Sweet as Sin

23

I covered my face and groaned.

“And there’s an entire section of the closet with even more interestin’ stuff than this. Care to explain yourself, Chastity?”

No, I didn’t. The story involved an ex with a lingerie fetish. I never wore any of it anymore, but I’d spent so much on the stuff I couldn’t bear to just throw it all out.

Nico chuckled. “You’re takin’ the Fifth, I see. All right, sweetheart, I see how it is. I’ve got your number now.” He strolled across the room, twirling the chemise between his fingers. He stopped in front of me, set his hands on the dresser, one on either side of my hips, and leaned down to murmur into my ear. “Lady on the street, freak in the bedroom, hmm?”

God, I hoped he didn’t look in the drawer next to my bed. Maximus the vibrator wasn’t the only little toy in there. I’d been single for quite a while.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, officer. That’s not mine. I’ve been set up.”

“Hear that sad story all the time, ma’am. Sorry to say I’m gonna have to take you down to the station for questionin’.” He took my wrists in his hands, put them behind my back, and tied my silk chemise in a knot around them.

I realized my playful little avoidance tactic had been misconstrued as an invitation to play. Play play.

“Um, Nico . . . ”

“Shh.” He set his finger against my lips. He looked into my eyes, all teasing gone. “Trust, remember?” He took the little black box I’d set on the dresser, opened it, removed the necklace. Brushing my hair aside, he clasped it around my neck, then set his hands on my shoulders. He looked into my eyes.

“You said another one and a half dates. I’m respectin’ that. So what we’re gonna do now is get to know one another better, so after that date and a half, you’re gonna feel more comfortable with me, because you see I can keep my word. And the more I keep my word, the more comfortable you’re gonna feel. Which is what I want. You feelin’ comfortable. So that when I finally do have you, you’re not gonna hold back, feelin’ shy, or embarrassed, or unsure. I want you a hundred percent on board. Yeah?”

I swallowed. My voice came out soft. “Yeah.”

He cupped my face in his hands, and kissed me.

I couldn’t remember ever feeling so turned on. It was part fear, part thrill, all physical reaction to his amazing smell and taste, to that electricity crackling between us.

It was also that I knew, without a doubt, that this man could make me break any rule I might set to slow things down. If he’d really wanted to, he could make me beg him to f**k me, and I’d be helpless not to.

“Good,” said Nico, and swept me up in his arms.

I yelped in surprise. He carried me into the living room, and sat down on the sofa with me in his arms. My hands were still tied behind my back. He settled me into a comfortable position on his lap, arranged one of the cushions behind me so I was propped up, and spread his big hand over my thigh.

“So. Let’s talk. First item of discussion: where were you born?”

“You don’t think you should untie me first?”

He sent me a smoldering look. I read it to mean he didn’t think he should untie me first. I sighed. “Manhattan.”

“You grew up in New York?”

“No. We moved to New Orleans when I was two.”

“The Big Easy. Cool. Must’ve been fun to grow up there.”

“I wouldn’t know. We moved to Georgia when I was four. Then when I was six, we moved to Kentucky.”

Nico c****d his head. “I’m sensin’ a pattern here.”

My father could never live in one place more than a few years. Said it stifled his creativity. It was only when I was grown that I realized he used “creativity” as an excuse for everything from avoiding conversations he didn’t want to have to keeping up with the rent.

I avoided his eyes. “My childhood was a little . . . chaotic.”

He squeezed my leg, making me look at him. “That why you don’t have any family pictures anywhere, Kat?”

Talk about sharp eyes. I cleared my throat and sidestepped the question. “What about you? Were you born here?”

He studied me for a moment, his expression serious. He asked softly, “Family’s a sore spot?”

Less a sore spot, and more a gaping, bloody wound.

I shifted my weight in his lap and focused on the coffee table. Seeing my discomfort at the topic, Nico reached around my back and untied my hands. Then he took my wrists and put my arms around his shoulders. He stroked his hand over my hair. I rested my head on his shoulder, and he began to talk.

“I grew up in Tennessee. Shitty little town, dirt poor. My dad was an asshole. Beat the s**t outta me and my brother whenever he came home drunk, which was a lot. Mom left when I was ten. Never saw her again. Got into drugs pretty hard when I was young, got in trouble with the law, spent a while in juvie. Met a kid in there who played the guitar. We got to be friends. Hooked up after we both got out. He taught me how to play, too. Started writin’ songs, playin’ this piece of s**t guitar I bought at a pawn shop. Didn’t have much else to do.”

He laughed, but it was hard. “When I hit seventeen, figured I was gonna die in that town if I didn’t leave, quick. So I did. Moved to LA. Lied about my age, got a job at the Pig ‘N Whistle.”