51. July 15th

JULY 15TH

TB

Until recently,it had been a long time since he had felt fear. The night Flame had been taken had been the first day since the death of his parents that he'd allowed that emotion any power over him. Tonight, however, he was petrified. How was it possible for one tiny little woman, one who was scared of her own shadow at times, one who trusted no one, to trust him? A man who had nothing to offer her but off-the-charts sex and a surly temper. He doubted the former could even begin to make up for the latter.

He had always believed that nothing could make him run. Oh, what a lie that was. He had always been running. Running from his grief over his parents. Running from the restraint of the army. Running from the law. Running from his team. Running from himself.

There would be no more running. Not anymore. And definitely not from her.

The past few weeks had been eye-opening ones for him.

He'd never lived with anyone before. Not like this. The overcrowded rooms of the orphanage, the tents and barracks of the army, were not like this. In those places, there had been no privacy. Not even enough to sit and think quietly. Here? He was with her whenever he wasn't at Tribe, but he didn't feel crowded. Even if he sat with her all night in her sanctuary, he never felt like his privacy was invaded.

He had tried to stay at Tribe one night the first week. He spent a long time explaining to her why he was leaving. Giving her space. Not wanting to invade. Taking things slow. He should have saved himself the hours of time he used to plot and plan the delivery of his reasoning because it didn't work. He got to the apartment, wandered around for a while, then got back in his truck, went to her house, and slid into bed beside her. She hadn't said a word.

The next night, he tried again. He didn't even make it six blocks before he turned around to get back to her.

He hadn't gone back to his apartment since, except to pick up his few belongings, which now hung in a closet in "his" room from when he was protecting her. They kept their things in their individual rooms but ate together when he got home, they sat together while she worked, and they slept together in the window bed every night.

He wouldn't have it any other way.

Two weeks ago, Nemo had advised him to make a grand gesture that would show Flame he meant to stay. A gesture that would be the ultimate gift so that she would want to bind herself to him permanently. He'd known since that day what he needed to do, but emotionally, she had been nowhere near ready for it. Today, she was.

The stair creaked behind him, and his hand reflexively went to rub at his chest as he turned.

Is it going to be like this every time she walks down those fucking stairs?

She took his breath away. The clothes weren't even revealing most of the time. It was just something about the whole situation. The sound of her arrival. The scent of her perfume. The sight of all that innocence, sass, and sexiness all wrapped up in one. The anticipation of meeting her at the bottom of the stairs. Her on the bottom step, him flat on the floor, and looking into her eyes. He didn't think it could ever get old because every time that damn stair creaked from her stepping on it, he'd be transported back to these moments of wonder and anticipation.

He met her at the bottom step. He still had to look down at her, but tonight was a little less than usual. She wore the black coat dress like a steampunk goddess. It was all form-fitted sleeves and bodice, but once the waistline hit, all bets were off. The skirt flared out, with flounced layers underneath, and the buttons down the front stopped functioning just below the juncture where her legs met, revealing a creamy expanse of thigh until black velvet over-the-knee boots that were her standard five-inch heel. Added bonus? She had these fake tinted eyeglasses, small and round in shape, making her look like a scientist and a librarian all in one. Smart woman that she was, she knew his weakness and exploited that by piling her red hair high on her head in some sort of creative top knot and leaving stray strands down and curling around her face. He'd be playing with one or more of those curls all night long, and she knew it.

"You look gorgeous, princess," he told her as he leaned down to kiss her cheek. "You make a very suitable steampunk librarian for Tripoli's theme night at the grand re-opening of The Library."

Her hands went to his chest and rested there. "You're not so bad yourself. But you are not exactly in keeping with the theme," she chastised as she gestured to his everyday outfit of a black dress shirt, black jeans, and black cowboy boots.

He grunted. "Not big into dress up. At least, not for myself."

"Mmm. That's all right. I've always been partial to your bad wolf persona," she teased, reaching out to smooth down his shirt collar. Her attention was caught by his newest tattoo on the side of his neck—a red wolf with emerald-green eyes.

His hand reached up to take her hand in his, which he brought to his mouth and kissed her fingertips. He caught the scent of roses on her wrist, where she had dabbed her favorite perfume.

He breathed her in, then he pulled her close, hugging her tightly to him, wishing he could wrap up this moment like he was wrapping her up in his arms. They stood there, just holding one another in the quiet of the house.

"I have something for you," he said as he pulled away.

He turned and walked over to the dining room table, where a black gift bag sat. From out of the bag, he pulled a jewelry box from the store Midas had researched and given to him on the day they rescued Flame. It clearly held some type of necklace. He exhaled slowly, the weight of the box in his hand translating into a grip tightening around his lungs.

