Tame Me

Chapter Nine

Ryan carries the garment bag as we move across the Starfire lobby to the guest elevators.

“Remind me to get a picture of me in the dress,” I say. “I want to e-mail it to my mom. She’d absolutely love it. Although Daddy would love it more. On her,” I add, glancing sideways at him. “He loves to dress my mom up and take her out.”

“How long have they been married?”

“Almost thirty years. I’m an only, which isn’t surprising.” I say the last without thinking and immediately regret it.

“Why’s that?”

I shrug. I don’t really want to get into it, and yet at the same time, I like talking to Ryan. He understands so much even without me speaking. And while I adore my parents, I also know that they’re constantly under the surface in everything I do.

Nikki gets it, but compared to her life, mine is roses and candy.

I draw in a breath as we wait for the elevator, then lift a shoulder. “It sounds goofy, but they’re so much in love that it scares me sometimes.”

“I’m not following.”

“I told you it sounded silly.” I try to explain what it was like growing up with them. “I was like the third person on a hot date,” I say. “They loved me, don’t get me wrong, but we never felt like a family unit. There was always them. Or maybe them plus me. There was never us.” I shrug again. “Like I said, it sounds stupid and petty.”

“No,” he says gently. “It doesn’t. Your parents are your first conception of love, the first object of your love. You love them wholly and unconditionally, and expect that back. When you don’t get that in return, it colors everything.”

I gape at him, amazed that he understands so completely what it has taken me a lifetime to wrap my head around. And since he understands, I tell him the rest. “The thing is, my mom used to want to go to law school. And my dad loved to paint. But neither one does that anymore. My dad didn’t want my mom to be away so much, so she never pursued her degree. And Mom doesn’t give a crap about painting, so he stopped doing it. They’re still deliriously happy together, but they’ve lost something. Part of themselves, I guess.”

I don’t say the next. I don’t tell him that it terrifies me. That I’m afraid that’s what happens when you find the one person that you love in all the world—they draw you into a bubble. A happy bubble, but one that is less vibrant and less colorful than the world you wanted to live in.

Intellectually, I know that isn’t true. I mean, hell, look at Nikki and Damien—she’s pursuing her dream even more now because Damien has encouraged her—but one example from one friend can’t overshadow my fears.

I say none of that, but as the elevator arrives and we step on, Ryan looks at me with such tenderness that I can’t help but feel he understands.

“No matter how much we love them, we all grow up surrounded by our parents’ shit. You’ll either be buried in it and suffocate, or use it for fertilizer and thrive.”

I stare at him for a moment, then laugh. “You’re right,” I say. “That’s probably the most profound—and disgusting—thing that I’ve heard in a long time.” I laugh again, then lean against him when he pulls me close. “Thank you,” I whisper, then sigh when he dips his head and presses a soft kiss to my hair.

The elevator lets us off on the forty-seventh floor, just three floors shy of the top level. As far as I can tell, there are only three doors on this floor, and I frown a bit as he stops in front of one with a gold plaque on the door that reads, ES-2.

He pulls a keycard from his wallet, then opens the door and stands aside as I enter what can only be described as paradise.

The room has a huge living area, complete with a wet bar and a grand piano. But the furnishings are nothing compared to the view—an entire wall of windows that look out on all of Las Vegas, and if I turn my head to take it all in, I can see from the Stratosphere to the Luxor and beyond.

The sun has begun to dip low in the horizon, and the light has an orange quality now, as if it is painting the town. The view is stunning, vibrant, and I turn to Ryan in wonder.

“This isn’t the room that the station booked for me, is it?”

“No.”

“This is a Stark International hotel.”

It’s not a question, but he answers anyway. “Yes.”

I think back since our arrival. The way the woman welcomed him. The casino chip he had in his pocket. The fact that we didn’t have to check in to get a key. Honestly, I should have realized.

“Do you live here?”

He laughs. “No, I live in LA, not far from Damien, only in a much smaller house. But I spend about four weeks out of every year here going over procedure with the staff and auditing all of our security systems and operations. This is one of the executive suites. We all have use of it.”

“You always carry casino chips in your pocket?”

“No, but I do tend to keep some in the car. Once we arrived, I grabbed a few.”

