Binding Agreement Page 6

  He said nothing for long moments and she sensed an internal struggle being waged, between the ruthless, sexually dominant part of him and the part she’d briefly glimpsed while sitting on his lap—the genuine, playful, human part. Gruffly he said, “I know you’ve never done this, Kay. I’ll try not to hurt you.” She sucked in a breath as his thumb probed her pussy, gathering her juices, then moved upward to tease her anus. His voice was low and possessive as he added, “I’m glad that other guy was an ignorant jerk. I’m glad he fucked up so I could be your first.”

  He lifted the bottle of lube and after a moment she felt his slippery fingers, first caressing the little opening, then penetrating her. It was easier now, partly because of the objet d’booty and partly because she’d learned to consciously relax those muscles.

  His fingers left her and she peered over her shoulder again, in anticipation now rather than fear. She watched John slick the lube over his cock, concentrating on the smooth, purple crown. She couldn’t tear her gaze from those long, sinewy fingers stroking the thick shaft, swirling the viscous liquid over the glistening tip. She found herself unconsciously arching her back, angling her ass even higher, especially after he caught her looking and gave her a smile that was one part imp, two parts wolf.

  Sorry, girlfriend, you’ve had your turn, she told her empty, dripping pussy, flabbergasted that she was actually looking forward to that glorious big cock filling her virgin ass. She couldn’t imagine any other man making her feel this way.

  He gripped her bottom, spreading her and holding her as he found his mark. He exerted slow, steady pressure until the broad head of his penis breached the narrow opening. She emitted a sharp gasp. Prepared or not, her body tightened painfully.

  He went still. She was breathing hard and so was he. “I know, honey,” he said as he caressed her back, the sides of her breasts, everywhere he could reach. “Trust me.” Eventually the constriction within her eased. Only then did he begin to move once more, advancing inch by inch with shallow, unhurried strokes until he was seated to the balls.

  It was like nothing she’d ever experienced—the stretching, the fullness, the feeling of belonging to this man, utterly and absolutely. The dildo, though it felt amazing, was a cold, inanimate object. There was no mistaking the live, hot, twitching length of John’s cock as anything but the real deal.

  His fingers tightened on her bottom. The sound he emitted was somewhere between a sigh and a moan. “I’m not going to last long,” he said, “which is just as well since it’s your first time.” He began to fuck her, slowly at first and then in earnest as her body relaxed and accepted him.

  She couldn’t say at what point she began to push against him, greeting each exquisite thrust with sighs and whimpers and hoarse cries of pleasure. He responded with a growl so feral and untamed she felt it in her weeping pussy. He chose that moment to reach under her and caress the stiff little bud of her clitoris, sending an electric jolt through her.

  “John…” she panted, “John, it’s so…ohhh…”

  “I know.” His chuckle sounded tortured. “Trust me, honey, I know.”

  His fingers and his pistoning cock drove all conscious thought from her head, leaving nothing but instinct and raw animal sensation. Her climax struck and she screamed, bucking against him, feeling him swell to impossible proportions as her muscles contracted around him.

  Her release triggered his own long-delayed orgasm. He shouted with each fierce snap of his hips, pulling her hard against him, coming in rhythmic spurts she felt in the deepest part of her.

  Chapter Four

  “I need you to understand something, Kay.” John stared through the windshield as he negotiated the dark, winding pavement. No streetlights illuminated this stretch of Surf Road and they passed few other cars, making the cozy confines of his low-slung Jaguar seem even cozier, more intimate.

  “You don’t owe me any explanations.” Whatever he had to say, she didn’t want to hear it. Just having this incredible night come to an end was difficult enough.

  His fingers tightened on the steering wheel. “The thing is, I was going to ask you to come back, but…I’ve decided it’s not a good idea. It’s not you, it’s me. Christ,” he groaned, clearly chagrined to hear that old cliché pass his lips.

