Only for the Night (If Only Book 2) (22 page)

Past or no past, he would do this. No matter what.

She padded down the hall just in time to catch V. throwing a final glance around Hank’s bedroom, his overnight bag in hand.

“Hey. Where’s Hank?”

V. took in her sleep-rumpled appearance with an indulgent smile. “Took Knight for a run. The big brute was getting antsy.”

“Is that a reference to the dog or Hank?”

“Both.”

She laughed.

The kitchen was empty of dirty breakfast dishes, for which she said a silent thank-you. “I thought you and Hank had more work to do,” she said when V. followed her in. She didn’t mind admitting, at least to herself, that she’d hoped V. would hang around a little longer to…help out. Her hang-ups in regard to telling Hank what to do were a mile wide; having an intermediary had seemed like a godsend.

One side of V.’s mouth tilted up in a smile. “Gotta get back to Jane.”

She wondered what the woman who’d captured his heart was like. V. had never played with the same type of sub; he’d liked variety, and he was well experienced. She hadn’t known a sub named Jane at Heathers, though. Maybe he’d met her elsewhere? On the road?

Her stomach sank at the thought of Hank on the road again. She hadn’t considered it much before, but now the idea of all the groupies she was sure hung around made her hands tremble. She swallowed hard, turning her attention to making a fresh pot of coffee.

“You okay?” V. asked quietly. He must’ve noticed her shaking, though she wished he hadn’t. A good Dom always followed up, and V. was, above all, a good Dom. And usually right, even now, when she’d rather he stayed to play go-between. That was really nothing more than the need for someone else to fill in for her inadequacies, and it wouldn’t help in the long run. She and Hank needed time together, just the two of them, to solidify things, establish solid ground.

“I’m okay, Vincent.”

V. nodded, his attention on her solemn, serious. Then, lightning quick, he shot her a wink. “Then have fun. And take care.”

Always with the concern, even when he was playing. Sage flipped the switch to start the coffee, then walked right up to the intimidating Dom to give him a hug. “Thank you.”

“Anytime, Sage.”

After V. left, she took her coffee to the bathroom for her shower, then returned to the kitchen. Mondays were her time to play—the market was closed and things were usually quiet, and the happiness bubbling up inside her called for some baking.

The open windows allowed the late-morning ocean breeze to blow through. Sage enjoyed the feel of it against her bare legs, the way it shifted the soft cotton of her short dress against her skin. Her muscles burned as she mixed cake batter by hand, humming along to the radio absentmindedly. She’d been dreaming over a cooking catalog when she’d come across a mini-bundt cake pan she simply had to have, and it had come via mail order a few days ago. She’d decided on red velvet with cream cheese icing. Maybe if the cakes turned out well, she could try them out in the market.

Her cell phone rang just as she was putting the tray of cakes into the oven. The screen flashed an unfamiliar number with a Cali area code. She rarely got phone calls, except from Deirdre or Alice.

Alice.

She had the oven closed and the phone in her hand before the third ring. “Hello?”

“Sage.”

That’s not Alice.
It was her first thought. Her second was
son of a bitch
. “Kevin?”

“You’ve been avoiding my calls.”

“So you called me from a number I wasn’t familiar with.” It wasn’t a question. As persistent as her ex had been, this really shouldn’t surprise her. “Good-bye, Kevin.”

The phone was only inches from her ear when his barked, “Wait!” reached her. She didn’t bring the phone back because of his command; she brought it back because she honestly wondered what the hell he wanted. If he thought there was even a remote chance of them getting back together, he had more selective memory than she would’ve thought possible.

When the dial tone didn’t sound, Kevin must’ve realized she hadn’t hung up—the hint of smug in his tone said he’d counted on her obedience. “Good girl.”

The words made her sick to her stomach. “What do you want, Kevin?”

“What I’ve wanted for months: to talk to you.”

She snorted. “You haven’t wanted me talking for a long time now. Try again.”

