Down on Me (Man of the Month 1)

If a guy was being a dick to her in a bar, he could--and had--told the guy to get lost or lose a tooth.

If her car broke down, he could--and had--rescued her.

If she was hungry, he could feed her. If she was sad, he could cheer her up.

But what could he do if she was sick? Nothing except force-feed her vitamins and make her get some sleep. And with Jenna that was always harder than it should be. Unless...

He got up.

"Where are you going?"

"I'll be right back," he said, then returned with a small glass of water and some pills. "Vitamin C, zinc, and a couple of Ibuprofen, just in case I'm wrong about the fever."

"Reece, please. I don't--"

"Can't hurt. Might help. Swallow them."

She looked at his face, and he knew what she saw there. A message that she denied him at her own peril. "Fine," she said, then took the pills as he went back to the kitchen. Then he went up to the loft-style bedroom before returning to her.

"What was that about?"

He tilted his head up, but was pleased to see that nothing in the bedroom was visible other than the light cast by the ceiling fan's fixture. "Nothing much," he said. "Just putting you to bed. You're tired, you need sleep. Relaxation."

"I need to get my second wind, check my emails, make sure the contestants have signed model releases, make sure we have--"

"And it'll all be there in the morning. Upstairs. Now. Either you walk, or I carry you, but either way, you're getting in bed."

He could see that she was tempted to make him carry her, and he would have been happy to. But then she glanced toward the spiral staircase, seemed to think better of it, and preceded him up the stairs. When she reached the landing, she stopped with a gasp, then turned around to face him.

He'd turned the fan's light off using the remote halfway up, leaving the only illumination from the candles he'd lit when he'd made his quick trip only moments ago. Now, the room was lit by the glow of four candles on a table that also held a bottle of Cabernet and two wine glasses. It also held four black silk ties and a padded blindfold.

"Oh," she said, her tone rising with a question. But at the same time, her voice held so much heat that he knew he'd made the right decision.

"All for you," he said. "You need to relax. And I'm going to make sure you do."

"Reece..."

"Shhh." He nodded to the bed. "Sit."

She did, and he handed her one of the glasses of wine. "To you," he said. "And also to laying down, closing your eyes, and forgetting everything except the way I'm going to make you feel."

"Reece, I--" His finger on her lips stopped her words.

"Yes, Reece," he said, grinning.

A smile touched her lips, and she tilted her head in acquiescence. "Yes, sir," she said, with a quirk of a brow.

"Finish your wine," he ordered, then laughed when she swallowed the half-full glass in two quick gulps. He took the glass from her, then knelt in front of her, sipping his own wine as he undressed her. Shoes first, then her jeans, brushing her skin softly as he unfastened the button, enjoying the way she squirmed as he tugged her jeans and panties all the way down before tossing them on a straight back chair. He pulled her The Fix on Sixth T-shirt off next, and tossed it aside as well. Then he reached behind her, unfastened her bra, and very deliberately, stroked the sides of her breasts as he pulled it off.

In front of him, her eyes were closed, and her teeth grazed her lower lip. She was seated on the edge of the bed, and her thighs were tight together. He wondered if she was wet, and smiled at the knowledge that if she weren't, she would be soon enough. Because this was about Jenna. About her pleasure.

And he was about to make her melt.

Jenna's head spun--and not just from the

effects of the wine. She was drunk on Reece. On the intoxicating sensations that ricocheted through her body as she stretched out spread-eagled on the bed, tied down by the silk cords that attached her wrists and ankles to the head and footboard.

She'd protested when he'd told her what to do, and then a bit more when he'd come at her with the blindfold. But in truth, it was only for form. She wanted the escape he offered. The promise of sensual delights and exquisite sensations. He told her he was going to make her explode, and then he was going to untie her, cover her, and watch her drift off to sleep.