Managing Macy Read online

  In fact, he was apt to lose that nice erection she was marveling at if he didn’t say his piece. “Macy…”

  “Mmm?”

  “You remember we talked about fantasies?”

  She nodded, clearly lost in the moment.

  “I need you to know mine, the full extent of them.”

  “Do tell,” she purred, eyes half open, cat like.

  “Macy, I’ve imagined dominating you.”

  That got her attention. Her pretty eyes opened wide, focusing like a homing beacon.

  “Nothing too heavy, mind you, but I have pictured you tied up…and submissive.”

  She bit her lower lip.

  Go on, scream your fool head off, he thought, and get this over with.

  “You…you’re a Dominant?” Her voice was as light as a feather, distant, airy and angelic. But her body underneath him was tensing, heartbeat quickening, muscles poised for action.

  “Does that freak you out?”

  She blinked twice. “It depends. What makes you think I’m submissive?”

  “Let’s just say I’m hoping.”

  “But I’m independent. I’ve never been passive about anything.”

  “It’s different in bed. A sexual submissive takes on a role specific to her partner. It’s all negotiated in advance.”

  She frowned, impossible to read. “You’ve done this before.”

  “I’ve had submissives, yes, though none at the moment.”

  Her lovely brow furrowed. “And they were what, your sex slaves? Is that what you want from me?”

  He brushed back errant strands of hair from her forehead. “I want you to find sexual fulfillment, whatever that looks like for you.”

  She laughed dryly. “That’s the diplomatic answer. Now tell me what’s really on your mind. You didn’t storm into my life like this to start a dialogue on my sex life.”

  She had him dead to rights. Here it was, the moment of truth.

  “I would like to see you bound,” he admitted. “I would like to command you, to take possession of you in a way you’ve never imagined.”

  “And I’d call you Master, I suppose.” Was she merely taunting him or trying to feel out more details?

  “Personally, I prefer Jarit, but that would be negotiated.”

  Pushing him back, Macy turned to her side. “I think you should go.”

  She was facing away from him, toward the door.

  He touched her shoulder. “Is that what you really want?”

  She shivered. “Yes.”

  It didn’t sound convincing. “Macy, we don’t have to do anything you don’t want. We can go as slowly as you like, stop at any point.”

  Not that stopping would be easy, as intense as the chemistry was between them.

  “Please, Jarit.”

  His hand had strayed down her rib cage to her hip, where it rested possessively. The move had been unconscious. Never had he wanted a woman so much. It was like the dominant desires inside him had a will of their own. He just had to see where this would go.

  “Please what, Macy? Do you want me to stay or go?”

  She groaned in reply. He pressed his swollen shaft between her ass cheeks, reaching around to capture her breast in his hand.

  “G-go,” she said bravely.

  “Your body is ready for me. It’s ready for this.”

  “This” was a light pinch to her nipple, just enough to bring her to that platform of pleasure and pain, the place where every submissive was owned.

  “You want to be a good girl,” he said.

  She whimpered.

  All resistance drained away. She was all about seeking the touch, the feel of his skin, the control of his will.

  “I’m going to take you, Macy, the way you have wanted me to.”

  Dare he hope for the best? That the gamble had paid off, that he had found a compatible soul, or at least a simpatico body?

  “Jarit.” She breathed the word fiercely, as though she wanted to be led, initiated. “Yes.”

  It was the one word he’d been longing for all along, and the rest was a blur. It was less time than a heartbeat as he turned her over on her back and put her beneath him. He clutched her wrists in his hands, pinning them.

  Arching her back, she invited the conquest.

  He thrust easily between her waiting thighs, plunging to the hilt.

  Taking what was his.

  Macy moaned, wrapping her legs about him. Never had a woman pressed so close, needed so much or ignited so much in him.

  Greedily, not giving a damn who might have been with her before or if anyone else would ever touch her again, he took possession of her breast, suckling, working his tongue, his teeth, lightly over her nipple. Meanwhile he worked his surging cock in and out of her pink, soft opening, her proffered sex.

  He’d never been this aroused. It was as if he hadn’t come in weeks. He had so many ideas, so much he wanted to do.

  For now it was about this, two bodies as close in time and space as humanly possible. He moved to her ear and whispered, “You are so…goddamn…beautiful.”

  She sighed and then shivered and then let go, at the very brink of orgasm. He could feel her surrounding him, pressing his cock on all sides with the oddest combination of innocence and power.

  That power belonged to him and he did not intend to let go.

  “Come for me, Macy. Come like you never have before.”

  She responded to the command, which in truth was nothing but the permission she needed to follow her own body’s lead.

  “Yes, Jarit, oh yes.”

  Her teeth dug into his shoulder. They were both beyond speech, beyond even the utterance of sound. This time, he was silent, his body arched, every muscle clenched, his cock swelled to the exploding point as he filled her and his semen pumped into her. She was coming too, her own juices flooding sweetly into a combined orgasm such as he’d never dreamed.

  It went on for what felt like forever and when he finally collapsed on top of her, there was nothing left to do, no other wish on his part but to give in to the sleep, like some jungle animal, acting out the timeless ritual.

