Tied with Me (With Me in Seattle 6)

“Yeah,” she replies and sighs deeply, leaning against me. “Jesus, that feels good. Why did you come in?”

“Asher called me. Said you were pretty busy, so I decided to come check in on you.”

She spins around, her jaw dropped in surprise. “But he said you two worked all night.”

I smile patiently and step closer to her, needing to be next to her. She smells of vanilla and sugar, and it’s the most alluring smell I’ve ever experienced.

Who knew sugar could be so fucking sexy?

“You needed me,” I reply simply. “And I’ve missed you this week.”

Her green eyes widen, and suddenly she’s in my arms, wrapped around me, hugging me hard. Her head is tucked against my chest, and she turns her face to bury her nose against me while taking a long, deep breath.

“Thank you,” she whispers before pulling back, but I hold her tight and keep her with me for a few moments, giving us both a moment to settle.

“You’re welcome.”

The bell above the door sounds as a customer walks in, and for the next forty minutes—ten minutes past closing time—we are busy with customers again, cleaning out the glass case except for one cupcake.

Nic locks the door, takes a deep breath and laughs. “I can pay you with a crème brûlée cupcake,” she says.

“I’ll split it with you,” I reply.

“Nah, I don’t eat them.” She waves me off after she hands me the cupcake, stacks the trays from the case and carries them into the back.

“Why not?”

“Can you imagine if I ate everything I baked?” She laughs and shakes her head. “I’d have to live at the gym.”

“You don’t sample anything?” I ask and take a bite of the cake. Dear Christ, these are amazing.

“Once in a while, if it’s something new,” she replies and pulls her apron over her head, throws it in a hamper and watches me enjoy the treat. “Good?”

“Amazing.”

“I’m glad.” She tilts her head, watching me. “You’re tired.”

“I’m exhausted,” I confirm and swallow the last bite.

“Come upstairs with me.” To my surprise, she holds her hand out for mine and then leads me up to her apartment. “We’ll have dinner and you can crash for a while.”

“I don’t live far,” I respond.

“I would rather you didn’t drive when you’re this tired,” she replies. “Plus, you saved me today, so the least I can do is save you back.”

Save me.

Why do I get the feeling that Nic will save me in more ways than she’ll ever know?

***

“So how did you become a baker?” I ask and take a bite of meat lover’s pizza.

We are seated in her living room, shoes off, facing each other from opposite ends of the couch, the pizza box between us.

“I always liked to bake,” she replies. “Couldn’t afford to go to a university and actually, didn’t go to culinary school until I was about twenty-three. I got a job out of high school, partied a little too hard, basically gave my parents gray hair until I pulled my head out and saved my money so I could attend the Art Institute here.”

I nod and stretch my legs out in front of me and rest them on her ottoman. “That’s right, you were rebellious.”

“What about you?” she asks.

“What about me?” I reply and grin at her. Which part of me are you asking about, baby?

“How did you become a cop?”

“Oh, that. I did two years in the Army.” I wince and shake my head. “Caleb was much more suited for the military.”

“Don’t like being told what to do, huh?” she asks me with a wink, making me chuckle.

“That wasn’t it, actually. I don’t want to move around all the time. I like it here. I want to be near my family. So, when my two years were up, I came home and worked my way through college and then applied to the academy.”

She closes the pizza box, sets it aside and lays her cheek against the back of the couch, a soft smile on her full lips. If I had the energy, I’d lean over and capture those lips under mine and kiss her mad.

Instead, I pull her feet into my lap and begin to rub the arches of her feet. She sighs and closes her eyes.

“God, that’s nice.”

“Just relax.”

“You should be the one relaxing. You worked all night and then worked all day in my shop.”

“Don’t worry about me,” I reply with just enough of an edge in my voice to make sure she knows I mean it.

“What about the other stuff?” she asks softly, and when I raise my eyes from her feet to her face, I see her watching me. I raise an eyebrow, and she snickers. “The ropes.”

“I responded to a domestic violence call in my second year on the force. It happened to be at a local BDSM club, which is actually very unusual, as I’ve come to find out since then.” I pause and check her to make sure that I haven’t already scared her off, but she’s just reclined comfortably, listening, so I continue. “While I was there, I saw someone I recognized and saw that he had tied this girl up in ropes, and I thought it was hot as hell, to be honest.”

She smiles, and for just a moment, I forget what I was saying.

I shake my head and pull her other foot into my lap.

“So, when I saw him a few days later, I asked him about it. It’s called Shibari. It’s an ancient form of Japanese bondage, and this friend is a master.”

“Had you tied girls up before?” she asks softly.

“I’d played with handcuffs before, sure. And restraining a woman was always fun, but once I started learning Shibari, I also learned that it comes with responsibility. Trust.”

“What about the dominant stuff?”

“Are you asking just because you’re curious, or have you decided to change your mind about our friendship status?” I ask quietly.

Her cheeks flush as she meets my gaze. “I’m not just curious.”

“I need you to say the words, little one.”

“I want to see where this might go,” she admits.

I release her feet and pull her into my lap, unable to keep from holding her any longer, and let’s face it, talking about this stuff is a huge turn-on for me. I settle her against me but arrange her so I can still look in her eyes while I talk.

This conversation could make or break us, and I am not going to fuck this up.