Down on Her Knees (Dare Me 3)

It wasn’t supposed to come out like that. All low and growly. But his pulse was still jacked over the near-brawl, and looking down at her now and realizing what he had to do was only making it pound harder.

“Do your worst,” she murmured, lifting her head dramatically, like she was at the gallows and he was her executioner.

His worst? Rafe let loose a rusty chuckle. Fuck, if she only knew how bad his worst could be, she’d already be up and running. Although he’d done his best, his worst, and everything in between to her a hundred times in his dreams.

The only thing that kept him in check was the realization that she had no clue what she was asking for. Because to a guy like him? That kind of declaration was an invitation. And in that way, a good bedroom dom was like a vampire.

An invitation was all he needed.

Not this time.

She’d made her position clear earlier, whether she meant what she’d said or not. He had to play nice.

He lowered himself to the floor, reluctantly slid off her strappy, fuck-me sandal and set it down next to him. She had a thing for shoes. Nearly every time he saw her, unless it was right after her shift at the hospital, she was in heels. Heels he couldn’t help but imagine locked around his neck while she rode his tongue.

Jesus, he was no better than Frat Boy.

Except she wasn’t looking at Frat Boy like he was a fat, forbidden slice of chocolate cake. She wouldn’t admit it, but there was no question she felt it too. The pull between them, thick as taffy on a summer day. A slow, sexy song began to play, and the guests all clapped and stomped, calling their names.

“Get on with it, Romeo.” She had her serious RN voice on now and for some twisted reason, the disparity between that and her body language raised his blood pressure higher, making his cock pulse. Sharp-witted and strong-willed, which he respected in so many ways. But in the bedroom, she’d be all his.

He bit back a curse, shut down his brain altogether, and focused every ounce of his energy on the task at hand. No time for thinking. It was time to get a garter on a bridesmaid. Not the Courtney he knew who’d wormed her vanilla way into his rocky road dreams. Just some girl on a chair.

Sitting right in front of him.

Lips parted.

Pulse pounding.

Pink-cheeked.

Shit.

He squeezed his eyes closed and took her leg in hand to circle her slim ankle. Lightly at first, then, without conscious thought, more firmly, letting her feel his strength. She gasped, and his eyes snapped open.

He tried, god knew he tried to fight it, but it was like his hands had a mind of their own, desperate to make her gasp again, desperate to take her further as he slid to the side, taking her ankle with him. A scant few inches that would be imperceptible to onlookers, but that Courtney no doubt felt, as the move spread her legs for him. Not wide. Just open enough to make her aware of her position. Just open enough to let her know what was on his mind…what he really wanted from her in that moment.

Watch yourself, his mind blared.

But he was too far gone.

He kept his gaze trained on her face as he tightened his fingers into a band of resistance, effectively restraining her, and slid the garter over her foot and onto her calf. Her throat worked visibly, her body tensing as she opened her mouth to say something, but she closed it with a snap. He lifted her leg high then, resting her ankle on his shoulder and pinning it there with his hand.

The crowd squealed with excitement and laughter, caught up in the bawdy tradition and outward bravado of the moment, but the look on Courtney’s face was anything but funny. Her lush bottom lip was caught between her teeth and her eyes lit with fire so hot it nearly brought him low.

And what was so much worse?

She didn’t pull away.

Chapter Two

Panic warred with bone-deep need as Courtney stared down into the face that had dominated her thoughts for weeks now. His jaw was set tight, his gaze so intense, she couldn’t help but wonder what it would feel like to be the true focus of that intensity. Naked. On a bed. Heck, on a floor, for that matter.

A peal of laughter—Lacey’s?—broke through the sensual spell Rafe had woven over her, and she shook her head briskly.

This wasn’t right. None of it. Her enjoyment of his sure grip. Her twisted desire to offer up her other foot for the more of the same. The wild thoughts of him switching places with her, planting his fine ass on this frou-frou chair and dragging her over his lap.

For what? her subconscious whispered. So that he could spank her?

Her body tensed, and a bolt of lightning zinged through her before settling right between her thighs. Panic escalated as she jerked against his unyielding fingers.

“People are watching, Court,” he murmured. “You getting up and tearing ass out of here will look really strange. I know you’re nervous and afraid of what you’re feeling, but trust me, I’d never do anything you didn’t want me to.”

His eyes shone with absolute sincerity, and she willed herself to settle back in.

He was right. It was one thing to escape for a minute before the festivities had begun. It was something else entirely to run away from what would appear to onlookers as nothing more than a campy wedding tradition.

They had no way of knowing that she was falling to pieces on the inside.

“Fine. Then what I want is for you to get on with it, for Pete’s sake.”

He tipped his head to the side and nodded slowly before sliding the garter up her leg without further ado. It settled into place over her thigh, and she steeled herself for his touch on the way down, but he was careful to avoid even incidental contact.

“Your wish is my command.” A second later, he set her foot gently back onto the ground, sat back on his haunches, and settled the skirt of her dress back into place.

The music faded out and she forced a smile as the crowd clapped enthusiastically. He’d done exactly as she’d asked and, finally, it was over.

So why did she feel so bereft?

Before she could think too hard on the answer to that question, a loud voice rang in her ear.

