Nothing Between Us Read online

  And her body had clamored to attention and responded. She’d thought maybe it was because she’d already spent a slow, sensual dinner with Colby feeding her things from his fingers. Or maybe because she wore nothing beneath the stretchy material of her dress, so she was hyperaware and sensitive. But even with all that, she knew in her gut it was something more than those simple things. It wasn’t her intense attraction to Colby bleeding over onto Keats. It was something separate and maybe just as potent.

  Colby was still pressed up against her from behind, and he ran his hands over her arms. “What happened out there? You both walked in looking like you’d stolen all the cookies.”

  She tensed, an old reaction surfacing, defensive. “Nothing, we just bumped into each other in the hallway. Like literally. It wasn’t—”

  He turned her in his arms and gave her a soft smile. “Hey, I’m not accusing you of anything. I was just curious.” He cupped her face in his hands. “Remember, I’m not that guy. Really.”

  She took a breath and nodded. He was using the words that guy generally, but it fit exactly. She needed to remember it. He wasn’t Phillip. He wasn’t going to flip his shit if she glanced at another man. “We bumped into each other and he looked at me, I don’t know, like he was going to kiss me.”

  Colby seemed amused. “Did you want him to?”

  “No,” she said, probably too quickly. “He’s working for me.”

  “But if he weren’t?”

  “He is.”

  Colby smiled at that and kissed her. “That’s a very black-and-white world you’re living in, Georgia. Now”—he put his mouth close to her ear—“get on your knees and let me show you what happens when you try to change our plans without my permission.”

  Her breath caught. “Here?”

  He released her and grabbed one of the chairs from the dining room table. He spun it around and pointed next to it. “Here.”

  Her heartbeat turned into a wild thing, but she managed to walk the few steps over to the chair and get to her knees. The tile was cool beneath her skin, hard, but the slight discomfort grounded her, giving her something to focus on.

  Colby swung open a kitchen cabinet and pulled out a crock of kitchen utensils. Wooden spoons, plastic spatulas, a whisk with a thick rubber handle. She watched him with rapt attention, gnawing the inside of her lip. He walked over and set them on the table next to the chair, then reached for her. He ran his hand over the back of her head, a sweet, tender gesture, then sat and patted his leg. “Drape yourself over my thighs and flip your dress up. You wanted Keats to be part of this? Well, I’ll give you your wish. His wall shares one with the kitchen. He’ll be able to hear your first spanking.”

  She shook her head. “No, I don’t want to do that to him. It’s not really fair and—”

  “I don’t remember asking your opinion, love. And if you’re so concerned about it, then don’t make any noise.” Instead of patting his leg again, he gripped her arm and gently guided her up and over his lap. “Now lift up your dress.”

  The prone position sent her body into an instant capitulation, and any further protests seemed to fade into the loud sound of her heartbeat thumping in her ears. She reached back and dragged her dress up, exposing her naked backside. The cool air on her heated skin made goose bumps rise and the damp place between her thighs burn even hotter. Her fingertips touched the floor, and she wasn’t sure if it was the head rush from the position or something else, but she felt giddy. Colby adjusted himself beneath her, strong muscular thighs pressing into all of her softest spots.

  “You look fucking sinful like this, baby,” Colby said, running a warm palm over her backside. “I can’t wait to make this pretty ass sting.”

  God. Her body was throbbing already. She’d never been spanked—not in a sexual way or in a disciplinary one. But there was something about being in this position that was totally doing it for her. She had a feeling it was going to be hard to stay quiet.

  He slid his hand between her thighs, finding her warm, wet secret. His thumb slid inside her and his fingers moved up to stroke her clit in tandem. “Mmm, someone’s been ready for a while.”

  She gasped, trying to stay still, trying to stay quiet, but damn the man was good with his fingers. He gave her a few more strokes and then pulled away, wiping her arousal on the back of her thigh as if to say, Look, how much you want this.