“Oh.” That made sense. “And you have a closet or something here, which is why I’m the only one who had to buy clothes.”

“Or something,” he confirms. “I keep a suitcase on site. By now, housekeeping should have unpacked and pressed my clothes.”

I lift a brow. “Must be nice.”

“I promise you, it is.”

“So how did you land such a cush job?” I ask as I stroll around the room. “I mean, heading up an entire division for Damien’s umbrella company—I know the guy, and that’s a pretty plum job.”

“It is,” Ryan says. “But I’m exceptionally good at what I do.”

I pull out a bottle of wine from the fridge behind the wet bar. There is a corkscrew already sitting out, and I study Ryan as I open the wine. “I believe you. How did you get that way?”

He takes a seat, his eyes never leaving me. “Law enforcement runs in my family. My great-grandfather was in Scotland Yard, and my grandfather was MI6.”

“Wow. And your dad?”

“He disappointed them by moving to Boston. Became a cop. Married a secretary at the district attorney’s office.”

I laugh as I cross to him, a glass of wine in each hand. “It really is all in the family.”

“Which is why I was such a disappointment.” He takes the wine, and I plunk myself down on the table in front of him. He sips, then smiles. “I could get used to this.”

“What?”

“You, waiting on me.”

I raise a brow. “I’m yours to command—at least for a few more days.” I lick my lips provocatively, then very deliberately drop my gaze to his crotch. And then, because I’m feeling bold, I lean forward and cup his erection. He is already hard, and knowing that gives me a feminine thrill. “Any time you want,” I whisper. “You just tell me how you want me to service you.”

I see the tension on his face as he fights for control. “This will do nicely for now,” he says. He nods to the floor. “Come a little closer.”

I do, getting on my knees in front of him, and I keep up the rhythm, stroking his cock as he tells me his story.

“I didn’t want to be a cop,” he says. “Christ, Jamie, do you know what you’re doing to me?”

“I have some idea,” I admit. “Go on.”

“But when my dad was killed in the line, that’s what everyone expected of me.”

I pause my hand. “I’m sorry.”

“Thank you—I was young.” He lays his hand on mine. “Don’t stop.”

I tilt my head back and meet his eyes, and for a moment I think I will get lost in them. Then he goes on, telling me about how his family rebounded—him, his sister, his mother. “But I still wasn’t interested in wearing the uniform, having the badge. I considered the military, but that wasn’t my thing. I trained—a lot. Martial arts, boxing, weapons. But I wasn’t the military type. I wasn’t the intelligence type, either. Too much chain of command, and I like being my own boss.”

“What did you do?” I continue to touch him, but lightly. I want to arouse him, not overwhelm him. I want to hear his story.

“I opened a private security firm. Very high-end. Very exclusive. Very international. My family connections helped there. The company did well, and I decided to take it public. Nothing like that had ever been done before, and I caught Damien’s eye. He got in contact, and to make a long story short, ended up buying me out. Since then, we’ve become friends, and I moved up in his company.”

I frown. “So the company you started is just gone?”

“No. It’s a Stark subsidiary now. I ran it for five years before taking this job. I was getting tired of globetrotting and wanted a more permanent home base. I’m thirty. I wanted to think about a life. A family.”

I lick my lips and try to swallow the ball of jealousy that has caught in my throat. “A family,” I repeat as I draw my hand away from his cock and lean back. “You wanted to stay in LA because of a woman?”

“No,” he says, then tenderly strokes my cheek. “Not then.”

I try not to react, not to read too much into those casual words. But I can’t help but wonder.

His smile turns mischievous. “Actually, there is a woman, and she very much influenced my move.”

I narrow my eyes. “Oh?”

“My sister is at UCLA. I like being able to see her, help her out. Spoil her rotten.”

I think about my dress. About everything. “I imagine you do that very well.”

“Drives her crazy,” he admits cheerfully.

“What’s her name?”

“Moira,” he says. “Dad died when she was eight, so I’ve always felt a bit like a parent. She’s amazing,” he adds as I watch his face, studying this new side of the man who already has me falling.

He puts his hand over mine. “As much as I’m enjoying your touch,” he says, “I think it’s time to move on.”

“Oh?” His cock is hard beneath his jeans, and I’m hoping that he has plans to put that lovely erection to very good use.

