Hard Act: Davis (Hard as Nails Book 5) Page 5

  I need to fucking get a grip. Make a plan.

  First things first. It’s time to tell Slate our plan is a no-go. And, somehow, I need to avoid telling him I’m bailing for the sake of some pussy.

  Not just any pussy. It’s Bella Prince. She is so, so much more than sex, no matter how strong the lustful hold she has on me.

  I pick up my phone and give Slate a call. In the background I hear clanking and the radio. He sounds like he’s in the shop. There’s shouts and laughter coming from the other guys.

  “Davis, how’s it going?” Slate asks.

  “You somewhere secure?”

  “Jesus, you sound more and more like an eccentric billionaire every day. What’s up?”

  “I want to hold off on our operation.”

  Silence. AC/DC screeches in the background.

  “What do you mean?” Slate asks finally.

  “I mean I want to press the pause button with respect to King.”

  “Why? We’re fucking close.”

  “I know.” I hesitate, moistening my lips. I swear, I can still taste Bella. “Just trust me on this, will you? We need to wait. Another month.”

  “Something wrong?”

  “Not . . . exactly.”

  “Davis, you’re being weird as hell. Just tell me what’s up.”

  “I will. As soon as I can. For now, we can keep collecting dirt on King, but we won’t be moving on it yet. Not for a while.”

  If ever. If Bella really thinks she can get her father to go clean, she must have a hell of an ace up her sleeve. King doesn’t take orders from just anyone. Even if that ‘anyone’ is his own daughter.

  “I don’t like this, Davis.”

  “I know you don’t. But I need you to trust me.”

  “You know I do.”

  I breathe a sigh of relief. “Thank you, Slate. I’ll be in touch soon.”

  With that, I hang up.

  So good.

  The operation is on hold. That’s done.

  Now it’s time to start planning for the next four weeks.

  What the hell am I going to do with Bella when I have her in my arms again? How am I going to keep myself together? To keep my heart protected.

  I don’t know. So I’ll just have to start with what I do know.

  I head down the hall, past my master suite, and into the back bedroom. It’s huge, with a four-poster canopied bed in the center. And, it’s barely used. The dark wood floors are collecting dust. I’m almost never in here, and I’ve told my cleaning guy he only has to clean this room every two weeks.

  In this room is where I keep what little equipment I have. I’m by no means an expert on BDSM. I’m just a nerd who likes to be dominant in bed. But over the years, I’ve added enough pieces to have a nice little collection. However, what I do have in mind are some things I’d like to try on Bella that will be only hers. Well, hers and mine.

  I take out my phone and make a couple of calls. The materials I need will be here within two hours. Good. I stare at the empty, neatly made bed with its complementary blue linens and comforter.

  I start picturing Bella lying on it blindfolded, satin restraints around her wrists, her delicate, pale ankles . . .

  Jesus. I’m gonna come again just thinking about it.

  I head back to my own bedroom to change my underwear. While there, I spend some time looking at the painting on my far wall.

  It’s one of Bella’s. The room depicted looks like a kitchen, but with all the appliances ripped out. Bare walls with holes in them where electrical cords could run. Dusty, black and white tiled floor, a mouse hole under one side of the counter. Like all of her paintings, it’s both beautiful and sad.

  An emptiness waiting to be filled.

  Chapter Five

  Bella

  When I arrive at Davis’s penthouse building, I’m nervous, though I’ve perfected the art of hiding it. The doorman lets me in. I head right to the elevator, my small suitcase rolling behind me. My dress is a light blue knit, setting off my eyes. I like blue, though it’s not a color I paint with. I use mostly yellows and reds, ochres and browns.

  Silently, the elevator speeds me up to the twentieth floor. I wonder how Davis is going to greet me. Is he going to order me to my knees right away, stick a blindfold on me, order me to call him sir?