  It wouldn’t be a lie.

  She braced for the next thing, knowing a hit of some sort would come, but instead a fingertip traced around her back opening. She jolted with surprise, but he held her down easily with his other hand. “Have you ever been taken here?”

  She tried to swallow the drool pooling in her mouth. The sensation was so . . . decadent, forbidden. “With a vibrator, never sex.”

  And only on her own, a handful of times, though she’d die if she had to admit that. She’d asked Phillip once if he wanted to try it, and he’d looked at her like she’d grown another head. That kind of thing did not fit into the princess image he’d painted in his head. So he’d laughed and taken it like she’d been joking with him.

  “Did you enjoy it?” Colby asked, squeezing her buttock in a firm, almost painful grip, then releasing.

  She shuddered from the sensation—tingling pain, not unpleasant. “I didn’t hate it.”

  He chuckled, that warm low laugh of his that seemed to come from deep in that barreled chest. “Good to know.”

  Then he smacked her with his open palm, right over the spot he’d grabbed. One. Two. Three.

  She made a choked noise, half from surprise and half from the feel of the blows.

  “Pain level one to ten,” he asked.

  She tried to suck in a breath, get her thoughts back. Her ass was stinging but not in an unbearable way. “Five.”

  “Good.” He reached for one of the utensils. “If we get to an eight or nine, you stop me.”

  “Okay.”

  She tried not to brace for it, knew it would make it worse, but when the spatula came down on her, she was as tense as a fist. The sting didn’t spread over as big a portion as it had with his hand, but it was sharp and wicked. She bit her lip trying not to make noise. She wouldn’t drag Keats into this.

  But good intentions were about all she had because when Colby continued to work her ass over with swats, it felt like an avalanche of sound was building up in her throat. Everything was on fire—her ass, the backs of her thighs. The pain was crawling up to a seven and she wasn’t sure she was as tough as she thought.

  “Spread your legs wider,” Colby said, calm as a bright blue sky in June. Damn him. How could he be so calm when he was whaling on her?

  But she couldn’t stop herself from obeying. She opened her thighs wider, balancing on her toes. The sound of tools banging around in the crock filled her ears, and then he gave her a soft pop right against her sex. Whack.

  She made a grinding moan, the sound leaking out between her teeth. Good God. He popped her a few more times against that oh-so-sensitive skin, not hard, but firm enough to take note, and all that pain from before started to turn into a hot tingling burning over her skin. She squirmed, needing more pressure against her clit, but Colby shifted and hit her with what felt like the wooden spoon on the back of her thigh, sharp.

  A little cry of pain slipped out.

  “No coming yet, gorgeous. I give that to you when I’m ready. You still have three more tools to go.”

  Her head was spinning, but she didn’t protest. He worked her over with the wooden spoon and then with some other kind of spatula from what she could tell. But frankly, it was all starting to run together in a haze in her mind now. The pain had left, morphing into something altogether different. Now her only discomfort was from the fact that she wanted to come and couldn’t.

  The swats slowed and then stopped. Colby pressed a hand to the small of her back. “Do yo
u want to come?”

  “Yes, please.”

  “Do you trust me not to harm you?”

  “I do.” And she did. In that moment, she totally did.

  “Excellent.” He moved his fingers against her, and she almost came from that, but he knew what he was doing and didn’t give her enough stimulation to put her over the edge. Then something foreign was pushing against her. She stiffened. “This is a soft rubber handle, baby. You’re wet enough to take it. Relax.”

  Oh, God. The whisk. He was going to fuck her with a damn kitchen implement. “Colby.”

  “Shh,” he said, his voice more soothing now than commanding. “You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

  The handle slipped in and she groaned. The handle wasn’t overly large but it was grooved and textured and the feel of it inside her made her heels lift. Jesus.

  “That’s my girl,” Colby said, his voice going thick, as he moved the handle in and out slowly. “You’re so goddamned sexy.”