“We have dinner reservations. You should change.”

“Right,” I say, standing up and hoping my disappointment doesn’t show.

I start to step away, but his voice stops me. “Wait,” he says. “First things first.”

I turn back, and there’s something in his tone that makes me wary.

“You left,” he said. “You ran, actually.”

I lick my lips. “I thought we were past that. Our new deal. Roulette. The ball on red.”

“And I’m very much enjoying our arrangement so far,” he says, which is a bit baffling as so far he hasn’t touched me. Not really. But that, I suppose, is all part of the tease.

But what he’s talking about now...I shake my head, uncertain. “What do you want?”

“It was a bad thing you did, Jamie. We both know it.”

“Maybe,” I say, still wary.

“Strip.”

I blink. “Excuse me?”

He leans back, his arms stretched along the rear of the couch. He looks relaxed and powerful and most definitely in charge. “I said, strip.”

“Why?”

His mouth curves in a lazy, seductive smile. “Why do you think?”

My mouth has gone dry, and my knees are suddenly weak. Whatever he intends, I know that I want it—and yet still I am nervous. “I think you’re going to fuck me,” I say, and I can’t keep the note of hope out of my voice.

“No,” he says firmly. “I’m going to punish you.”

“Hunter—”

He smiles. “That’s it. I like that. You call me Hunter when you know what’s coming.”

“Ryan,” I say more firmly, making him laugh.

“It’s no use, kitten. Hush now. Hush and take off your clothes. I promise you, Jamie, you don’t want to cross me.”

I am tempted to do just that simply because I want to see how far he will take this. But I also want what I know he will give me. His hands, his cock, his body.

But there will be none of that until I strip. Until he punishes me.

I remember what he’d said that first night in Malibu—how he’d talked about spanking me. I remember, too, how wet the very idea had made me.

It makes me wet now.

“Are you going to spank me?”

“No talking,” he says again, “or I’ll be dining alone tonight. Go on,” he urges. “I want to watch you strip for me.”

I don’t speak, but I move back to stand in front of him. Slowly, I peel off my clothes, one garment at a time, until I am standing naked in front of him. I can see the desire in his eyes and know that he is looking forward to this.

And, yes, so am I.

I smile boldly, then slide my hand down over my sex just because I want to do a little bit of punishing myself. “I’m wet,” I say, then bring my own finger to my mouth.

“Jesus, Jamie,” he says, and while I have him, I decide to take the extra step and see just how crazy I can make him.

I move closer, then bend over his lap, putting my bare ass in front of him. “Spank me,” I say. “You know you want to.”

My pubis is pressed against his lap, and I can feel his erection grow. I close my eyes, relishing the feel of his hand rubbing a smooth circle on my rear. And then his hand is gone, replaced only moments later with a quick, sharp sting.

I cry out in both surprise and pain—and as his palm strokes quickly over the spot, I relax and breathe deep as the fingers of pain spread out, transforming to electric shocks that sizzle through me, focusing most intently on my sex, now even more hot. Even more needy.

“Do you like that?” he says, and I can tell by his growing erection that he does.

“Yes—it’s...” I search for the right word. “Liberating,” I finally say, and it’s true. The sting, the pain, sends me flying, freeing me for an even more intense passion.

“Again,” he says, then lands another smack followed in quick succession by another. He is spanking and stroking, giving pain and then pleasure. Sending me spiraling up and then reeling me back in.

I have never done this before. Never felt this before.

And I like it. Dear god, I like it.

“Hunter,” I whisper as my cunt throbs in a silent demand for his touch. “Can I be bad every day?”

He laughs, then rubs his hands upon my ass, my back, my shoulders. “You are perfection, Jamie. You are delight. And as for your punishment, we’ll have to see just how naughty you are. Right now, I think you’ve been punished enough.”

I sigh, fighting my way back up through the waves of pleasure, the sweet tingle of pain and promise.

“I take it you like that?” His voice pours softly over me, strong and intoxicating, like the smooth burn of whiskey.

“Yes,” I admit as my body clenches with unfulfilled need. “But please, Hunter. Will you fuck me now?”

“No,” he says smoothly. “Now, I’m going to feed you.”