  Was there a more overused brush-off? Kay wondered. Well, maybe I want us to be friends, but that one didn’t apply here. John didn’t want to be her friend. He didn’t want to be her anything. She forced a light tone of voice. “No last names, remember? You didn’t mislead me. I’m not going to go home and sob into my pillow.”

  At the beginning of the evening he hadn’t seemed the least bit hesitant about laying out the ground rules. I’m not going to let you into my life. And I don’t want any part of yours. Why couldn’t he just leave it at that? Hammering home the point might make him feel better, but it did nothing for her except drag out the pain.

  Because saying goodbye to him was going to be painful. Kay wasn’t a one-night-stand kind of woman—and now she knew why. She directed her gaze out the side window and watched the inky landscape fly past.

  She cleared her throat. “You didn’t have to drive me, you know. I would have been happy to take a taxi.” She’d made the same offer as he’d tossed her damp clothes into the dryer and again after the tow truck had rumbled away with her Camry.

  “So you said. And like I said, I’m not about to let a guest of mine, much less a female guest, take a taxi home. So let’s let the subject rest, shall we?”

  “Well, thank you. Again.”

  “You’re welcome. Again.”

  Kay had been relieved when he’d dropped the Dom-sub routine once the sex was over and they’d left the house. Their interactions had become normal at that point—as normal as they could be under the circumstances.

  Earlier, however, he’d remained inflexibly in charge as they’d showered together in the master bathroom, in the rounded, stone-tiled shower stall complete with a dozen massage jets, waterfall feature and semicircular bench. Forbidding her to speak, he ordered her to wash him and scrubbed her thoroughly in turn, leaving no part unexplored. He made her assume a variety of positions that underscored his mastery and her unreserved submission. At no time was she permitted to close her legs.

  By the time they were squeaky clean she was more than ready to get dirty again, and so distracted by the sight of his rampant, lathered cock that she accidentally dropped the soap. That was all the excuse he needed to sit on the bench and pat his knee, wordlessly commanding her to assume the position. He soundly spanked her upraised bottom as the warm spray pummeled them from all directions, stopping occasionally to fondle her slippery pussy and chide her for enjoying her punishment too much.

  Just when the pain had begun to eclipse the pleasure, he’d lifted the handheld sprayer and aimed the pulsing stream at her engorged clitoris. She’d writhed on his lap in an agony of need, calling on every last scrap of willpower to keep from coming without permission. Finally he’d stood and nailed her to the stone wall under the waterfall, ordering her to come—now!—ramming into her hard and fast as her cries of blessed release reverberated in the confined space.

  John didn’t look at her as he followed the curving road. “There’s a reason I didn’t ask you to stay with me tonight. You didn’t do anything wrong or…it’s just that I don’t do that. Sleepovers, I mean.”

  “Not anymore.”

  He did glance at her then. “No. Not anymore.” His tone was subdued. “Am I that easy to read?”

  “No. All I know is that you’re hurting,” she said. “And whatever it is, it’s wearing you down.”

  He didn’t respond and they lapsed into silence for several minutes until they merged onto the parkway. Kay told him what exit to look for. She stared at his handsome, regal profile. “Have you always been into this stuff?”

  She didn’t have to define “this stuff”. His wry smile told her he got it. “Well, I didn’t grow up handcuffing my sister’s Barbie dolls and
clamping their little…wait, they don’t have nipples, do they?”

  “Not last I checked. You know what I mean, John. Is this how sex always is for you?”

  “Bondage and discipline have always turned me on,” he said. “I’m wired for dominance—not as a lifestyle but certainly in the bedroom with a willing partner. However, if a woman I care about doesn’t get off on the submissive role, I don’t press the issue. It’s more important who I’m with than how we get our rocks off. Lately, though…” He hesitated.

  “Lately it’s the only kind of sex you’re interested in,” she finished. “Utter control on your part, utter surrender on hers.”

  He shrugged. “Call it a phase.”

  “I call it a symptom.”

