The Distraction Page 9

  “Sorry. Weird dream.” I tried to walk past him to return the spoon to the kitchen, too jittery to hold still, especially when he was looking at me like I still might hit him. He reached for my forearm, squeezing tighter when I paused.

  “Anna, you’re shaking.” His voice had lowered, and his shoulders tensed, like he was prepared to kill whoever had scared me. The power inside of him was as moving as it was frightening.

  I took a steadying breath, giving in to the heat that traveled up my arm from his touch. He eased me closer, until his arms were around me, and I shuddered as the last bit of the nightmare was chased away. I rested my cheek against his chest and listened to his heart, strong and steady as it pulled me back to calm.

  “What was your dream about?” he asked.

  I tensed, struggling to find the words.

  “Something I need to get over.” My fears were irrelevant. Bobby was in jail for a long time, and I was no longer in danger. Now I just needed my subconscious to figure that out.

  His arms tightened so quickly I gasped. He seemed as surprised at this as I was, and released his hold.

  It occurred to me that we were both avoiding the herd of elephants in the room. Bobby. Maxim Stein. My abduction. The trial. How did you start to talk about things so big, so necessary, when so much time had already passed?

  I took a step back, putting more space between us.

  “It was just a dream,” I said, before he could ask any more. It was late, and we were together after three months apart. We should have been enjoying the time we had, not focusing on what had nearly killed us.

  But even telling myself that felt like a lie. We’d have to talk about things at some point, I just didn’t want to do it right now.

  He nodded reluctantly. “All right.”

  I thought of what Amy had said about the honeymoon phase—the glowy feeling. Was reality already tarnishing it? Because I felt the strain now between us, just as I’d felt it when we’d been with Trevor at the restaurant earlier. The attraction between Alec and I was undeniable, but there had to be more to make a relationship work. Even I knew that. But I didn’t know how to fill the gaps.

  And if I couldn’t fill in the gaps, he was going to slip right through them.

  “You cooked?” He looked at my shirt, and then over my shoulder into the kitchen, where two pots and a glass dish were covered on the stove. After the call with my dad, I’d been on a tear. Homemade red sauce, meatballs, sautéed spinach, and garlic bread.

  Alec’s expression was caught somewhere between desperation and awe. I thought he might fall to his knees and worship me.

  “It certainly looks that way.”

  His brows drew together.

  “Why?”

  I tucked my hair behind my ears. “I like to eat when I’m hungry. I assumed we were similar in that way.”

  He stared at me. “You made me dinner.”

  I didn’t know why this seemed to baffle him so much.

  “You’re not listening,” I said. “I made me dinner. You can join me if you want.”

  I hadn’t done the noodles yet, and as I went to turn on the stovetop to boil water, I noticed that my shirt was streaked with tomato paste and splattered with oil. I wasn’t exactly a sexy cooker. Take away the kitchen and I easily could have been arrested as a murder suspect.

  “I was with my dad,” he said. “It took longer than I thought. I’m sorry. I should have called. This . . .” He motioned to the kitchen. “I didn’t expect this.”

  I snorted. “I think I’d have to slap you if you did.”

  He shook his head, smiling in a sweet, embarrassed kind of way. Obviously he wasn’t used to someone taking care of him—not that I was particularly used to taking care of someone either. Still, I would have been lying if I said I didn’t like how thrown off he was by the gesture.

  I wondered what kind of state Alec’s father had been in. They certainly had a lot to talk about, and none of it would go very well if Thomas wasn’t sober.

  Alec peeked into a foil-covered glass pan of meatballs. Inhaling slowly, he closed his eyes in bliss.

  “How did you do all this?”

  “Magic.” I couldn’t help but smirk. “Surprise. I’m a witch.”

  “That explains a lot.”

  I went to smack him with a dishrag, but he swept me up in his arms and gave me a dizzying kiss. The kind that erased nightmares, and made everything okay again.

