Chapter 37

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Diana

“Did you hear me?”

Dragon looks lost in thought. He’s looking at me but not looking at me. It’s like he’s looking right through me and seeing something else.

“Do I have to repeat myself? If you want to leave, do it on your own. I’m not throwing you out of here.”

Then his eyes go wide, and I see the fire within them.

They’re laced with sadness but also with something that seems overpowering to him.

And it’s overpowering to me as well.

A storm is raging inside Dragon Locke, and I’ve only begun to comprehend it. I should step away. I should be the one to kick him out. I may not be equipped to handle the tornado that’s cycling inside him.

But my God… Something in him calls to me.

Emotion is coiled in my belly, threatening to spring forth into something I may not be ready for.

That doesn’t matter. Because it’s here.

It’s here, and I can’t tamp it down any longer.

Feelings, such strong feelings.

They have me anchored in place—unable to stop what’s inevitably going to happen.

It’s happened before, and already I know this time will be that much more passionate, that much more primal.

I reach toward him, brush the shirt off his broad muscled shoulders.

My gaze automatically drops to his pierced nipples, the massive dragon tattoo covering nearly his whole chest. The colors as they swirl together like fire and ice.

That’s what Dragon is, after all. He’s fire and he’s ice.

He’s capable of so much more than even he knows. He’s a hard and passionate lover, yet he holds back.

My God… What if he didn’t?

Will he truly tie me up the way he says he wants to? Will he spank my ass until it’s red and hurting?

I want to know.

I want to see Dragon unleashed.

Dragon on fire.

Not the Dragon who holds himself in ice, who is afraid to let his true self out.

He thinks he’s sin. He thinks he’s evil.

But I don’t believe it. I believe this man is good inside. I believe he did give that prostitute money, and for his good deed, he was punished.

“Why?” I ask softly.

Dragon blinks a few times, and the glaze in his eyes dissipates. “What do you mean? Why haven’t I left?”

I shake my head. “Why did you give that young woman money? If you had just gone away, if you hadn’t been moved by her pleas—which were probably lies, by the way—you could have avoided getting arrested.”

He doesn’t respond, not that I expected him to.

I stand up. “I want to understand, Dragon. I want to understand you.”

Dragon casts his gaze to the floor. “No, you don’t.”

“Who are you to tell me what I want and don’t want?” I place my hand over my heart. “If I say I want to understand, then I want to understand. Not everyone lies.”

He shakes his head. “I’m not saying you’re lying, Diana. I think you think you want to understand. But if you could see inside my head—if you could see the darkness that’s inside me—you wouldn’t say that.”

Christ, are we on this hobby horse again?

“Tell me one thing. That’s all I ask. Why did you give her money?”

He draws in a breath, stares at me a moment, and then— “She reminded me of someone, okay? Satisfied?”

“Who did she remind you of?”

“Sorry. You told me to tell you one thing. I told you.”

I can’t argue with his logic. I just didn’t expect his answer to lead to more questions.

What is his story? Why is he the way he is?

How does one become an addict?

There are about a zillion answers to that question. Not that I would know any. Dragon is the first addict I’ve known. I knew people in college who overindulged, but none of them were addicts. They’d go back to class on Monday and continue getting straight As, only to party hard again the following weekend.

That’s not addiction. That’s letting loose.

Addiction is another thing altogether. Since I hardly drink and I never took drugs—at least not knowingly—it’s not something I understand. But I want to understand. Because I want to understand Dragon.

But if he won’t tell me who the hooker reminded him of, he’s certainly not going to indulge me if I pepper him with questions about addiction.

Dragon is a very private person, and it probably irks him that I even know he’s an addict.

“Fine,” I say. “I won’t ask any more questions. At least not tonight. But as I said, I’m not kicking you out of here. If you want to leave, leave on your own.”

“I don’t want to leave,” he says. His voice is low, almost menacing.

I can’t help a slight smile. That’s the first time he’s said anything like that. That he actually wants to be with me.

“Then don’t.”

“Show me your silk scarves,” he says darkly.

The two halves of my tank top are still hanging around my arms, my breasts totally exposed. I walk to my dresser, open the top drawer where I keep my scarves and other accessories. I choose a dark-blue one. Not because of the darkness in Dragon, but because it’s on top.

I hand it to him.

He gazes at it, moves it in his hands, fingering the fabric. “You have another?”

“I do.” I grab the next scarf, which is light pink.

Darkness and light.

Dusk and dawn.

I hand it to him.

He takes it, gazes at it for another minute, fingering the fabric once more.

“Lie down on the bed, Diana. Lie down and grab two rungs on your headboard.”