  He cast her an annoyed glance. “What are you, a shrink?”

  “Since you ask, no. I’m a teacher. Special ed.”

  “I told you, I don’t want to know—”

  “Anything about me. Relax,” she said, “I’m not going to rattle off my blood type and Social Security number. But you yourself introduced this particular line of questioning—Counselor.”

  He looked at her sharply.

  “What,” she said, “you thought I wouldn’t figure out you’re a lawyer? Starting with the safe-sex voir dire, as you put it? You must be some kind of dream-team guy, judging by that fancy house. Unless it’s family money?”

  He sighed in defeat. “My family’s money wouldn’t buy a single-wide. I’m a criminal defense attorney. Colbright and Darnum.”

  Kay whistled. “That firm’s always in the news. Attorneys to the stars.”

  John’s expression was stony. “A couple of us work with the celebrity clients.”

  “I was kidding about the dream-team thing, but I guess I wasn’t that far off base after all.”

  “Symptom of what?” he asked.

  It took her a moment to mentally backtrack. “Well, it doesn’t take a shrink to figure this one out. The dominance and submission thing lets you keep your sex partner at arm’s length—emotionally, I mean. The roles you take on create this artificial relationship. Master and slave. Whatever. It’s all about the sex.”

  “You’re wrong,” he said. “There’s a powerful psychological component to BDSM play. Something happens between a Dom and a sub, there’s this phenomenal energy as she yields—”

  “I’m not talking about the psychosexual stuff, John, I’m talking about forging a deep and enduring connection with another human being. I’m talking about needing that person in your life—not just in the bedroom.” Kay knew he didn’t want to hear it, but she didn’t care. So what if he blew up at her? She was never going to see him again. “Emotional intimacy. That’s what you’re denying yourself, whether you choose to acknowledge it or not.”

  She waited for him to tell her to mind her own goddamn business. He didn’t look angry though. He looked sad and lost, and she felt her heart twist. When he spoke, he sounded weary as hell. “The reason I decided not to see you again is that you’re someone I could find myself caring about.”

  Kay was struck mute. Of all the responses he could have given, simple honesty was the one she was least prepared for. On the one hand, she was impressed by his candor. On the other, his admission didn’t leave much room for argument. How did you argue with a man who was being completely up-front about his hang-ups? I’m deliberately pushing you away, he was saying. I’m deliberately squelching any chance we might have for that deeper connection.

  She thought back on their long night together, about how, at a certain point, cracks had begun to form in their strict Dom-sub role-playing. It happened about the time he started calling her “honey”.

  John accelerated around an SUV weaving drunkenly in the middle lane. Kay watched him drive, watched his long, strong fingers ply the steering wheel, watched the lights of the dashboard pick out the chiseled planes of his face. She thought about him isolating himself in that big house on the beach. Finally she said, “You can tell me about it, you know.”

  He glanced at her.

  She added, “Since we’re never going to see each other again.”

  He fixed his gaze on the windshield. “I’m not in the habit of explaining myself.”

  “Right. You don’t do that. But you will now. With me,” she said, and watched his mouth twitch in a reluctant smile as he recognized his own words from earlier being turned back on himself.

  For the longest time he said nothing and she figured he’d clammed up for good. Finally he said, “Every defense attorney represents clients he knows are guilty. It’s the nature of the work.”

  “Well, in our system everyone’s entitled to a skilled defense,” she said. “Innocent until proven guilty and all that.”

  His smile was bitter. “It’s the American way. And it works. Except when it doesn’t.”

  “I guess mistakes are inevitable,” she said. “Innocent people go to jail. Guilty ones go free.”

  “I used to think convicting the innocent was the worst.” John steered onto the exit ramp. “You know—when they eventually run the DNA and discover some poor guy’s done twenty years for a crime he didn’t commit.”

  It wasn’t hard to see where this was going. “You represented someone who turned out to be guilty.”