  Macy. His.

  The two best words in the English language.

  Murmuring sweetly, she fell asleep against him, the sheer peace and trust almost enough to make his heart burst.

  A man could get used to this, all right.

  And then some.

  * * * * *

  Macy was the first to wake.

  For several seconds she did not know where she was. Then reality came to her, the good and the bad. The good part was the beautiful man beside her stretched out like a panther on his back.

  Gorgeous, hunky Jarit Colson in her bed.

  I mean, how can that not be good? Fantastic, even.

  Sure, there was the problem of the broken rule.

  What number was it again?

  Bam! Bam! Bam!

  Uh-oh, here came the bad part.

  Someone was banging on the door.

  What the heck? She had a doorbell for a reason.

  And who would be coming up here at this hour of the night?

  She checked the clock over Jarit’s softly snoring head.

  Ten-thirty p.m.

  He sure could sleep soundly.

  Leave it to a man to be that content with himself after turning a woman’s life upside down.

  She whispered his name and then, after he failed to respond, she employed heavier artillery, shaking him lightly.

  He mumbled something—her name, it sounded like.

  Her toes curled.

  It was not good when a man saying one’s name made one feel giddy, confused, not to mention alive.

  “Jarit, someone’s here.”

  “They’ll go away.”

  Good grief, he wanted her again. His hands were reaching.

  She evaded him, his fingers grazing her hip, his lips on her neck.

  “Aren’t you listening? Someone’s at the door.”


  “I heard you the first time.”

  “You’re impossible, Jarit.”

  Climbing from bed, not daring to look in the mirror, she donned a silk robe and headed for the living room.

  Bam! Bam! Bam!

  What kind of lunatic would keep up that racket?

  She got a sinking feeling.

  Mr. Reynolds.

  Damn. And double damn.

  Yep. There he was, through the peephole, looking all gray and shriveled and miserable as ever.

  “What is it, Mr. Reynolds?” she said as pleasantly as possible through the metal door.

  He was all frown. “You got that fool Colson in there?”

  What, was she holding him for ransom? “What makes you think that, Mr. Reynolds?”

  He snorted. “I may be old and ugly but I ain’t stupid. He left water stains all over the carpet in the hall and it leads straight to your door. I tried to call him, he’s not answering. When he’s done with the tiddlywinks or whatever you kids are up to you can tell him I opened his door for him. Fifty-dollar fee goes on his rent next month for my trouble.”

  Macy fumed. “Mr. Reynolds, I would thank you not to jump to conclusions about the two of us and—”

  Too late, he was already lumbering off to torture someone else.

  Great. Could this possibly get more embarrassing?

  Surely this was her punishment.

  The dating-rule gods were already casting judgment for her indiscretion.

  “I’ll get him out,” she promised aloud. “I swear I will never stray again from the sacred code.”

  She padded back into the bedroom. “You have to leave. Your apartment’s open, by the way.”

  Jarit was on his back, his hands behind his head, the sheet barely covering him.

  Unable to help herself, she traced the lines of his body with her eyes—the firm jawline, down to the left biceps, the rib cage, the lean, flat stomach, complete with a mouthwatering six-pack.

  “What’s the matter, got somewhere to go?” he drawled, idly spreading his thighs to expose his half awake cock and heavy, smooth balls. “Or are you expecting more company? It stopped raining, so you can close your shelter for the night.”

  “There’s no one else.” She ignored his joke. “What I mean is, I just want to be…alone.”

  He didn’t seem insulted. “That’s sad.”

  Macy snapped. “So I was a pity fuck?”

  Jarit gave her the perplexed, amused look the comment deserved. “Where did that come from?”

  “My upstairs brain, the one I should have used before.”

  Jarit drew his legs lazily to the edge of the bed, as if it was his now as well as hers. The casual, possessive way he sat up pissed her off, but it kind of turned her on too.

  The warning bells were sounding.

  She could already feel it, the urge to move, the ritual of buying the classifieds and circling the reasonably priced apartments in good neighborhoods.

  “I’ll get your clothes.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Don’t mention it.” As in, literally never speak of this again.

  “Thanks,” he said several minutes later after she’d managed to hustle him to the door.

  The raspy way he spoke, just standing there, obviously waiting for a kiss made her flush head to toe. “No problem. Hopefully I didn’t shrink your jeans.”

  He grinned and her knees turned to spaghetti. “I didn’t mean the laundry service, babe.”

  “Don’t call me—”

  Jarit took full advantage of her open mouth, silencing her complaint with a joining of lips so powerful and spontaneous it took away her breath, leaving her clinging, needful, almost desperate in the desire for more.

  Macy was terrified to let go, terrified to continue.

  What was he doing to her?

  She was supposed to be having a quiet night, eating a frozen pot pie, watching the Oprah Network.

  He stroked her back, moved his hand downward, and, oh god, it was going to start all over again.

  But Jarit stopped it short.

  “That was the best sex I ever had.”

  Her mouth stayed open.

  He chuckled. “Speechless, wow, there’s a first. So long, for now.”

