you have to do is take it.” She pressed her lips to his. “Take me.”

He hesitated only a second—maybe even half a second—before devouring her. Like pouring gasoline on a smoldering pile of wood, they went up in flames.

His strong arms lifted her. She wrapped her legs around him as drove her back against the table. With all the finesse of a caveman, he forced her onto her back and wrenched her legs wide. Impatient fingers yanked her dress down just enough to let the girls burst free, and before she could wrap her mind around his sudden outburst of domination, he freed his erection, ripped into the condom she’d stolen from his bedside table and rammed his cock deep and hard into her.

“Oh god.” Air rushed from her lungs and her pussy constricted around his massive length. Like last time, his girth caught her off-guard. His thick cock was as much for pleasure as for punishment, and he wasted no time putting that wonderful instrument to good use.

He plowed into her fast and hard. The girls bounced around with every incredible thrust. He fucked her like a man who meant it and he wanted to make sure she knew it too.

Their tongues dueled, slapped against each other with the same intensity of their coupling. “Mmm,” she groaned into his mouth. She made a move to reach for him, but he caught her around the wrists and one big hand pinned her arms above her head. The other arm wrapped around her thigh like the unforgiving grip of a hungry python.

She tested his hold, but with the exception of some innocent flailing, she was helpless, completely under his control, his to use until he was finished. Why did the idea turn her on so much?

He practically snarled as he pounded into her, his thrusts oh-so-wonderfully hard. He drove his length deeper into her sex, worked her inner muscles until her world exploded in a massive ball of swirling white light and pleasure.

Who knew brutal could feel so good?

“Viv.” Brock’s thrusts lost rhythm. His entire body went rigid, and he joined her in ecstasy. “Fuck, fuck,
fuck
.” He drove deep one last time and stayed there, fusing their bodies together as erotic afterglow descended on them.

He released her hands, and his elbows came to rest beside her arms. He cradled her head in his palms. His mouth found hers in a kiss as passionate and controlling as their explosive lovemaking—but a whole lot gentler, more tender.

But this time, she welcomed the tenderness because Brock wasn’t making even the slightest attempt to pull away. That told her everything she needed to know.

Eventually, his lips set off to explore, leaving her free to use her mouth for something other than consuming his kisses. “Okay,” she began, her voice so breathy it hardly sounded like her own. “You can’t tell me that was the reaction of a man who wants to slow things down.”

“Absofuckinglutely not.” He kissed her neck, nipped and licked his way to her earlobe. “That’s the reaction of a man who wants you more than his next breath, a man who wants to tie you to his bed and never fucking let you go.”

His words sent aftershocks of pleasure cascading through her blood. “You’ll get no complaint from me. No sir.”

His body went stiff. Maybe not stiff but very sturdy, and he pushed away from her, but only enough to completely captivate her gaze. Emotion swarmed in his blue eyes.

That same sense of unease slithered back into her guts. “What?” she asked, dreading his answer. “Did I say something wrong?”

“No,” he whispered. “You said something perfectly right.”

“I did? What?” She tightened her arms around his neck. “Tell me and I’ll make sure and say it again.”

Smiling, he leaned in and pressed a quick kiss against her lips. “What do you say we take our dessert upstairs and finish it in bed?”

He was changing the subject again, but this time she decided not to call him on it. She’d get answers out of him soon enough. Besides, the idea of her and Brock naked in his bed with ice cream…

Oh my god.

Carefully, Brock eased his spent cock from her channel then headed to the wastebasket to rid himself of the used condom. “I don’t know about you, but I suddenly feel the need for a quick shower before dessert.” He grinned at her over his shoulder. “You?”

“Well, I do suddenly feel a little dirty, but I have a feeling we’ll feel much,
much
dirtier after dessert.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right.” On his way back to the table, he grabbed the two bowls from the counter. Mischief danced in his eyes. “Last one upstairs has to give oral sex first.”

She grinned.

They both sprinted for the stairs.

* * * * *

Brock lay propped up on one elbow and visually consumed his lover.

Viv lay sound asleep on his mattress after a long, long night of lovemaking. He hadn’t told her about the BDSM stuff yet, even though she’d pushed and pushed him to open up, and he’d been too wrapped up in her to chance ruining everything. He’d wanted to drink in as much of her as he could for as long as he could.

Just in case.

But he had decided
how
he’d tell her. A nice lunch at Ravenous, the BDSM restaurant he owned, would be the perfect backdrop. Without admitting he actually practiced the lifestyle, he could introduce her to it in a friendly, nonthreatening manner. He could gauge her responses then use that response to plan how he would tell her. It seemed the safest, sanest option.

The late-morning sun played over her naked back, and just like that, he wanted her all over again, which wasn’t exactly a new thing. Every time he took her, it revved up the Dom in him even more. It had taken every ounce of willpower not to break out all the bondage gear tucked neatly in his closet and bind her completely open to him.

He trailed a fingertip over her exposed shoulder. She’d make the most spectacular sub. He had no doubt about that. She had enough fire in her to keep from letting herself become a doormat, but enough control to keep from becoming a troublesome sub. She was perfect. If only he could make her see—and accept—the same vision.

The idea of taking Viv as his bottom intoxicated him. To share himself completely with her, he’d never wanted anything more in his life. But what about her? Could she accept him for who he was? Or would she reject him and his world outright?