Will she understand what it means?

Slowly, he turned to face her. She stood where he'd left her, her bottom lip trapped beneath her top front teeth.

She's nervous because she can tell that you're nervous. Relax!

The space between them was less than twenty feet, but it felt like they were at two ends of a black tunnel. One that was closing in on them with each step he took back toward her.

Once back in front of her, he held out the box to her.

She looked at him, confused.

"Open it." Technically, it may have been a command, but his voice was soft and filled with trepidation.

Cautiously, she reached for the box and opened the hinged lid. She couldn't help but give a soft gasp at what was inside, and her eyes opened wider. She put her hand out to touch it but then pulled back at the last second, grabbing her throat with that same hand.

Inside the velvet box was a strand of twelve teardrop gems attached to a chainmail collar. And in the center of the collar was a silver wolf's head inside the O-ring, its head thrown back in a howl for its mate. At the back was a small silver lock with a key inside it.

"It's beautiful," she whispered. She looked closer. "Are… are those diamonds?"

He shrugged. His nerves were jangling.

"I don't know what to say."

"Say you'll wear it for me. Please."

She looked at him, her eyes shining. "You've never said ‘please' before."

"This is important.

She chewed on her bottom lip. "This isn't just a collar for nights out at The Library."

"No, it's not," he confirmed. "This is permanent. This is something you'd give someone for a collaring ceremony." He sighed. "I'm not doing this right."

"There's no right or wrong way, TB. It's just your way. Think of it like when you ask me to spell out my limits bluntly. I need your words clearly on this so that I know where your head is. You're not exactly Mr. Expressive. And we definitely don't want misconceptions on this."

He smiled. "No. No, we do not."

"So, just tell me. No frills or fancy speeches. Just say what you need to say."

Centering his breathing helped him clear his cluttered brain. "I love you, Sylvan. I honestly never believed I'd find someone I wanted permanently in my life, but I've discovered that now I do. You are all the pieces of me that are missing. I want to make our arrangement permanent. I know it's probably not the type of arrangement you've dreamed of, but to me, it's far stronger of a bond than a marriage would be. I can't marry you. Not in a traditional sense, because I technically don't exist. But this I can do.

"As for the lock, it's a reminder. Not for you. For me. Not that I really need it, but it's a reminder of the gift you're giving me. A reminder to take care of you. Because if you don't take care of something—if you just lock it away, it withers and dies."

Her palm cradled the side of his face. "I would be honored to wear it."

He exhaled in relief.

"Turn around, Sylvan."

As she turned her back to him, with shaking hands, he removed the collar from the white silk bed it lay upon. He closed the box, tossed it on the landing, took each end, raised it up over her head, then lowered it down in front of her face. He placed it at her throat just above the hollow he loved to kiss so much. With a quiet click, he locked the collar in place. He kissed the back of her head, then gently turned her on the stair to face him.

She stepped down off the stairs and went to stand in front of the mirror in the hallway. She reached up to touch the gems that dangled from the chainmail links. He stepped up behind her—his hands on her shoulders, his head bent down to rest his lips next to her ear. Their eyes caught in the mirror, and he was reminded of the first night they met at the club when he showed through the mirror exactly the beauty that she was. The flush on her chest, neck, and cheeks told him she was remembering as well.

"It's beautiful on you," he assured her. "I knew it would be."

"It's more than I deserve."

Shaking his head, he turned her to face him, arms banding gently around her waist. "No. In fact, I have one more gift for you. That is if you don't mind being late to the party tonight."

"Hmm." She pretended to consider the option. "Does this gift include multiple toe-curling orgasms? Because if it does, we probably will never make it to the party at all. I don't think you want Tripoli mad at you."

Normally, he would have chuckled at her playfulness, but the collar was only the first half of what he'd been fearing tonight. Now, he needed to give her the second half.

"I have a sneaking suspicion he'd understand." He thought about what he'd just said and then about his plan. "Then again, he probably wouldn't."

Do I dare?

Can you do it?

For her, yes. I can give her this. And if I do, it means I'm giving her everything. Everything she wants. Everything she needs.

Everything I need.

"If I didn't know better, I'd think my big, badass interrogator was nervous," she teased.

"Worse. Terrified."

"What could scare you?"

Releasing her waist, he dragged his arms from around her, snagging her forearms as he backed up. When his hands reached hers, they gripped them tightly. "Come with me."