  In preparation for yesterday’s visit, I’d made him my own little research project. Initially, I’d been surprised to learn about his membership to some of the city’s BDSM dungeons. Then I was like, okay, it’s not that surprising. It’s always the quiet ones, isn’t it? But I just can’t picture Davis doing that kind of posturing. That ‘Ooh, look at me, I’m a dark, mysterious billionaire, and I shall have you any way I please’ crap.

  After a deep breath, I knock on the door.

  He doesn’t answer right away. When he does, my breath suddenly disappears. He’s wearing a comfortable green sweater and dark jeans. His dark hair is thick and tousled, and he’s got a five o’clock shadow that instantly gets me throbbing between my legs. I swallow and hope he doesn’t see a hint of nervousness in my eyes.

  “Bella.” His voice is a little too clipped and formal.

  “Hello, Davis.” I use my robot-lady voice, as Jacques, one of my lovers, had called it.

  Davis ushers me in. I roll my suitcase over the threshold.

  “That’s all you brought?” He nods at the small case.

  “I’m staying with a friend,” I reply. “Most of my things are still in Paris. This will be plenty for now, and I can always stop by my friend’s place to get more if I need it.”

  My voice is every bit as clipped as his. Neither of us relaxes around the other, and I can hardly believe I kissed him yesterday, that he was between my legs, giving me pleasure like I’d never known before. Now, we’re awkward all over again. Like teenagers up in my bedroom, staring at the computer screen.

  “Would you like a drink?” he asks, and something in me melts a little at that deep voice.

  “No thank you,” I say politely and without inflection. “Depending on what we’re doing, I think I’d like to be clear-headed.”

  Good luck with that. Just looking at him fogs my mind.

  “Of course,” he says, equally politely. “I certainly didn’t mean to suggest you should become intoxicated. I just thought one drink might help us both relax.”

  I smile stiffly. “Thank you for the offer.”

  He seems uncertain. “May I take your coat?”

  I shrug out of it. Déjà vu. Just like yesterday. He puts it in the closet. Then he tells me to follow him and takes me past the living room where we laid last night and down the hall. The apartment is spacious but dimly lit, and my heart’s pounding too hard for me to take it all in.

  In the back of his apartment, he opens up a door and leads me into a room that looks like it should belong to royalty. The wood floors are dark and gleaming. High ceilings, crown molding, and large windows with thick, plush curtains. The mahogany dresser looks antique. I wouldn’t even want to know the price tag of the crystal lamps.

  And then there’s that bed. It’s the tallest bed I’ve ever seen, a four-poster with an actual canopy—white, or the lightest blue, I can’t quite tell. The lush comforter is a deep blue and topped with several accent pillows. Davis clears his throat.

  “This will be your room while you’re living here. Most nights, I’ll expect you in my bed. But if I’m out of town, or you need a private place during the day when we’re not . . . well. Anyway, this can serve as both a playroom and your space.”

  I am genuinely impressed. I look at him, tilting my head slightly.

  “Thank you.”

  I mean it. The idea that I might have some occasional privacy is a relief to me. He nods at the closet. The doors are massive. I could fit a whole other apartment inside.

  “This is where I keep some of the, uh . . . toys.”

  I can’t help myself—I laugh. It seems to surprise him as much as it surprises me.


  “Toys, huh?”

  On impulse, I give into the warmth spreading through my body, making me temporarily liquid. I know it’s risky letting my defenses down, letting him see that I have a sense of humor, that I’m not sure what I’m doing.

  But I go for it. I hood my eyes and gaze up at him, a smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. Then I’m moving toward him, pressing against him, kissing him. I’m supposed to be at his mercy, but I want him at mine.

  He freezes for the barest hint of a second, and then he’s kissing me back, relaxing, twining his arms around me and laughing softly into my mouth. I feel like he’s going to pull back or say something, but instead he surprises me by tightening his arms and holding me as close as I’ve ever been held by anyone. Our bodies remember each other, and even though we’re different now, more grown up and simultaneously more restrained and more free, this is familiar and wonderful. It’s home.