  “Hi,” he said.

  I rubbed the tip of my nose against his. “Hi. How’s your dad?”

  He leaned back, and I was sorry to be the cause of the lines that formed between his brows.

  “Fine. Hungover. He asked about you. A lot.”

  “He misses me,” I said, trying to lighten the mood. “I don’t blame him.”

  He opened one cabinet. Then another. I pointed to the opposite side, above the dishwasher, where I’d moved the plates. It felt strange knowing more about his home than he did. He didn’t seem to be annoyed, but I wondered if that bothered him.

  “He kept asking if I’d scared you off yet.”

  Alec was facing the other way, but his voice had hardened a little. I wrapped my arms around his waist, noting the way he still flexed for just a fraction of a moment before he could relax, as if the gesture was a surprise.

  “Looks like I’m still here.”

  He didn’t respond.

  We finished preparing dinner together. There was something comforting in the way we moved around each other. He didn’t ask me what he could do, he just did. I didn’t tell him what would help, I just handed him a spoon and he began to serve. He touched me often—his hand on my lower back as he passed by, his shoulder brushing against mine as we stood beside each other. He tucked my hair behind my ear when it got in my eyes and rolled up my sleeve when I reached across him. In those moments it was so easy being around him, I couldn’t believe we hadn’t known each other our whole lives.

  We moved to the table, and he set the cardboard box he’d brought in earlier on the floor. On the outside, Alec Flynn—Storage was scratched in permanent marker.

  I nibbled the garlic bread, worrying about both of our fathers and the impact they had on our lives.

  “I know you called my dad today,” I said. “You didn’t have to do that.”

  He paused mid-bite.

  “Actually I did,” he said, avoiding my gaze.

  “What did he say to you?”

  A sad smile pulled at his mouth. “Nothing I didn’t already know.”

  I twisted my spaghetti around my fork. Untwisted it. I could only imagine what words my father had chosen. You’re not good enough. Be a man and walk away.

  “I’m sorry.”

  Alec leaned back in his seat and sighed. “Does it bother you that your family doesn’t like me?”

  He was including Amy in with my father, a fact that both showed how much he knew me, and depressed me at the same time.

  “They just don’t understand,” I said. “They will.”

  “And if they don’t?” His gaze locked on mine, and I could feel the hurt inside of him. It made me want to take on the world in his defense, something no one ever did and that he never asked for. Things were supposed to be easier now that we were together, not harder, but here I was, torn in half by my love for him and the people who had known me longest.

  “It doesn’t matter,” I said.

  “It should.”

  The garlic bread was in ten pieces on my plate. He was right, of course, but that didn’t fix anything.

  “Hey,” he said, reaching for my hand. “Tell me about these kids you volunteer with.”

  Some of the pressure in the room diffused with the change in topic.

  “Just one kid,” I said, and as he traced my knuckles with his thumb I told him about Jacob, and h
ow hard it would be to face him again if I couldn’t get him the placement with his sister.

  “You’re not letting him down,” said Alec after I’d finished. “You listened to him. That’s probably more than anyone else has done.”

  “But listening doesn’t change anything,” I said.

  He shook his head. “It changes everything.” He looked over my shoulder, his thoughts drifting. “I fucked up for years before someone saw some potential in me. Just knowing he did was enough to straighten me out.”

  I squeezed his hand, touched, but saddened, too, because that person who had believed in Alec—Maxim Stein—hadn’t really seen potential. He’d seen the opportunity for a scapegoat.

  “Even if you walk away now, you changed that kid’s life,” Alec said.

  I flushed with pride

  “I’m not walking away.” I made up my mind right then that I wouldn’t. I was going to do everything I could to make sure Jacob had a fair shot in this world. It was what my father had done for me, what Max had only pretended to do for Alec.

  Alec smiled. “I got a job, by the way.”

  “What?” I dropped his hand. “Why didn’t you lead with that?”