  With a wink, he opened the door and he was gone.

  WTF? Was he intending to come back? Didn’t he want her to go to him? Did he want her at all?

  Because if he did, she would say no, absolutely.

  But why hadn’t he said anything about the future, one way or the other?

  What a bastard. Talk about your one-night-stand assholes showing up with the old wet-jeans excuse, huh?

  If only she had a nickel for every time that had happened. Okay, so she would only be five cents richer.

  But still.

  Jerk.

  She shut the door, just a little harder than necessary. That would show him. She did it with just enough disgust, but still, a lot of room for healthy indifference.

  Oh whatever!

  Who was she kidding? Jarit Colson had just ruined paradise.

  Another sweet living arrangement turned from a righteous cave of solitude to a siege fortress, afraid to look out the door, afraid to sleep or answer the phone.

  Wait, did he have her number?

  Sighing, she went to find the newspaper. Sitting on the sofa with the classifieds and the pint of ale she had saved for emergencies, she went to work.

  This place sucked anyway.

  Bad pipes, dumb old annoying Mr. Reynolds with no respect for anyone’s privacy, just thinking he could barge into people’s lives, upending everything, making them feel as if they were missing something when they were just fine in the first place.

  Yeah, she thought glumly, and I am so not projecting right now.

  Not even a little bit.

  It was at that point that she remembered the game tomorrow. Her friend Nel had been trying to get her to go all week. The guys from her office, Jackson Accounting, were playing some law firm in the city-wide professional league playoffs.

  Might be just the diversion she needed. Anything it took to keep her mind and her body away from Jarit Colson.

  Her ears perked as she heard a door creaking. Was that him leaving his apartment? If so, he damn sure better have his keys.

  Not that a part of her, the really unhelpful part, wished he would leave them at home again.

  So much for rules, huh?

  * * * * *

  To say that leaving Macy’s apartment was easy for Jarit would be a bit like saying his firm’s amateur league football team, the Legal Eagles, had a chance of making it into the NFL playoffs.

  As it was, the Eagles were already twenty-point underdogs in their own playoff game Sunday against the Jackson Crushers, which embarrassingly enough was made up almost entirely of accountants.

  That is not good, he thought, back in his own apartment now, nothing to amuse him but the video game station and a well-worn paddle-ball set, the only real-time game he owned.

  What he really needed was a good night’s sleep.

  But he had a strong feeling he would be thinking of a certain sexy little neighbor, Miss Macy. A million scenarios filled his mind. Macy in handcuffs, Macy over his knee, Macy on her knees. The possibilities were endless.

  What he needed to do was invite her out to dinner, he decided, collapsing onto the well-worn sofa and grabbing the paddle off the table and giving the ball a good whack.

  What was the rule on second dates? Hell, they hadn’t had a first date.

  Wham, wham, wham, he hit the little rubber ball, letting it jog along his thoughts.

  So was there a rule on one-night stands?

  Personally, he had one rule—if it felt good and if the lady was willing and able, go for it. Otherwise, why sweat it?

  Jarit had been criticized in the past for this attitude, especially by his former girlfriends. For someone who enjoyed dominance, they had told him, they found him strangely passive about the cour
se of his own life.

  Take the way he’d left it to fate when and if he showed up at Macy’s door.

  Well he had shown up and the results spoke for themselves. Would it have been one tenth as exciting if he’d gone up to her in the hall, cornered her in the elevator and asked her out right off the bat?

  For one thing, she would have said no. He knew that much about her, just as he knew the way she sighed just before orgasm and the look in her eyes when she was fighting giving in to something she so badly needed.

  Jarit badly needed to see her tied up, helpless, with no choice but to give in to all the pleasure, the titillation she could stand.

  Grabbing his jacket, he decided to go for some fresh air. For a split second he thought of leaving his keys.

  Nah.

  The rest would have to come naturally. If at all. In the meantime he anticipated a steady diet of cold showers.

  Chapter Three

  Macy would have fallen flat on her face if she hadn’t been gripping the edge of the bleachers.

  “Mace, are you okay?” asked her best friend Nel, her usually angelic face a mask of sudden concern.

  “It’s nothing,” Macy lied through clenched teeth as she watched the opposing team gather along the sidelines for the pre-game warm-up.

  It was him.

  In a muscle shirt and sexy shorts that did wonders for his sculpted body. Hell, it was worse than seeing him naked because now her imagination could run amok.

  He was just standing there, casually laughing with some buddies from the Legal Eagles. So Jarit Colson was a lawyer. Should she be surprised? He liked to be in control, after all.

  “Mace? Are you in there? Are you okay?”

  “Huh?” Macy forced a smile. “Yeah, I was just…thinking, that’s all.”

  Nel’s sharp green eyes narrowed suspiciously. “You’re thinking all right, about the quarterback for the Eagles.”

  It would be a great time for a blanket denial. Instead she said, “He’s the quarterback, huh? Well, is he any good?”

  Nel smirked. “You tell me.”

  Macy flushed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “No? Well he does, because here he comes and he has the same goofy look on his face as you.”