  We break apart, both of us smiling dopily for a moment . . . before I remember how dangerous this is and straighten my features once more. I can’t let myself get this close. All business.

  Stupid girl, I chide myself. Eyes on the prize.

  He senses the change in me, and he stiffens a bit, too.

  “I’d like you to strip for me,” he says gruffly.

  Despite my resolve to keep this all business, his words send little shivers through me, and I immediately comply. Time to give him a show.

  I shed first my cardigan, and then my dress. I strip slowly, turning my back to him as I unzip the dress, letting the knit fabric slide down. It bares my shoulders, and then my back and ass before it finally slips off.

  I’ve gone commando tonight. I’m not sure if he appreciates it. Maybe he wants to see me in lingerie, his own little Victoria’s Secret doll. Isn’t that what he wants, for me to be his fantasy?

  But I hear him let out his breath like something deep within him aches, and then he’s stepping closer to me. His fingers drift along the base of my neck, brushing away stray hair strands that have come loose from my twist. I shiver again. Then his fingers disappear.

  When they return, they’re sliding down my spine, gently raising goosebumps. They stop at my tailbone. I’m quivering beneath his touch, standing in the puddle of my dress, wanting to feel his fingers keep going.

  “I can’t believe you’re here,” he whispers.

  Neither can I. I shouldn’t be here. I should be back in my Paris flat painting or sipping wine at my own show opening. But I’m here, and I came here to fix things. To set my life right, and then let it go.

  “How would you like me?”

  I ask in a vacant, almost mechanical voice, partly because I can’t deal with the surging emotions in me and want to shut them down. Partly to frustrate him, to get him angry enough that he’ll make something happen. Something that will take me out of my head, away from my fear of dying.

  “Bella?” he whispers. “Don’t do this, please.”

  Do what? I want to ask, even though I know perfectly well what he means.

  “We were friends, once.”

  He’s tracing circles with one finger, around the hollow at the base of my spine. I draw in a slow breath.

  “That was a long time ago, Davis,” I whisper back.

  Now that makes him pull away, step back.

  “On your knees,” he orders, his voice rough but not cruel.

  I’ve broken whatever spell was maybe forming between us. I’ve put him back in his place. So, I get in mine.

  I get down on my knees, the soft knit dress still puddled around me. I lower my gaze, because I’m not sure if he wants me looking at him or not. This is his fantasy, after all, not mine. Maybe I can drift away on some daydream while he has his way with me, only coming back to myself when it’s time to fall asleep in this huge, warm bed. Or his bed. His warm body beside me all through the night. I’m not sure how I feel about that.

  “What are you thinking about?” he asks.

  I glance up, surprised.

  “From now on, whenever I ask you that question,” he continues, “I’d like you to answer it without hesitating.”

  He’s standing right in front of me. His shoes are immaculate. I try to keep my gaze from traveling up his legs.

  “You don’t have to tell me everything you’re thinking. You don’t have to reveal all your secrets. But I’d like you to tell me one thing. Just one thing you were thinking about.”

  My mind is suddenly blank. What was I thinking about? I can smell his aftershave. It’s subtle, not overpowering.

  “All right.” My voice is steady, but a little strained. “I was thinking about how comfortable this bed looks.”

  “I see.” I can hear the smile in his voice. “Perhaps you’d like to lie down on it. On your back. With those beautiful legs spread.”

  I rise as gracefully as I can and walk over to the bed. It takes some effort to get my short self onto that tall-ass piece of furniture. But once I’m up there, on my back, my head cradled on half a dozen pillows, I feel excited and powerful. Almost trembling with anticipation. Which is totally unacceptable, but I can’t help myself.

  I used to be like this all the time. I was warm and eager, unable to hold back a smile. I was excited for new experiences.

  But my father killed all that with the revelation of who he really is.

  Now, I’m not sure I can find—or be—that girl again.