  I hopped onto his lap, and the chair rocked back. He caught it before we tumbled to the floor, his grin widening. Closer, I traced my fingers along the contours of his face, feeling the roughness on his jaw contrast with his smooth lips.

  “What is it?” I asked. “How did you get something so quickly?”

  “Don’t get too excited,” he warned. “I know a guy who set me up unloading freight at one of the shipping yards. It’s nothing big, but it’s work.”

  It wasn’t nothing. Alec had a record that now included a stint in prison and an association with white-collar crime. Since he was a teenager, his work had consisted of things he couldn’t mention on a resume. Getting a job—any job—was a big deal.

  “Well I’m excited,” I said. “We should celebrate.”

  I wiggled my hips suggestively on his lap, and his fingers tightened around my waist. Instantly, I could feel him start to grow hard against my thigh. I bit my lip, and ran my fingers through his hair.

  He kissed me slowly, fingers rising up my back beneath my shirt. I arched into him, ever responsive to even the smallest touch. He slowed before things got too heated, and held my face in his hands. There were questions in his eyes. I didn’t know what they were, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to answer them all the same.

  I focused over his shoulder.

  “What’s in the box?” I asked, reading the words again: Alec Flynn—Storage.

  This distracted him. He followed my gaze, then turned back to me.

  “Handcuffs.” His lips, feather-soft, trailed down the side of my neck.

  “Is that right?” A shimmer of excitement raced through me. With the exception of the vibrator, something I’d only ever used solo, I’d never played with any sexy toys before.

  “They’re real handcuffs,” he said, chuckling. “They don’t have fur lining or anything. But if you were interested, I might be able to get some . . .”

  I scooted off his lap and moved around his chair, lifting the box onto the table. At his nod of consent, I pulled back the flaps. He was right, there were handcuffs on top of worn steel-toed boots, a few file folders, a black utility belt, and a pair of work gloves.

  “Is this for your new job?” I asked.

  “Some of it. Some of it I used working for Max,” he said, a note of regret in his voice.

  I pulled out the handcuffs. They were cold, heavy, and didn’t look particularly comfortable, but beneath them was a coil of nylon rope. I held it up by one finger, erotic images of being tied to the bedposts flashing through my mind.

  He cocked a brow, leaning his hip against the counter.

  “Want to play, baby?” he asked in a low voice that felt like a velvet finger stroking over my sex.

  I did want to play. This was exactly what we needed—we connected physically in a way that was stronger than words, and right now I was done thinking about family, and work, and all the things outside of this apartment.

  I tossed him the rope and walked slowly from the room.

  Eleven

  In the hallway I removed my shirt and let it fall to the floor.

  As I passed the couch I shimmied out of my shorts and kicked them up on the armrest.

  I could hear the floor creak behind me as I crossed the threshold into the bedroom, feel the heat rise to my skin as his gaze roamed over my back and down my bare legs. I was wearing cotton panties and a matching bra with a little cherry pattern on the white fabric. I hoped he liked cherries.

  I didn’t turn on the light as I crawled on the bed. I took my time, glancing over my shoulder at him standing in the doorway. The expression on his face was enough to scramble my senses. It was so raw, so filled with need. It made my breath hitch, my chest constrict. I could hear my heart pounding in my eardrums, a slow, primal beat that began to quicken, and echo deep in my core.

  Even then I felt it. We were walking a line, driving too close to the darkness I’d banished to the back of my mind. My very soul was quaking, unsure as he approached with the rope in his hand, but the desire was impossible to retract. I needed him to take me to the edge, wherever that was. I needed him to go there with me.

  He didn’t take off his clothes, but even fully dressed he was breathtaking. With the moonlight coming through the window I could see the flexing muscles of his forearms. He never hid his desire from me, it was there straining against the fly of his jeans as his free hand slid over it. The urge to claim him rose up fast; I needed to touch him, take him inside me. Make him mine.

