Page 93 of Make-Believe Match

EIGHTEEN

lexi

Devlin’s bathroomwas masculine and luxurious—high ceilings, marble counters, charcoal-colored herringbone tiles in the shower, shiny chrome fixtures. I stood beneath the rain shower head and let the gentle flow of the water trickle over my head and down my body. I breathed deeply, inhaling the lingering scent of Devlin’s shower gel and trying to let go of the nagging suspicion that I was overlooking something.

But what?

Devlin was right—everything was going my way. I had Snowberry. I had the money to renovate. I had a team of people to help me. I had Devlin’s business expertise and support. I even had him in my bed tonight.

I focused on that thought for a moment, letting the smell of bourbon, cedar, and coriander fill my head. Arousal fluttered within me, and my hands wandered over my wet skin. He would touch mehereandhereandhere. He would bend my body to his whim. He would move inside me. He would say the words that sent me soaring, that made me feel cherished and chosen.

My wife.

And it wouldn’t matter that it wasn’t real. It was true. It wouldfeelreal. Couldn’t I just lose myself in that dream for a night?

Quickly, I finished up in the shower and dried myself off with a thick, fluffy white towel. Wrapping it around myself, I combed through my hair and opened the bathroom door, steam billowing into the bedroom.

It was dim, the only light coming from a trio of flickering candles on his dresser and a pair on each nightstand. Devlin was in bed already. Leaning back against the brown leather cushion that served as a headboard, he was shirtless, legs stretched out in front of him and crossed at the ankle. A glass of amber liquid over ice in his left hand. His wedding band gleaming in the semi-dark. “Better?”

I nodded. “Yes.”

“Good.” He took a sip. “Can I get you anything? Bourbon? Glass of wine?”

“No, thanks.” I spied what looked like several neckties in a pile on the white comforter, coiled like snakes. “What are those for?”

“Those are for you.”

“For me?”

“Yes.” He set the glass on his nightstand and swung his bare feet to the floor. “If you give me permission.”

“Permission to what?” I asked tentatively as he walked to where I stood near the foot of the bed.

“To tie you up and let me have my way with you.”

My pulse kicked up. I’d never done anything like that before. To date, the kinkiest experience I’d ever had was fucking Devlin in the backseat of his rental car in the public parking lot of The Broken Spoke. The risk then had been discovery. The risk here felt higher.

But I looked at Devlin again and realized I trusted him enough to say yes. That I was willing to submit to pain. That I wanted to be vulnerable to him. That if I had hidden desires, I wanted him to be the one to uncover them.

And I wanted to fulfill his fantasies.

“Okay,” I said.

“If you don’t like something, just tell me to stop. Use the word stop. Understand?”

I nodded. “Yes.”

“Good.” He kissed my lips and unwrapped the towel from my body, tossing it onto the foot of the bed. “Now come here and lie down.”

My heart boomed like a canon as I climbed onto the sheet and stretched out on my back. Hands stacked on top of my belly. Thighs pressed together.

Devlin paused to take a sip of bourbon before reaching for one of the neckties. When he spoke, his voice was low but commanding. “I’m going to bind your wrists and tie them to this bar on the wall.”

Bar? I braced myself on my elbows and glanced behind me, discovering what I hadn’t noticed before—the leather cushions that fashioned his headboard were suspended from a black bar attached to the wall. “Okay.”

“But first, I’m going to blindfold you.” He knelt next to me, a smile teasing his lips. “Are you nervous?”

“Kind of. I’ve never done this before.”