  She’d been stupid anyway. Naïve.

  I push away all thoughts of my old self, lie back on the sateen bedspread, and spread my legs for Davis.

  Chapter Six

  Davis

  She’s a vision. So fucking beautiful. It stuns me, even though I already know she’s beautiful, even though I’ve had my mouth between her legs. I shouldn’t react this way to her, but I suspect I will. That each time I look at her naked body, it will be like it’s the first time.

  Her blond hair fans out over the satin pillows, the same ice blue as her eyes. Her pale skin seems to shiver like the comforter beneath her, and there are so many shadows and dips on her skin that I want to explore with my lips and tongue.

  It’s time to begin.

  Forcing myself to tear my gaze away, I head over to the closet. I pull on the diamanté handles and walk inside the spacious storage area. Behind me, I can feel her watching my back. I haven’t ordered her not to, so it’s fine. Anything to heighten the suspense. I take out two sets of black satin handcuffs, a single blindfold, and the riding crop delivered just yesterday.

  When I return to her bed, as expected, her gaze fixates immediately on the riding crop. In her cool, almost indifferent voice, all she says is “Wow. Breaking out the big guns.”

  Her attitude won’t affect me. I can let her pretend she feels nothing for me, for us. I’d felt the heat pouring off her during our kiss. Her body softened against mine, desire in her eyes.

  “Go big or go home.” I grin slyly. “Don’t worry. We’re going to have fun.”

  She straightens her head so she’s looking up at the ceiling. She takes a deep breath, making her breasts rise. I swallow, my lips suddenly dry.

  “Standard safe words are red to stop, yellow to slow down. Does that work for you?”

  She hesitates, then nods. I continue.

  “When I give an order, I expect you to obey it—or face punishment.”

  My dick’s getting hard at the idea of her obedience, her subservience. But also at the possibility of defiance. Punishment.

  “I understand,” she says.

  “I don’t expect you to call me sir. I do expect you to answer questions promptly and politely.”

  I run the riding crop through my loose fist. Open my hand and smack the popper against my palm. The skin tingles.

  “You’ve agreed to submit to me for the duration of this month. To fulfill any fantasy that I have. However, I want you to know that I respect your limits. You can always talk to me about what you want and don’t want. I’ll listen.”

  She breathes out sl
owly, and for a second I think I’ve reassured her, told her something she needs to hear. But then she laughs softly, bitterness in the sound.

  “I’m a big girl, Davis. I can take care of myself.”

  Fine. If she doesn’t want to have a conversation with me, we will communicate some other way.

  I place the blindfold on the antique wooden bed stand. We don’t need it yet. I want to be able to see the expression in her eyes for a little while longer.

  She watches me start to fasten the cuffs to her ankles. I take my time, stroking my fingers on one smooth leg, then the other. The tops of her feet are sensitive. I slide my fingertips along them, watching her calves tense. I wonder what would happen if I turn my attention to the soles of her feet. I decide to wait and find out once she’s fully bound.

  I fasten the cuff around her left ankle, gently adjusting it so it’s snug but not too tight. Then I bind it to the bedpost. I keep catching glimpses of the light thatch of hair between her legs and the pink folds it almost covers. I want to bury my face in there.

  No. Not yet.

  I fasten the right cuff. She sighs softly. Like it’s a relief to her, to be tied up. And maybe it is. Even someone like her—successful, sure of herself—has to get tired of being in control all the time.

  I’ll show her it’s okay to let go. I’ll help her.

  I fasten her left wrist cuff. On impulse, I lean down and kiss the palm of her bound hand. Her skin is salty and warm. She tilts her beautiful face towards me, and I smile.

  “You look good like this,” I whisper.

  She returns my gaze with a small smile of her own. Instead of going around the bed to do the other wrist cuff, I lean my upper body over her, letting my clothed chest brush her naked breasts and hard nipples. She gasps, her back arching slightly.