  The fact that he was getting so aroused only dialed up her need more. She could only imagine what she looked like to him right now, tipped over his lap in the middle of his kitchen, half naked, and being violated at his bidding. Her fingers pressed against the floor, the coiling tension in her almost at its breaking point.

  He rocked her against him with each slide of the handle, rubbing her clit against the rough denim of his jeans. She wasn’t going to make it much longer. Then with his free hand, he began to pinch her. The flesh of her ass, the backs of her thighs, little biting squeezes that reignited the effects of the spanking. Pinch and stroke, pinch and stroke. Rasp, rasp, rasp against his jeans. Her mind began to fuzz.

  “Colby,” she pleaded.

  “Come for me, Georgia.” He reached around with his free hand and found her clit. “Come for me and let me hear it.”

  That was all she needed. She launched into orgasm, her body clamping around the invasion, her hips rocking against his fingers. And despite her best effort, she couldn’t keep herself quiet. She cried out loud and long—a desperate, wanton sound that had to have reverberated around the house.

  But in the moment, she didn’t care. Colby wanted to hear it, and she wanted to give that to him.

  Right now, she’d give him just about anything.

  EIGHTEEN

  Georgia followed Colby to his bedroom after they’d cleaned up the kitchen. Her legs still felt like they were made of pudding after her orgasm, but she managed not to stumble as she made her way down the hall. When she passed Keats’s room, she put her palm to the door for a brief second, offering a silent apology and promising herself that she would talk to him tomorrow. Maybe they needed some boundaries after all, because it seemed both of them were playing with fire without them.

  But when she stepped into Colby’s bedroom, finding him standing there in front of his bed, big and broad and intimidating as hell, she forgot all thoughts of tomorrow. Because finally, right now, she’d arrived at the site of so many of her fantasies. She glanced at the window.

  “No one to watch us tonight, gorgeous.”

  “I don’t need an audience.” She closed the door behind her.

  He smirked. “Though you like one sometimes.”

  “Said the pot to the kettle.”

  He sat down on the end of the bed, legs wide in that cowboy don’t-care way, and leaned back on his hands. He nodded at the spot in front of him. “Take off your dress and show me what number you decided on.”

  Nerves hopped in her belly as she walked over to where he wanted. She’d left her shoes somewhere in the kitchen, so she had only one thing left to take off. She pulled the shoulders of her dress down, the stretchy fabric giving way easily, and slid the dress to her waist, exposing her chest to the cool air.

  Colby’s hazel eyes homed in, appraising, appreciating. This was the first time he’d seen her bared like this, and somehow he made her feel completely comfortable. She pushed the dress down her hips and stepped out of the puddle of fabric.

  Colby’s tongue darted out and touched his bottom lip, an unconscious gesture that made her go hot wondering what thought had crossed his mind. He cleared his throat. “Where’s the number?”

  She swallowed, trying to find her voice. “I didn’t pick one.”

  His brows lowered. “Why?”

  “I appreciate what you were trying to do—giving me some shred of control to cling to. But that’s not what I want. I need this to be a little scary. I need my surrender to be real. I want to know I really did it.”

  The flare of pleasure that flickered over his expression was a reward in and of itself. He shifted forward, bracing his forearms on his thighs and pinning her with his gaze. “No bunny slope for you, huh?”

  She closed her eyes briefly and shook her head. “My whole life is made of baby steps and bunny slopes right now. I need a leap. And I feel like I can do that with you.”

  He reached out for her, and she stepped between his spread knees. He took her hands and looked up, something she couldn’t pinpoint burning in his gaze. “I’m honored that you’re giving me that trust. Really. It means more than you know. I promise I won’t misuse it.”

  For some reason, she wanted to cry, but she pressed her lips together and fought back the urge. She would not fall apart. Not before this happened.

