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She bit her lip and looked down and to the left.

Outrage restarted his triple-tempo pulse. “No? No, please don’t tell me no.”

She looked at him and glanced away again. “Okay.”

How the hell had he misjudged that? She must’ve thought he was the biggest prick. He sat back on his heels where he knelt between her legs and took a few calming breaths.

Okay. He could fix this.

The best orgasm of his life collected at the entrance of her pussy and dribbled down her outer lips. He’d never tasted himself before. Couldn’t be that bad. Hell, he’d never even gone down on a girl…well, while he was sober enough to remember it, anyway. But this was Charlee. Didn’t matter what he did with her, they’d figure it out and make it work.

He slid his hands under her ass and lifted her to meet his mouth.

“What are you doing?” Panic hitched her voice.

He was going to bite the hell out of her clit. “You’re going to come for me, Charlee. We’re not leaving this room till you do.”

She stared at him like he’d lost his mind. Then she dropped her head and said to the ceiling, “You need to shove something in my ass.”

“What?”

“Quick and effective,” she mumbled.

He lowered her hips, tried not to think about the she things she’d experienced to fuel such a request. His mind flashed to random phallic-shaped objects in his room. The handle of her hairbrush. The Mr. T bobble head on the mantle. The glass bong under his— Wait, he threw that out.

Jesus, what was he thinking? “I’m not sticking anything in your ass.” He cleared his throat. Maybe he should clarify. “Unless it’s made for your ass.” His dick would be a perfect fit…in an hour or so, if he could muster the stamina. “And I don’t keep butt-plugs lying around.”

“Let’s just call it a night. It’s nearly six in the morning.”

He had to be at the range in an hour. “Charlee, Please—”

“Huntress.” She yanked on the rope and glared at him.

His shoulders sagged. “You’re going to safe word just like that? You won’t give me another chance?” Christ, he’d fucked up. How could he expect her to want him if he couldn’t even give her an orgasm? “I can fix this.”

Stretched by the rope, she strained her arms and waited. She wouldn’t repeat the safe word. And she wouldn’t have to. Under the scrutiny of her eyes and with shame burning his face, he removed the rope, bundled it up, and returned it to the drawer.

Her back was to him when he crawled behind her and scooted against her until as much of her body was touching him as possible. While he was behaving like a selfish prick, he might as well take everything he wanted. And he wanted to hold her until she fell asleep.

He locked his arm around her waist. She let her hands lay limp so he could gather them and intertwine them with his against her chest. As her body sank with the weight of gravity and exhaustion, he pulled her closer, so close he could feel every twitch in her back, every beat of her heart.

“The Strong Box.” Her soft voice drifted through him.

“What’s the strong box?” He knew what one was, but he didn’t know whatthestrong box was.

“It’s a container, usually steel, in which valuables are kept safe.”

She was going somewhere with this. He waited.

“It’s also the name I’m giving my favorite Jay Mayard position. You know, the one where he wraps himself around his partner and makes her feel valuable and safe and a lot less broken. It’s not a famous or practiced position, but it’s all mine.”

He melted against her back, buried his nose in her hair, and tumbled just a little bit more in love with her. Fuck that. He plunged.

“All yours, Charlee.” Every. Single. Breath.

54

Disappointment rolled over Charlee when she woke the next morning. Alone in bed. A glance around confirmed an empty room. Nathan didn’t often leave her to wake alone, but when it happened, dread was always the initial reaction. Not this strange dejection.