He hesitated. Surprised? She didn’t think so, but there was always a first time.

“Sage…” The slightest touch of contrition entered his voice. “I know things went bad. I handled it all wro—”

“Do you know what I think? I think you want what you can’t have. There are dozens of subs at Heathers that would be more than happy to fall at your feet.” And they would be as complicated as a one-night stand, which was probably what he preferred since he hadn’t been able to handle a relationship with her. “Go find one and leave me alone. We are through—you made that quite clear the last night we were together.”

Remembered humiliation washed through her with the memories. Sage deliberately brought up the image of Hank as he’d been last night, his beautiful face tight with climax, mouth twisted as he pushed against her with all the force in that powerful body. He hadn’t held back. He’d let go, for her. For them, despite years of training himself to do the exact opposite. No matter how far they were able to take this, Hank knew what a relationship needed: giving. Not taking. Kevin didn’t have the slightest clue and never would.

He was sputtering words she didn’t bother to listen to before cutting him off. “Kevin.”

Something in the quiet intensity of her voice must’ve warned him. “No, Sage. I—”

But that Dom voice no longer affected her. “I’m done. I’ve moved on with my life. I’m not your submissive anymore, and I never will be again. Don’t call me. Don’t text me. Don’t contact me again. Is that clear?”

He didn’t answer; she didn’t expect him to. She hit the End Call button without waiting, then placed the phone on the counter with extreme care.

Air. She needed air.

The decking roughed up her bare feet, but in her haste to get out, she’d forgotten shoes. Who cared? Certainly not her—all she cared about was gulping in deep breaths to keep from losing it. Only the equally rough railing beneath her hands grounded her, steadied her with its solid weight.

And then Hank’s hands, so big and so rough and yet so sweet on her body, came around her waist. There wasn’t a moment of doubt as to who was touching her; she’d know him anywhere, not just his touch but his warm breath on her bare neck, his solid body pulling her in.

“Hank,” she whispered, unable to get out more. Just his presence filled her that full.

He didn’t speak. It was as if he could sense everything roiling inside her without her having to say a word. No one had ever read her as well as he did. She let herself lean against that wide chest, wide enough to take on the world’s sorrows and carry them seemingly without effort. She wanted to carry his. She’d give anything to gift him with the sense of belonging he was giving her. He had no idea what he’d committed to when he’d slept with her, but he’d never be sorry. She’d make sure of it.

Long minutes passed just like that, absorbing Hank’s strength, breathing in the clean ocean air. Only when she sagged back against him, the last bit of tension gone, did Hank speak.

“That was damn good to hear.”

She closed her eyes and savored his approval. “Thank you.”

“Thank you. I would’ve paid money to see that.”

A laugh escaped past the knot in her throat.

“You did well, Sage.” Hank ducked his head to lick that sensitive spot below her ear, flattened his palms just beneath her belly button to feel her muscles jump with the spike of hunger he set off. When his mouth traced the line of her throat, she shivered.

“Hank.” It wasn’t a whisper this time; it was a plea. Hank made love to her sensitive skin, his mouth magic, his tongue a hot whip against her throat. Sage felt the tightening in her nipples, the heat between her legs. Against the small of her back, Hank’s erection firmed. When his teeth came out to play, she dragged his hands up and pressed them to her aching breasts.

Hank’s chuckle was rough with arousal. “Again? Didn’t you get enough last night?”

He was teasing, she knew, but her response wasn’t. “I can never get enough of you.”

Hank sucked her earlobe gently, bit down until she moaned his name a second time. She could feel his grin against her neck, in the rough brush of his scruff, and she bet that look was smug. She didn’t mind his smug.

“I can’t either,” he assured her. “All I can think about when I’m not inside you is when I get to come back in.”

A surge of hunger arrowed through her. She tried to turn, to press herself against him like her body was screaming to do, but the abrupt lift of Hank’s head and a hissed curse stopped her.

