Page 22 of Blood and Trouble

My thoughts had immediately gone to my initial reaction upon stumbling into that scene in his suite. I’d imagined his hands in my hair, my mouth wrapped around his cock, my knees stinging from the pressure of being on them for so long, my arms bound behind my back, the ache of flog marks on my ass and shoulders. But he’d assured me he wouldn’t demand anything I wasn’t comfortable with, including sex. He simply wanted to go out on the town with me on his arm, perfectly pliable.

Which was what I couldn’t wrap my mind around. He’d knelt on the bathroom floor and picked glass out of my foot, and this was all he wanted? I knew what to do with a debt. This seemed like unfair repayment.

When I’d agreed, I didn’t think he’d put me in two square inches of lace and call it a night. I had my reputation to protect, after all. Now, standing in my closet after he’d rifled through every unmentionable I’d brought with me, I recoiled at his suggestion.

“Trust me,” he said, rattling the hanger. “It’ll give you confidence.”

That did not alleviate my fears. “Where exactly are you taking me?”

Instead of answering, he handed the scrap of fabric to me before grabbing a miniskirt and a black tank top from the banister. “Put these on over it.”

Then he turned and left me alone to change. Huffing at the injustice, but knowing I could technically safeword out if I wanted, I unzipped my dress and tugged it over my head.

When he first broached this topic, he’d given me a word, Paris, and told me to say it if I wanted everything to stop. No questions asked. I hadn’t needed to use it. After the night he spent cleaning my foot and tucking me into bed, I trusted him…perhaps too much too soon, considering my relatively limited track record with letting men get close to me.

He’d said stepping out of my comfort zone would help me learn more about myself, about what I liked and disliked, what I wanted and needed. A hard line wasn’t something to be tested or pushed, and he promised he never would.

Which was why I found myself squeezing into the tiny negligee and casual outfit, swallowing my insecurities when my boobs threatened to spill out of the top. I stopped to peer at myself in the mirror. The person staring out at me was undeniably sexy, all delicious curves and femininity, even if I didn’t feel that way about myself inside.

“Well,” I whispered, “fake it until you make it, right?”

“Let me see,” Lycan called from the other side of the door.

I took a deep breath, mustered as much courage as I could, and pulled the barrier open. Lycan ran his eyes over me like a wolf sizing up its prey before deciding how best to devour it. He quickly locked his features into neutral and gestured to the leather boots next to me.

“Think you can handle those for the night?”

My foot had healed enough in the last two days to stop hurting when I walked, but I still hadn’t tried stilettos again. A chunky heel wouldn’t kill me, so I slipped them on and tested a few steps. When I didn’t wince or grimace, he hummed his approval.

“Perfect.” He clapped once and rubbed his hands together, revealing his greedy excitement for his planned itinerary. I ignored the somersault in my belly at the sight of his toned arms, extending from a black V-cut T-shirt with his leather cut over it. Compared to him, I might as well have been naked. “Remember your spine, okay? You’re Avalon Vanderbilt, and you don’t take shit from anyone.”

I wondered what the hell would make him say that. “What?”

“We’re roughing it tonight, Trouble,” he said with a playful wink. “Time for you to be a little reckless.”

The limo wasn’t waiting for us outside. Instead, Lycan steered me around the back of the hotel to the loading bay, where a matte black motorcycle leaned against the curb.

I froze, dug in my heels. “Absolutely not.”

“Isn’t she gorgeous? Bas dropped it off this afternoon.” He ran his palm along the tank like he was admiring a prized horse. “It belongs to a brother whose wife just had a baby. He won’t miss it for a night.”

“Lycan, I’ve never⁠—”

“I know.” He lifted the helmet off the seat and turned it in his hands. “That’s the point.”

I opened my mouth to list all the reasons this was a terrible idea: insurance, liability, the fact I was the face of a company with a market cap larger than some countries. But he put the helmet on my head before I could speak and connected the strap under my chin, knuckles brushing my throat, close enough that I could smell leather and pine and something warmer underneath.

“Too tight?”

“No,” I managed.

“Good.” He didn’t step back. “Boots on the pegs, not the pipes. Lean when I lean. Don’t fight the turn. And hold on.”

“Hold on to what?”

He twisted his lips into a tiny grin. “Me, Trouble.”

Lycan swung a leg over the seat, and I reluctantly followed, nearly tumbling off the damned thing. Then the engine turned over beneath me, and I forgot every objection I had. The machine rumbled between my thighs, and a moan barreled out of me that I would deny later.