Her jaw clenched—as if she needed a reminder of her piss-poor love life. “You know I haven’t. But based on what I’ve seen, they can keep it.”
“Oh, really?” She could hear the smile in his voice. The stiffness in his hold on the reins softened a bit. “You’re too young to be so cynical, you know.”
“Ha! Said the pot to the kettle.”
“I’m not that young, freckles.” He slowed Maggie down a bit and guided her to the right where a narrow path led to what looked to be a barn. Though it was hard to tell with only the moonlight. “I come by my cynicism honestly.”
She frowned. She doubted Grant had even crossed into his forties yet, but she had a feeling he wasn’t talking about his age in years. He’d seen a lot of hurt in his life; he wore it in his eyes. Part of her wanted to ask him if he’d ever been in love, but she had a feeling she already knew the answer. And it wouldn’t be a happy story. She pushed away the melancholy thought and straightened her spine. “Well, good thing I’m only using you for your body and not trying to woo you then, Mr. Cynical.”
“Oh, so that’s what this is? I feel so cheap.”
She laughed and poked him in the thigh.
He stopped Maggie in front of a fence and, after making sure Charli was still holding on, dismounted in one fluid motion. He tied the horse to the post, then helped her with her own awkward disembarkation. She landed with an unladylike thunk and almost toppled onto her butt. He grabbed her waist and held her steady. “Whoa, there.”
“Thanks,” she said, the near tumble and the look he was giving her enough to make her breathless. “Grace isn’t my forte.”
“Stop being so hard on yourself.” He pushed her hair away from her face, looking down at her with a serious expression. “And yes, I’m cynical. But it hurts me to hear you be that way. You’ve got too much passion and too much life to live to be so jaded already.”
“And you don’t?”
His thumb brushed her lips, and a shade of sadness crossed his features. “I’m living the life that works for me. I have everything I need.”
She looked back toward the main house, which was only a few squares of light from this distance. Of course he had everything he needed—a beautiful home and property, all the money he could want, and gorgeous women lining up to be with him. Most men would switch places with him in a second. But she sensed a deep loneliness behind his words.
She stepped closer and wound her arms around his waist, wishing she could peek inside her cowboy’s brain. “But what about what you want?”
His lips curved a bit as he stared down at her. “Right now what I want is rubbing her body up against me and making me forget what we were talking about.”
She laughed, loving that he could make her feel like a vixen with a few simple words. “I’m that distracting, huh?”
“You have no idea, freckles.” He grabbed her by the backs of her thighs and hoisted her up, hooking her legs around his hips. “I’ve imagined getting you in my dungeon more times than I’d care to admit. Have imagined all the fun things I could do with this sexy body of yours.”
She couldn’t help the yeah, right snort that escaped her. “Sexy body? There are twelve-year-olds who have more curves than me.”
His gaze turned lethal. “That just earned you a punishment, Charlotte. I’m getting real tired of you dismissing my compliments.”
She winced. “I’m sorry. It’s just…”
He set her down on her feet, cutting off her words, and grabbed her upper arm, the light mood from a moment before gone. “Let’s go.”
He led her away from Maggie and toward the wooden building looming against the dark skyline. “Where are you taking me?”
“My dungeon, Charlotte,” he said, his words clipped. “I’m going to make sure you never doubt what I say about you again.”
SIXTEEN
Charli’s heart played a riotous beat as Grant guided her none too gently toward the barn. His jaw was set in a way that warned her to keep her mouth shut. She’d pissed him off. Again. She didn’t know whether to run from him or throw herself at his mercy.
But for some reason, neither protest nor apology would form on her lips. She feared the unknown, of what lay behind those big barn doors, but she didn’t fear him. Somehow being dragged into a barn in the middle of freaking nowhere by a guy she barely knew felt right. Part of her wanted his wrath, wanted to see him yank off that stoic mask.
Yep, she was officially certifiable.
He pulled up short before they reached the large doors and turned to her. With rough hands, he yanked off her robe and then took a pocketknife from his belt.
“Stay still,” he said, his tone deadly calm. The blade grazed her skin as he slipped the knife under the waistband of her panties. She held her breath and squeezed her eyes shut, but instead of going cold with terror, her body heated, her sex dampening as the knife sliced through the cotton/silk. Good God, why would that turn her on?
He repeated the process on the other side, then tugged the panties off. He held the shredded material in his hand, no doubt feeling how wet they were. He cocked an eyebrow at her, but didn’t comment on it. “Lose the shoes. You walk in with nothing.”
“Yes, sir.” She slipped out of her shoes and wrapped her arms around herself, not sure if she was shivering from the night air or the way Grant was eyeing her.
Finally, he reached in his pocket and pulled out a key to unlock the barn. The massive door swung open with a loud creak, piercing the silence around them. Was this really where his dungeon was? Was he going to make her lie in hay? Her skin itched at the thought.
But when they stepped in and he flipped on the lights, she realized hay was the last thing she needed to worry about. The space had been totally converted. Thick beams supported the impossibly high wood-planked ceiling, and large skylights let the moonlight in. There was also an open second level, presumably what used to be the storage portion of the barn, flanking both sides.
