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Instead of placing Beau beside her, Loretta had put him across the table and to her own right, no doubt so she could grill him as to his intentions regarding her daughter.
But the arrangement had given Lia a chance to observe Beau from something of a remove. She liked the way his Adam’s apple bobbed when he drank from his water glass or sipped his wine. She loved the way he threw his head back when he laughed, the sound full-throated and sincere. And each time their eyes met, he offered a secret smile that was just for her.
Several times over the course of the evening his left index finger had brushed the side of his nose as he fixed Lia with a meaningful gaze. Heart skipping a beat, she’d excused herself from the table and made her way to the powder room. She’d enjoyed the edgy thrill of playing with herself in front of the gilded mirror while counting softly out loud, and the dark, submissive pleasure she’d derived from stopping the moment she’d mouthed, “Thirty.”
Though her sexual frustration made it almost impossible to sit still at the table without fidgeting, she consoled herself with the hope that he’d alleviate that frustration for her later that night.
Finally, the meal over, after-dinner drinks sipped and manly cigars smoked, she and Beau were able to make their getaway. On the drive back to her place, Beau made her laugh with his kind but spot-on assessments of her sisters’ good ol boy husbands and her parents’ less than subtle efforts to learn everything they could about his background and prospects. He didn’t ask her anything about how the bathroom masturbatory sessions had gone or inquire about the rope she wore beneath her dress.
Probably, he was just waiting until they got inside to reassert his masterful control.
Miraculously, he found a parking spot close to the building. He placed an arm lightly around her shoulders as they walked to her door. Once there, he dropped his arm and instead reached for her shoulders.
“Lia,” he said, staring down into her eyes.
Her heart began to pound.
“It’s been a privilege to work with you,” he continued. “And an honor to help you in your journey to connect with your inner submissive.” He grinned, adding, “And tonight was a hoot. Your parents had me half-believing we were already engaged before the appetizer course was over. We’d already tied the knot by dessert.”
Lia half laughed, half groaned. “Welcome to my world.”
This wasn’t going the way she envisioned it. She needed to get him inside. Reaching into her bag, she pulled out her key and slipped it into the lock. “The night’s still young and there are some cuffs hanging on my bedposts with my name on them, not to mention a box of toys under the bed.”
Oh, shit. Had she really just said that?Not exactly subtle, Lia.Oh, well. She’d never been good at subtle.
Beau smiled, but it didn’t quite meet his eyes. “Not tonight, Lia. I think we both need some time to process. Things can feel very intense when you’re in this kind of 24/7 training relationship. It’s good to take a step back to figure out what you’re actually feeling.”
She must have been making a face, because he reached out and stroked her cheek, his expression softening with…what exactly?Pity?What the hell?
“I know sometimes a strong BDSM connection can feel like more than it is,” he continued, his tone annoyingly patronizing. “We both knew going into this that it was finite. And make no mistake. You were amazing. You really rose to the challenge and revealed a genuine submissive streak that took courage and grace to uncover. I look forward to our continuing friendship, both on campus and at The Garden BDSM club. I wish you the very best.”
He leaned down and kissed her on the cheek.
The fucking bastardkissed her on the cheek.
Then, while she stared after him, too stunned and outraged to breathe, he walked away.
Chapter 22
Beau lay on his bed, his hands behind his head as he stared up at the ceiling. It was late—past midnight—but his eyes were wide open, his brain churning, his body stiff with tension.
I wish you the very best.
Seriously?
Jesus, Jackson. Couldn’t you have come up with a better parting line than that?
But this was about more than his lame-ass parting line. They’d just spent six days together in a very intensive one-on-one situation. Lia had risen beautifully to every challenge. Instead of rewarding her in some way—a scene at The Garden perhaps—or at the very least providing some kind of closure, he basically dumped her like a sack of potatoes at her door and ran off like a teenager with a curfew.
The hurt in her face had cut through him like a knife. But what choice had he had? Her invitation into her bed had made it very clear she had the wrong idea about the direction of their relationship. If the word relationship could even be employed.
The irresponsible truth was, he’d come very close to giving in to his own inappropriate desires. Spending a week in the sex-drenched D/s environment of The Enclave with a willing, naked slave girl had been a challenge in itself. The thought of binding her spreadeagle to her bed and fucking her silly had been very tempting. It had taken all his willpower to keep his dick in his pants.
And then he’d only made matters worse by giving her that erotic assignment of touching herself in the bathroom during dinner. Naturally, she’d expected some kind of resolution—sexual or otherwise. And he’d denied her. Not because she didn’t deserve one, but because he was a coward.
But what else could he have done? It wasn’t fair to lead her on. It was pretty clear from her behavior that evening that she was still caught in the throes of the intense dynamic that could develop between a trainer and trainee. It was like therapy patients who transferred their feelings onto their therapist. The patient might believe they were falling in love, when in fact they were just grateful to be seen and understood.
Yes. He’d been right to set clear boundaries when he’d dropped her off.
