Honor Bound by Joey Hill (speld decodable readers .txt) 📕

Dom within other women’s boundaries, this was the kind of submissive he’d wanted. One who had that tantalizing undercurrent. Savannah and Cassie were similar, another way the K&A men were alike in their needs and desires.

When Jon and Ben found their own women, he’d lay money it would be the same.

He went to a squat by the straight chair in which she sat so rigid, wearing the baggy jeans he’d put on under her sweatshirt. He’d left most of her clothes there, because he wanted her to leave that persona behind. As soon as he could get her out of these, he’d probably burn them.

“If you’re hungry or thirsty, Dana”—he traced her lips with a forefinger—“ask your Master for food and something to drink.”

That same painful and rigid expression crossed her face. “Peter, please don’t. I’m feeling too vulnerable right now, you know?”

“I know. But here’s the deal, sweetheart.” He shifted so his splayed knees were

bracketing her calves. His one hand closed over both of hers, clenched in her lap. “Give me three days. Be what you would have wanted to be to me, and trust me to help you do that. On day three, if you want to go back to that damn box, I’ll take you there myself.

But give me that. What do you have to lose?”

He was lying, of course. Even when K&A did their negotiations, he was the floor man, the guy who went in and evaluated a plant’s assets and their production processes. He wasn’t the poker player like the others. But he put everything into his voice to convince her he meant it, that he would take her back to that pointless existence if he couldn’t get through to her. Even though she had no one else.

Yeah, right.

There were times that lying in a relationship was the best thing. He had no qualms that this was one of those moments, whether he was lying to her or she was lying to herself about believing him. But in the space of a held breath, she gave a short, barely there nod.

“Okay,” she whispered.

Dana felt his hand tighten over hers, an approval. She knew this was wrong, but he’d brought her here, his will irresistible. How was she going to say no in three days, when she couldn’t say no now? And why wasn’t she saying no? Was it a pathetic reason, letting her destiny be decided like a broken branch carried by whitewater? Or was there a kernel of hope left inside of her, a hope that some will to live that had escaped her these many months still existed in her heart and soul, and he could find it? She didn’t know.

But for now, she’d made her decision. She’d be that broken branch and see where she ended up, as long as she didn’t take him over the falls with her. She was just afraid that she wouldn’t care, that she’d cling to him so she wouldn’t fall alone. And she’d never been pathetic like that.

“All right.” His fingers caressed her palm. “Let me show you a few more things.”

He rose, and drew her up with him. She didn’t like being in unfamiliar surroundings, but with his arm around her waist, guiding her, she tried to relax, somehow knowing he wouldn’t let her stumble over things. “What’s that scent?”

“Jasmine, from my front yard. Jon had some cut. Mixed with lavender.” He guided her to the pottery vase that held them, molded her palms over it. There were smooth rolls, curves, not like a normal bulb vase. She took over the investigation, her brow furrowing as she worked her way up it, then sideways, and back up again, until she found the flowers, the thin stems and nodding blossoms. He had a fan going, and they were

swaying in the faint breeze. He had a screen open as well, because she could hear shrill birds crying out over what he said was the bayou. She could smell it, the damp vegetation and salt.

“It’s a person, isn’t it?”

He closed his hands over hers, leading her to the clay features, distracting her with the brush of his fingers on her knuckles. “It’s an abstract reclining nude. She’s lying on her hip, her hands folded under her face. Her skin is texturized like a tree’s bark, the flowers forming the canopy.” He paused. “It’s a piece by a famous local Louisiana artist. The finish is ebony. Jon bought it while I was away. Thought I’d like it.”

“Oh, yeah? You got a thing for black girls, Captain?”

“Lately. One in particular.” He caressed the sensitive bone of her forefinger, his intent obviously sensual. Dana swallowed, her fingers spasming against the curve of the sculpture’s head and slim neck.

“He didn’t include hair.”

“No. He wanted the beautiful line of her skull. Long hair would interfere with that.” He touched her ear with his other hand, moved to the erogenous zone at the base of her own skull, massaging, slow. “If you decide to stay, I’ll take you to some of the galleries here. I bet you can give me a different perspective on the pieces.”

She stiffened, drew back. “Sure. I’ll write up reviews for the local paper. Don’t give me the blindness-heightens-your-other-senses bullshit.”

“The fact it pisses you off doesn’t make it less true. As responsive as you were that first night, I can tell that you’re hypersensitive to every inch I move over your skin now. And you want more of it, are about to go crazy for it. I know I am.”

There was no boast, simply quiet fact. She folded her arms over her chest, but she wanted to move away, and couldn’t do that without using her arms. As much as she knew he wouldn’t let her fall or run into anything, it was an instinct when she couldn’t see. So she dropped them with an annoyed sigh and moved away from him. Her thigh pressed the edge of an easy chair, and when she glided her fingers along it,