With a gentle tug, he pulled her to the stairs. Together, they walked side-by-side up to the second floor, then down the hall to the staircase to the third floor. A hand on her lower back, he urged her to climb the spiral staircase ahead of him. When they reached the top, she turned to ask him what was going on, but her eye was caught by something in her peripheral vision. A double take clarified what she had seen.

A white, silk blindfold.

A short coil of white silk rope.

Grinning, she crossed over to the bed and picked the items up, modeling one in each hand, her hip cocked and a sultry smile on her face. "Are we taking them with or putting them to use now?"

Without a smile in response, he crossed the room to stand in front of her, his fingers deftly unbuttoning his dress shirt and untucking it from the waist of his jeans. "Now." He dropped the shirt on the floor at the foot of the bed.

Standing shirtless before her, he removed the wire-rimmed glasses perched on the end of her nose, folded the arms, and set them on the bookcase at the foot of the bed.

One by one, he began pulling her hairpins free, placing them neatly on top of the bookshelf. Once he thought he had them all removed and her hair hung loose down her back, his hands threaded through the long tresses, ensuring all of the pins were gone and that the tangles were combed out.

God, I love her hair. Totally obsessed with it.

He took one step back from her, leaving her standing with the blindfold and rope still in her hands and her lip being worried by her front teeth. Reaching out, he rescued the lip from being wounded.

With a smile of reassurance, he sat on the edge of the bed to pull his boots off. Standing again, his hands reached for his belt. He pulled the loose end with his right hand, flipped the buckle with his left, and slid the leather from the prong. With one pull, he slipped the belt from the loops of his jeans, then threw it to join his shirt. When the metal clinked against the floor, he saw her jump slightly, and her skin rose in gooseflesh. He wanted to pull her close to warm her, but he was afraid if he did, he wouldn't continue with his plan.

He unbuttoned his jeans and slid the zipper down, the rasp of the metal teeth loud in the quiet. Her breaths were beginning to speed up, her chest rising and falling in awareness of what was coming.

He slid the jeans down gently past his hips. Once he'd cleared his hips, he shoved the denim down to his ankles in an impatient push. He removed the pants from his legs, throwing them to his clothing pile, and also pulled his socks from his feet. Shoving them in his boots, he then tossed the boots over to the pile as well. She definitely jumped at their thunk.

His hand was shaking as it raised to hers holding the blindfold. After taking it from her, he reached back up to her face and stroked the back of his hand down her cheek, the white silk strand trailing along her side.

"So beautiful. So trusting. You undo me, Sylvan." He ran his hands up and down her arms to try and chase some of the gooseflesh away.

Draping the blindfold around his neck, he took the rope from her hand and laid it on the bed, then began the sensual assault of undressing her. With every button he slipped, every tie he loosened, every zipper he released, he made sure to kiss the inch of skin it revealed. With every piece of clothing he took off of her, his hands smoothed over the flushed skin. When he knelt at her feet to remove her boots, he heard her whimper.

When she was bared to him, his hands curved around the back of her thighs, and he looked up at her. "It's time."

She picked up the rope again and held it out to him. His smile was a mere ghost of humor while curling her fingers around it. He shook his head. "No, Sylvan. Not this time."

She furrowed her brow. "But?—"

He stopped her question with a finger pressed to his lips. "It's not for you, princess. It's for me."

Her confusion remained. "I don't understand."

"I know. That's why I'm telling you. The rope isn't to restrain you. It's to restrain me. Do you understand?"

Her gaze was curious. Understanding dawned in a flash, her eyes widening in surprise, her mouth dropping open, her cheeks blushing deep. "But… you're a Dom."

"And what is a Dom's job?"

"To take care of their sub's needs."

"Correct, princess."

"But I don't need this. I don't need to tie you up."

"Not specifically, maybe. But you need me to give myself to you, and this is the best way I can do that. If I make myself vulnerable to you, it is a clear statement that I trust you implicitly. That I'm choosing you. That I'm giving you everything."

Her eyes swam with tears. "Everything?" she whispered.

"Everything, Sylvan. Every broken, grumpy piece of me. I'm yours. Always."

Her hands smoothed across his forehead, down his cheeks, and rested there. She bent down and pressed her lips to his forehead. When she stood upright, there were tears falling from her eyes.

"Why are you crying? Aren't you happy?"

She nodded. "So happy."

He pulled the blindfold from around his neck and held it up to her. "Do your worst, princess."

"The gesture is enough."

Shaking his head, he reassured her. "No. I want this. I want you to have this."

Now, it was her hands shaking as they reached out to take it from his hand. The exchange was far more symbolic than he had imagined it would be.

No going back now. And dammit, I don't want to go back.