His voice is low and dark, and for a moment, I feel like it’s the dragon on his chest talking to me. As if that’s the true person he is on the inside. A fire-breathing dragon.

But he’s not.

He’s simply a man. A troubled man. A man for whom I’m rapidly developing feelings I shouldn’t have.

It’s more than just his dark good looks. Hell, I come from a family of men with dark good looks. It’s more than just his gorgeous hazel eyes. Even though they’re so unique, like a cascade of water falling over soft moss.

It’s the beast within him. The storm-tossed animal trying to get out.

And it’s focused solely on me.

It tells me to obey him. To obey him without further questions.

So I do exactly that.

I lie down on my bed, and I grab two of the oak rungs.

He ties my wrists to the rungs tightly. He doesn’t ask if it’s too tight. He simply does it.

I don’t complain.

He’ll untie me if I ask him to. He hasn’t said this, but I already know he will. Because despite what he thinks of himself, he’s not evil. Evil men don’t give prostitutes money to keep them out of trouble with their pimps.

Evil men don’t worry so much about relapsing into the darkness of addiction.

He may not be a nice man, but he’s far from evil.

I can tell he’s done this before, because the knots he ties show skill. I’m not actually attached to the headboard. He tied the scarf around my wrist, securing it, and then secured the rest of the scarf to the rung.

I wasn’t expecting that. I figured he’d simply tie my wrists straight to the rung.

“Grasp the silk,” he says.

With my fists, I’m able to grasp the length of silk between my wrists and what’s tied to the headboard.

“Stay like that,” he commands. “Don’t move your hands.”

“Are you going to blindfold me?” I ask.

“Not this time. I want you to watch everything I do to you, Diana. Watch it. See what I’m truly like.”

I suck in a breath at his words. My heart’s beating fast like a hummingbird’s, and the pulsing between my legs has become nearly unbearable.

My pussy is soaking wet, and I desperately need him. I need his big cock inside me. But I’ll be patient. I’ll see what he has in mind. And I’ll watch every second of it.

“I’ll watch you,” I tell him. “I’ll watch everything you do to me. And you know what, Dragon? I’m still not going to think you’re horrible.”

“You may rethink that.” His hand comes down on the top of my breast with a loud slap.

I gasp, my eyes wide.

“I’m not who you think I am, Diana.”

“You think that scares me? You already told me what you were going to do. You haven’t scared me away, Dragon. You haven’t scared me away, and you’re not going to.”

“Don’t bet on it.”

He’s still wearing his jeans, and the bulge in his crotch is unmistakable. Whatever he’s about to do to me, it’s got him turned on as all hell.

He slaps my other breast, and then he takes both nipples between his fingers and pinches me. Hard.

God, it hurts, but it’s a good hurt. It makes my nerves tingle all the way down into my pussy, culminating in my clit.

“That hurt?” he asks.

“What do you want me to tell you? That it hurts? Yeah, it hurts.” I allow a grin to crack through my face. “And you know what? I fucking like it, Dragon. I like what you do to me. I like that you make me say ‘fuck’ more than I’ve ever said it in my life. I like that you’re not like every other lover I’ve ever had. You know what? They’re boring. Why do you think I’m still single?”

His eyes widen at that one.

Uh-oh. Shouldn’t mention that. Does he think I’m looking for a husband? Because Dragon Locke may be a lot of things—and I may be feeling things I shouldn’t be feeling—but he’s definitely not husband material.

He chuckles. “So I’m not boring.”

“Not even slightly. You’re not boring, Dragon. You fucked me hard and you fucked me good. And you don’t have to smack me around to not be boring.”

“You think that’s who I am? You think I like to smack women around?”

“No, I don’t think that. A man who likes to smack women around doesn’t give money to a prostitute to keep her from being smacked around by her pimp.”

He says nothing then.

“You can try to drive me away. You may even succeed. But you haven’t yet, Dragon. Smack me all you want to. Turn my whole body red. Draw blood, even. I can’t stop you. I’m tied to the bed.”

He sears his gaze into my body. “Be careful what you wish for, little cowgirl.”

I can’t help a smile at that one. “You’re right. I grew up on a fucking ranch, Dragon. You think I’m afraid of a little blood? I’ve been tossed around by bucking broncos and angry bulls. I learned to ride a horse nearly before I could walk. I’ve been falling out of apple and peach trees since I was a little kid. So do your worst, Dragon. Do your worst to me.”

He softens slightly.

Just as I suspected. He doesn’t have any desire to hurt me. His only desire is to fuck me, to lose himself in my body. And my body is more than willing.

But then…

He pinches my nipples hard once more, and his mouth descends on mine.