  He stood and put his hand at her waist, pulling her against him. His lips met hers with a hushed reverence at first, like they were sealing some agreement, and then the kiss turned hotter and more urgent. She could feel the muscles that had tensed from nerves loosening again and melting. His tongue stroked against hers, and as she latched onto his shirt, she could feel his erection hardening against her belly.

  He groaned into the kiss and pulled away.

  The quick break-off of the kiss startled her. “Everything okay?”

  He gave a little laugh, sounding chagrined, and rubbed a hand over the back of his head. “I’ve practiced this self-control thing a long damn time. But kissing you like that makes me feel like a teenager who just wants to get inside you. Right. This. Second. If I keep kissing you like that, I’ll end up pawing you like it’s prom night.”

  She smiled and touched the band of his jeans. “I can help take the edge off. May I?”

  She lowered to her knees.

  “Aw, proper grammar and everything?” he said, cupping her head and rubbing a thumb over her bottom lip. “How can I resist such a polite request to suck my cock?”

  Even the words had excitement pinging through her. She’d never been one to get overly enthusiastic about blow jobs, but something about Colby had had her craving that from the very start. She’d watched him get off that way from her perch at her window and had always loved how he looked when he gave himself over to the pleasure.

  He reached for his belt and unfastened it, then pulled it out of the loops. “Give me your wrists.”

  She lifted her arms to him, and he wrapped the belt around them with surprisingly efficient motions. When he was sure it was secure, he let her lower her bound hands to her lap.

  He undid his fly and tucked his hand inside. When he freed his cock, putting it on proud display right in her line of sight, her mouth actually watered.

  “Only your mouth,” he said gruffly. “And I control the pace.”

  There was something about him being fully dressed, her naked and bound at his feet that made this feel so much different than anything she’d done before. She had this deep urge to please him.

  He wrapped his hand in her hair, firmly enough to make her scalp tingle but not enough to hurt, and guided her forward. The first taste of salty skin against her tongue made hot things curl inside her, as did the grunting sound he made at the contact. Her hands twisted in the bindings and she closed her eyes, savoring the flavor and feel of this sinful, sexy man.

  He was big, and she wasn’t skilled enough to tak
e him all, but he didn’t force her to accept more than she could handle. He kept his free hand around the base and stroked toward her with each thrust, his fingers meeting her lips in an erotic kiss. She rolled her tongue around him, sucking and teasing and mapping the feel of him.

  His fingers tightened against her head. “God, baby, your mouth is going to kill me. You give head like you kiss—with everything you’ve got.”

  She mmmed at the praise and doubled her efforts, wanting to know what he was like when he completely lost it. But Colby had other ideas because after a few minutes, he gently eased her away. She blinked up at him, surprised, but he grasped her chin and bent down to kiss her. “Not like this. I want you in my bed beneath me. And I want to see you wearing my rope.”

  “Rope?”

  He released her bindings and helped her to her feet. “Door number three. One of my favorites, gives me a lot of pleasure, but it takes some patience.”

  She sat on the edge of the bed. “I’ve got all night.”

  “Says the girl who just had a screaming orgasm in the kitchen.”

  She grinned and let her eyes travel down to his very hard, very obvious erection. “You going to be okay?”

  “Keep grinning, smartass,” he teased. “You’ll learn how dangerous it is to goad your dom.”

  He left for a few minutes to gather his supplies, and when he came back, she learned the threat hadn’t been an idle one. He made her kneel on the bed, thighs spread, and strapped a small vibrator against her clit to keep her occupied while he worked. He dialed it to the setting that had to be called Slow Ride to Hell because it was low and slow and made her want to die with need after about ten minutes.

  Meanwhile, he was wrapping soft ropes around her torso in an intricate looping pattern. He had a wrinkle in his forehead while he worked and a look in his eye that told her this was a meditative act for him. But his erection didn’t flag the entire time—so not just meditative but deeply sexual. And she could understand why. The pressure of the ropes against her body and the way they gently abraded her skin had her seeing the eroticism in it.