“Whew! You guys were like something out of an Animal Planet documentary for a minute out there,” Cat said, yanking her up from the chair. Rafe stood, offering a mocking half grin and sweeping bow in their direction before gesturing toward the bar.

“Now that the garter is safely hidden away, can I get you ladies a drink?”

Courtney pressed a hand to her heated cheeks and mumbled a “no thanks,” adding a head shake in case he couldn’t hear her.

Maybe it was a combination of looks and confidence, or maybe it was the almost palpable sexuality of the man topped off with the aura of raw, masculine power, but whatever it was, she literally couldn’t handle it, and he knew it. She needed to regroup.

“I just got a fresh one,” Cat said, holding up a glassful of ruby-red liquid. “But thanks.”

Courtney allowed her friend to lead her away to a quiet corner where she pinned her with her an all-too-perceptive gaze.

“You know, Rafe is part of the crew. You’re going to have to figure out whatever this is between you and either get past it or grab on to it. Better now than letting it drag out.” She flicked a look over her shoulder in Rafe’s direction and waggled her eyebrows comically. “And if you were smart, you’d be all about the grabbing on to it. He’s almost as cute as Shane.”

Courtney managed a halfhearted snort of faux-disgust. “Are you for real right now? You know what he’s into. This is the kind of stuff that sets feminism back a hundred years.” She set her bouquet on the linen-covered table and tried not to cringe at the shrill piousness in her voice, wondering who exactly she was trying to convince.

After weeks of trying to stay atop her high horse, she’d finally accepted that her issues weren’t with Rafe’s lifestyle at all. The bluster was just a bunch of meaningless words now, thrown up like shields to deflect from the real crux of the matter. Spankings and handcuffs didn’t scare her. Relationships scared her. Getting lost in a man again—especially one so strong, one who would be so easy to get lost in—that was what had her shaking in her shoes. But she wasn’t about to admit that to Cat.

Her friend shook her head violently, sending her brassy curls swinging. “You are so wrong. Sure, I wouldn’t put up with a guy bossing me out of bed, but in the bedroom?” She shrugged and grinned. “It’s kinda hot. When Shane goes a little alpha on me, I get all melty. Seriously, you shouldn’t knock it until you try it.”

She crossed her arms over her chest to chase away the odd chill that had sneaked up on her. “I’m pretty sure we’re not talking about your run-of-the-mill, occasional-furry-handcuff stuff here, Cat. I think it’s more than that.”

Lie. She knew it was more than that. Even during their three-minute interaction on the dance floor, she could feel the strength of his will winding its way around her, tugging her toward some dark, hidden place. What if it grew deeper, into something more than sexual control?

Emotional currency. That’s what she couldn’t afford to gamble with again.

It had happened so slowly with Wes. Over the course of eighteen months. First, it was “making sure everyone had everyone else’s e-mail and computer passwords.” A “good-faith gesture to foster a feeling of trust and mutual respect.” Then it was making sure everyone was being considerate by calling to confirm that it was okay to make plans that didn’t involve the other person. And so it went.

Not once in the first year did any of it raise a single red flag. She blindly followed along, thinking how much more efficient and civilized their relationship was compared to other couples around them. Until the two-way street became a one-way street and she found herself asking for permission to go the grocery store.

By the time she had reached point break and got the balls up to walk away, it was too late. When she was feeling heartsick and alone, she’d picked up the phone and realized there was no one left to call. Her friends had dropped off one by one after broken plans when Wes decided that she didn’t need to go out after all, or unreturned calls when Wes had decided that she really had no use for her own cell phone anyway.

Courtney swallowed a sigh, wishing she could share her fears with Cat, but she wasn’t ready to talk about Wes yet. Not because she didn’t trust her friend, but because she was ashamed of her weakness…ashamed for letting it get as bad as it did.

“All joking aside, whatever you decide to do, make sure you’re careful with Rafe,” Cat said, concern chasing the smile from her usually laughing eyes. “I’m all about having fun, but as much as I love him, he’s not the kind of guy that sticks. Not anymore, at least.”

Had Rafe gotten hurt before too? Courtney’s heart tripped at the sadness on Cat’s face. Before she could press her for the details she wasn’t sure she really wanted to know, their tipsy bride burrowed between them, face aglow.

“Come and do the Electric Slide with me! Hurry, before it’s over,” Lacey said.

Courtney pushed aside the melancholy thoughts and took Lacey’s hand, and the three of them headed back to the dance floor. They’d dance a while, get through the cake ritual, and before she knew it, people would be saying their good-byes, with her leading the pack. Galen and Lacey had a flight to catch in a couple of hours, in any case, so there was a definite expiration time to her misery and confusion.

Then, with Cat’s blessing or without it, Operation Avoidance was in full effect, at least until she fortified her defenses after this recent breech.

Yup, as long as she stayed out of the path of Hurricane Davenport for a few weeks, everything would be A-okay.

Nooo sweat.

…

Rafe blew out a long sigh and tightened his grip on the steering wheel, trying not to remember how it felt when he’d tightened that same grip over Courtney’s silky ankle. It was going to be another long night fueled by erotic dreams. After touching all that smooth skin, it was a given. He was going to have to put some serious time and effort into solving this problem, because it was really starting to impact his life.