But what dominated her line of sight was the massive bed in the center of the room and the iron ring hanging over it. To a casual observer, the ring would look like a light fixture, some sort of medieval chandelier to hold candles. But as Charli’s eyes trailed up the chain that went all the way to the apex of the pitched ceiling, she knew it had nothing to do with lighting.
Other equipment and cabinets filled different areas, but as his gaze traveled over the room, she found herself overwhelmed. It was like landing on another planet where she didn’t quite speak the language. She wet her lips and looked to Grant, shutting everything else out.
He crossed his arms, his anger still simmering right below the surface. “Get onto the bed on your knees and face the right wall.”
She glanced at the bed. Hesitated.
“Now,” he said, his voice booming in the cavernous space.
She winced and hurried over the bed, scrambling into position. The mattress was firm beneath her knees, and the dark red sheets were the only adornment. No fluffy pillows, no comforter. This was not a place for sleeping.
Grant walked over in no hurry, his boots thudding against the tiled floor like the slow, steady beat of a bass drum. “Lift your arms above your head, Charlotte.”
This time she knew not to hesitate. He disappeared from her line of sight as she raised her arms. The sound of metal grinding against metal skittered over her skin, raising her anxiety. She looked up and saw the iron ring moving downward. Oh, shit. She peeked over her shoulder to find Grant leaning against one of the supporting beams, his finger on a switch.
“Eyes forward.”
She dragged her gaze back to the opposite wall and tried to steady her breathing. In. Out. In…The cranking noise stopped, and music with a heavy beat but no words replaced it. Grant walked over and stood against the edge of the bed, filling the space in front of her. He ran his hands along her lifted arms, leaving a trail of goose bumps in his wake, then circled soft rope around both her wrists. “Tonight I was planning to take my time and bind you in a beautiful pattern, was going to be gentle with you since you’re new to this.”
He threaded the other end of the ropes through holes in the contraption above her head and pulled, leaving hardly any slack. She rubbed her lips together, nervous words crawling up her throat. “I’m sorry, I—”
“I don’t remember giving you permission to speak,” he said, knotting the rope and giving her a quelling look.
She choked down her protest.
“It’s too late for apologies, freckles.” He checked the ropes and her wrists. “You’re my sub. When you put yourself down, you’re insulting me and my tastes.” He grabbed her chin and brought his face close to hers. “And that pisses me the fuck off, you understand?”
She winced, his words as effective as that smack to her cheek earlier.
“Yes, sir,” she said, her voice barely loud enough to be heard over the music.
He released her chin and made a frustrated noise. “You think your tits are too small?”
She looked down to the corner of the bed, shame burning through her. Wasn’t this supposed to be fun? If he was going to enumerate her many flaws, she’d never be able to handle it. The word Texas hovered at the back of her throat.
“You know what I see when I look at them?” He cradled her left breast, then drew her nipple between his thumb and forefinger until it plumped. “I see pretty pink nipples that darken and harden at the slightest touch. I see breasts that are so beautifully sensitive that you have the rare talent to come from that stimulation alone.”
Something cold and metallic touched her nipple. She glanced down right as Grant tightened the tiny clamp around her flesh. She gasped, the quick snap of pain and pleasure catching her off guard.
He gave the other breast the same treatment, and then tugged on the light chain connecting the two clamps. Her head tipped back, the dual sensations shooting straight downward as if the clamps were connected to her clit instead of her breasts. “Shit.”
He gave her a dark smile as he cupped her sex and slid a finger in with ease. “Mmm, see what I mean? So hot and slick already. Responsiveness trumps cup size any day.”
She whimpered, her body clenching around him, needing more. The safe word died on her lips.
He pulled his hand away and brought it to his mouth, sucking her arousal from his finger. “Responsive and sweet.”
The iron rattled above her as she shifted her weight, her need for his touch making her restless.
He flicked her clamped nipple, causing her to yelp. “Calm down, Charlotte. Patience is a virtue.”
She clenched her jaw at the sting and had to bite back a sharp retort.
He gave a low chuckle. “Keep looking at me like that, and I’ll make you wait even longer. This is not about what you want. This is about taking the punishment that you’ve earned, about hearing what I’m trying to get through that hard head of yours.”
Her wrists wriggled in the bindings. Even with him goading her, her body was getting hotter, wetter. She didn’t understand the response. She dropped her focus to the sheets.
“Better,” he said, approval coloring his tone. “Now spread your knees.”
She did as she was told and fought hard to keep her eyes down and not peek at what he was doing. But curiosity won.
Grant turned to the large armoire that flanked the wall behind him and opened the doors. Charli had to hold back her gasp as the contents came into view. Shelves of items in boxes filled the interior, but the instruments hanging on the inside of the cabinet doors were what drew her attention. A coiled whip, lengths of rope, a riding crop, what looked to be a cane of some sort, and any number of other things she couldn’t name.
Fear rippled over her. Fear and something else…