“What is it?” She didn’t need him to tell her, though; she already knew. She’d seen it this morning when she brushed her hair after her shower. A dark splotch, right there where her neck met her shoulder, her favorite place for Hank to kiss—and bite. And he had last night. Enough that he’d left behind a reddened patch there. The collar of a button-down would easily conceal the mark when she went back to work tomorrow, but her scoop-necked summer dress was nowhere near enough to hide it from Hank’s sensual exploration. If it weren’t for her hair loose around her shoulders, he would’ve spotted it the minute he saw her.

Now he stepped around her, a scowl pulling his sensual mouth tight. Light fingers traced the hickey. “Did I do that?”

“Yes.” She tried to put all her approval, the pleasure seeing his mark gave her, into that one word.

“Damn it, I’m sorry, baby.”

“Why?”

His finger traced another circle around the spot. Shadows clouded his eyes. “I hurt you.”

The smile left her face; she could feel her desire disappearing with it. Without a word, she turned away, escaped to the kitchen. Straightening things on the counter gave her eyes somewhere to go besides Hank’s face.

He was behind her in a second, his hands settling heavily on her shoulders. A hesitant squeeze. “Hey.” He bent down, his words cautious, almost wary in her ear. “I really am sorry. I’ll be more careful.”

Sage caught her bottom lip in her teeth, trying hard to keep her words in, to not upset him. Not because she was afraid; it was just one more emotional overload of a conversation she didn’t think she could handle. Even now, she had to force herself not to beg him to squeeze a little bit—or a lot—harder. To give her another hickey, somewhere no one but the two of them could see. She fisted a measuring cup until the metal handle creaked.

She should’ve known Hank wouldn’t let it go. He turned her around to face him, took the poor cup from her hand, and placed it on the counter. A finger tilted her chin up so she couldn’t hide. “What?”

“I—” Her throat closed up tight.

Hank’s frown deepened. “Tell me,” he demanded, voice sinking into that deep Dom register that made her want to get on her knees. Even knowing he wasn’t aware of what he was doing, she couldn’t disobey.

“I…like it.”

The words came out in a rush, seeking the air before she lost her nerve, before Hank’s command could lose its power.

“The bruise?” Confusion flickered in his eyes.

She nodded, struggling to find words to make him understand. “I like…marks.” She settled a palm over the hickey. Protecting it, maybe, which seemed ridiculous. “It reminds me, forces me to remember. It’s like taking you with me when I have to leave.” A barely there twinge of pain went through her as she pressed lightly on the spot. “Like a secret that’s just between you and me.”

Hank shook his head. The vee between his brows dug deeper. “A man shouldn’t leave behind bruises.”

And a woman shouldn’t want them, right?
If he still felt that way…

She opened her eyes and stared straight up into his, trying to project every scrap of strength she had. “Did you hear what I said? How it makes me feel? Or are you stuck back on some code of behavior that has nothing to do with us?” When she settled her hands on the thick muscles of his chest, she could feel his heart racing, matching her own. She refused to stop, though. “Think about it again. What did I say, Hank?”

His finger was still beneath her chin, but the strength to look at him left her along with any other way to explain. She didn’t know what to say—or at least, how to say it so he would get it. Old shame, so close to the surface after talking to Kevin, rose in the back of her throat. Hank’s sigh made it worse. Staring at his chin wasn’t enough; she closed her eyes—it was her only place to hide.

“Look at me.”

That tone couldn’t be denied. And in his eyes, she thought she saw the disapproval fading. In its place was something calculating, considering—Hank was trying to assimilate what she’d said. Hesitant, she held his gaze and her breath and let him think.

Slowly, one by one, the finger beneath her chin became fingers, then a palm. Hank cupped her jaw, stared into her eyes. His hand tightened. Sage sighed, everything in her melting at the power of his touch. The security. The knowledge that nothing could break his hold on her—that’s what the bite of pain in her jaw gave her. She didn’t know why she needed it; she only knew that she did.