  He moved closer, like a hunter stalking his prey. I turned, sliding down onto my back, and he leaned over me, one finger drawing a line up the inside of my calf to my inner thigh, and then higher. My legs fell open for him, as if modesty was a completely foreign concept.

  I gasped as he pushed aside the fabric, and dipped into my wet cleft.

  “Is this what you want?” he murmured.

  Eyes closed tightly, I nodded, unable to process anything but the slow, easy way his finger fucked me. I tried to hold still, but my hips began to thrust up against his hand.

  “I’ve wanted you like this,” he said. “Laid out for me. Unable to make the pleasure stop.”

  His words intensified his touch, until I was fisting the comforter to prevent myself from pulling him down over me. The anticipation of what he might do sent a dark thrill quaking through my core.

  His finger pulled out slowly, and I pinched my thighs together, hating the emptiness he’d left.

  When I opened my eyes he was unraveling the rope. He looped it around the bed frame, then reached for my right wrist. His touch was gentle, but a sudden bolt of nerves made my stomach clench.

  “I’m going to make you feel good, Anna,” he promised. “For a long time. And when you think it’s over, I’m going to start again. Are you all right with that?”

  I turned my head to the side, the fire already raging inside of me. I feared this exquisite torture as much as I longed for it. I knew what he could do to me without tools—more pleasure seemed impossible. And yet knowing he wanted this, that he’d fantasized about this, made me all the more eager. I wanted to please him. I wanted to rock his fucking world.

  “I need the word, baby.”

  “Yes,” I said.

  The rope wound around my right wrist, not too tightly, but with enough pressure that I wouldn’t be able to shake free. My anxiety rose another notch. He rounded the bed and reached for my left hand. He was good at this. Practiced.

  “Have you done this before?” I asked.

  He smiled. “I’ve thought a lot about it.”

  The rope fastened around my left wrist.

  My heart began to pound harder.
/>   “Don’t we need a safe word or something?”

  He paused, then sat beside me on the bed.

  “Sure,” he said. “How about ‘no’?” He ran his fingers down my cheek.

  I bent my knees, twisted my hips to lie on my side, but my bound arm prevented me from rolling all the way.

  “Safe words are for heavy stuff,” he said, leaning down over me. “We’re just going to play. And if you ever want to stop, just say so. We don’t need a special word for that.”

  I nodded. “Okay.”

  He kissed my lips gently, sweetly, and soon I forgot all about the rope. I gasped as his hands slipped down my sides, and then as his mouth lowered to my collarbone, making a hot, wet line down my cleavage.

  One hand slipped between my legs and I jumped at the contact, instantly reminded of the bindings. I wanted to reach for him, run my hands through his hair and over his shoulders, but I couldn’t.

  I couldn’t move.

  I pulled harder at the ropes and they tightened.

  The cords dug into my flesh. My hands began to tingle. The panic that had begun as a slow drip now flooded through me. It made my head pound, my heart hammer.

  I was in the car—my old car—and my wrists were bound together by bungee cords.

  I was on the bed, Alec’s tongue tracing my ribs.

  Bobby was here, driving fast, talking fast. He was going to kill me. I needed to get away. I needed to fight.

  I jerked hard against the ropes.

  “Anna?”

  I strained against them.

  “Anna, stop,” Alec’s voice filtered through the darkness, through the buzzing in my eardrums. My blood pumped hard through my body. Fight, it said. Get away.

  I kicked out, the comforter gathering under my back.

  I was at home, with Alec. Safe. But I didn’t feel safe.

  “I can’t,” I said, with barely enough breath to form the words. “Get it off. Get it off!”

  “I’m trying,” he said between his teeth. “You need to stop struggling. You’re pulling the knots too tight.”

  “Let me go!” The tears burned my eyes. I dug my heels into the mattress, arching back. I heard him, his words made sense, but I couldn’t comply. My body was taking different orders, fueled by adrenaline.