Page 31 of Unbound Boxset

CHAPTER TWELVE

Grant sat in his living room. He had a good brood going, and the music playing in the background only added to his mood. Frank Sinatra sang about being stupid and saying I love you. He raised his glass of vodka on the rocks and gave Old Blue Eyes a toast. The singer had lost his lady loves one at a time yet still lived to a ripe old age.

Grant knew he was done. Ariel Devlin had ruined him for any other woman. All the ones to come after her would only be plagiarized versions of a brilliant Picasso or gleaming diamond. Just dogs playing poker or paste.

The thought almost made a strangled laugh rise to his lips. Almost. He sipped his vodka and wondered what the hell was going on. He’d had breakups before. When his wife left, it took a while to get back his stride, but he’d never missed his morning meditations or practices. He was going on day three without meditating. He’d given evening class to his assistant because he couldn’t bear the thought of watching the door and waiting for Ariel to arrive.

He missed her throaty laugh and dirty truck-driver language. He missed her wicked grins and hearty appetite and constantly beeping phone notifications. He missed her energy and her passion.

He was so screwed.

The ice clanked against the heavy cut glass as he drained his drink. It was done. She’d move to Chicago and he needed to keep living his life. His school was his mainstay and spirit. He needed to get his head out of his ass and concentrate on making the program better. Tomorrow, he’d begin meditation again and commit fully to his practice. Maybe a juice fast would help cleanse both his body and his mind.

He got up from the couch and went to bed.

* * *

The noise put him on full alert.

Grant sat up in bed, his gaze narrowing in on the doorway. The apartment seemed quiet, but something was off. Something had wakened him. His senses sharpened, and his ears strained for a sound of an intruder. Nothing. Yet, the room smelled differently. A lingering scent of Ariel filled the air, probably from his dreams. Mingled vanilla and spicy musk that drenched her skin and made his senses weep.

He shook off the thought and the urge to turn on the light. Only a dream. He settled back on the pillow.

Then saw her.

She stood in the doorway of his bedroom, silent as a ghost. The moonlight trickling through his window threw her into sharp silhouette. His breath literally choked in his throat, as if a hammer had swung and struck his chest.

Ariel.

She wore a high push-up black lace bra. He caught the glimpse of ruby red nipples, poking out of the sheer front, easily discerned in the weak light. Her smooth, vanilla skin gleamed. A wisp of a black thong barely covered the juncture between her thighs. High black heels emphasized the length of her legs and the perfect curve of her ass.

A sexy smile pouted her lips as she leaned against the door frame with a lazy satisfaction and watched him. A pair of black handcuffs swung from her plum-colored fingernails. Her hips were thrust at an angle, giving him a good look at her naked tummy and high, pointed breasts, spilling out of the tight lace.

Grant grew hard immediately, rising to lengths he didn’t know he’d ever achieved. His heart stopped, then began pounding. He tried to speak but only found himself uttering one word like a question. “Ariel?”

She pushed herself away from the door and slowly walked into his bedroom. She paused beside the mahogany posted bed, the cuffs dangling in her grasp. She licked her lips deliberately and leaned over. Her breasts were in view of his eyes and he gulped like a sixteen-year-old seeing his first stripper.

“Hi, Grant.” His name rolled off her tongue as if tangled in smoke. “Have you missed me?”

Like breath, and taste and touch and sight. Instead, he only nodded. She climbed up on the mattress beside him, and settled on all fours, her buttocks a perfect arc and bare to his gaze, lifted upward as if just waiting for him to enter her. As he was distracted, she clipped one end of the handcuffs to the post on the headboard. Tested the strength by pulling the velvet rope. Then reached for his hand. Her fingers fluttered through his like a delicate tease, and he heard the definitive click of the cuffs as one wrist was securely fastened.

Grant shook his head in an effort to clear it. Was this some sort of mirage or dream? How much vodka had he drunk? The thought disappeared as the reality of her scent and feel of her skin slid around him.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“Seducing you.” Her words shot through his brain like an immediate aphrodisiac. He grew harder and pushed against the constraints of his boxers in discomfort. She lowered herself over him, her hair brushing against his cheek as a second set of cuffs were suddenly clicked to his right hand. Grant realized both hands were competently chained and he couldn’t move.

Unease trickled down his spine. “But I thought you were in Chicago.”

She shushed him by laying one finger over his lips. “No talking about Chicago or anything else. Tonight, I want to concentrate on tantra.”

His unease deepened. “What do you mean?”

She shook her hair out and laughed like a Greek goddess about to play with a god. “You always got to explore the limits of your control, but I never did. It’s my turn.”

“Ariel—”

“Relax and enjoy the ride, baby. I intend to.”