  “Oh I knew he was dirty from the start. But he had a boatload of cash. He could afford my firm. He could afford me. No one can touch my acquittal record.”

  “Turn right here,” Kay said, indicating the four-lane road that ran through her town. She gave him directions to her house. “What did he do? Your client?”

  A muscle worked in his jaw. “I honestly thought it was…well, not that it was no big deal, but it was over. I mean, the guy had been stalking his estranged wife. Calling her constantly, harassing her at work, making threats. He broke into her house—his former home—a couple of times. Repeatedly violated the restraining order. He was obsessed. But he never touched her.”

  Kay felt a prickle of apprehension. “You defended him in court and he got off.”

  “He was over her.” John’s voice was tight. “He’d found someone else, moved on with his life. He was no danger to anybody. I really believed that. He was very convincing.” Self-disgust hardened his features. “So was his money.”

  Her gut tightened. It sounded too familiar. “John, when was this?”

  He shook his head. “I’ve said too much already. I’m not supposed to be talking about a former client like this. Even though he’s, well…”

  “Even though he’s dead,” she said. “It’s the Halloran case, isn’t it?”

  His bleak expression was answer enough.

  “Oh John…” The story had dominated the news for weeks. A grisly multiple murder in an exclusive gated community in New Jersey. A woman and her two young sons shot to death in their home, along with the woman’s mother, who was visiting. The housekeeper had found the bodies.

  According to the news reports, Stephanie Halloran had turned her home into a fortress, convinced her estranged husband, Matthew Halloran, would come after her despite his recent acquittal on stalking charges. By all accounts, she’d taken every precaution, but in the end those efforts had been useless against her husband’s immense financial resources and single-minded fixation.

  Now Kay knew why John had looked vaguely familiar. She’d seen his picture in the paper and on the news, offering his client a handshake and a triumphant grin following the successful court case. She recalled wondering at the time what kind of conscienceless, money-grubbing lawyer would defend a monster like Halloran. Couldn’t he tell what the man was capable of?

  “I was good, Kay.” His hard little smile radiated self-loathing. “I was on in that courtroom. The prosecutor ate my dust. There wasn’t a fact I couldn’t massage, an opening I couldn’t exploit.” He took a deep breath. “And less than a week after his acquittal on stalking, four innocent people are dead. Those two little kids,” he murmured. “I think about them every day. I think about all four of the
m, but…those kids…”

  Kay knew Halloran had put a bullet in his brain after murdering his family, but she doubted that brought John much comfort.

  They lapsed into silence and after a minute he glanced at her. “Thanks.”

  “For what?” she asked.

  “For not telling me that none of it is my fault. That I bear no responsibility for what happened.”

  She thought about it. “I don’t know whether you do or not. It’s not that simple. Let me ask you something. Do you ever donate your time and legal expertise to a worthy cause?”

  “I’ve done some pro bono work, but not lately,” he said. “The firm relies on the fees I bring in. You don’t want to know how many hours a week I bill or at what rate. The sick thing? Now that I got Halloran off and he turned out to be so spectacularly guilty, I’m more in demand than ever. John Preston Randall is now the official go-to guy for very bad people with very deep pockets.”

  So much for no last names. “But you don’t have to take every client who can afford you.”

  “No, of course not,” he said, “but I have a responsibility to the firm. A lot of people are relying on me.”

  “Are you telling me the firm won’t survive if you back off on your workload?” she asked. “Became choosier about which clients you defend?”

  “You don’t understand—”

  “Yeah, I know, you’re indispensable,” she said. “I’m sorry, but I don’t believe Colbright and Darnum would fall apart if their star litigator decided to exclusively take cases he believed in. And spent the rest of his time helping out needy folks who can’t afford five minutes of John Preston Randall’s time. So your income will take a nosedive. I’ll send you supermarket coupons.”

  “How far down?”

  “What?” Kay looked out the window and saw they’d arrived at her street. She pointed to her compact ranch-style house. “Second house from the corner. The white one.”